I truly, totally want to write. I look at my old blogs, and blog posts, I look at that Rs.2500/- cheque that is past expiry date for my short story, and long to write.
It is just so simply sad that all I write now, are either emails, excel sheets or pitful "Im such a loser posts".
Life, has just become so cluttered now. too many relationships, commitments and responsibilities come in way of me.
I think of that long lost novel that I began, and I can envision what I had written... that fictional village beckons me, my lovely protagonist still is where I have asked her to stay. The story just doesn't move further, everything is like a painting in my minds eye.
My heart asks me what happens of them, of the heroine, her mother, the numerous men in that story - what happens at the cemetery, whos epitaph is she reading, and I do not know. I just do not know. the papers on which it was written is long gone, lost. I cannot restart, the words wont be what they were then. anything I try to do will only deface the painting in the minds eye.
Sigh.
I just want to write. When will I get to write?
It is just so simply sad that all I write now, are either emails, excel sheets or pitful "Im such a loser posts".
Life, has just become so cluttered now. too many relationships, commitments and responsibilities come in way of me.
I think of that long lost novel that I began, and I can envision what I had written... that fictional village beckons me, my lovely protagonist still is where I have asked her to stay. The story just doesn't move further, everything is like a painting in my minds eye.
My heart asks me what happens of them, of the heroine, her mother, the numerous men in that story - what happens at the cemetery, whos epitaph is she reading, and I do not know. I just do not know. the papers on which it was written is long gone, lost. I cannot restart, the words wont be what they were then. anything I try to do will only deface the painting in the minds eye.
Sigh.
I just want to write. When will I get to write?
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