All posts for the month February, 2014

Convinience And Expression

Published February 27, 2014 by Virgo293

As a writer (I boldly use that word for myself), I have often struggled for inspiration. The motivation that unconsciously leads to a foray of magical words and leaves me with a satisfaction that every creative desires.

However if you have ever written more than a few pages, you would know that the high is difficult to pass by. It is like a rare encounter with an old friend, withholding loads of fun and times that just pass by unconsciously. More often than not, the hours spent trying to write are like stumbling upon a mysterious puzzle. No matter how trained you are, the puzzle is always at a level higher than your capabilities. And the catch is that until you solve the puzzle the self-doubt you face is something no amount of counseling can help.


Anyway, how difficult writing is, is a story for another time. What I want to insist on here is that the more we express, on each platform that we do, the more exhausted our motivations are. At least, for me. Whenever I sit down to write, I often find myself at a loss of anything to say. My world-view, philosophies, or even encounters with other people or things are so ‘conveniently’ and instantly articulated that the sensitivity they invoke in me is hardly turned into inspiration. Also, insisting over the same things again and again becomes ‘boring,’ which in an artist’s life, is death. So in an age when expressions have become so quick, what do people like us do?

As my past record and snail pace speed of churning out posts says, I have been facing this issue for quite some time now. It took me all this while to figure that this era of verbalization, of anything and everything, is perhaps one plausible cause of it, or an excuse, if you want to call it so. No solution, however, came with this predicament. That might be another journey. But the quest definitely did leave me with something.

For all those of us not blessed with genius brains, extraordinary observation or unconventional life experiences, there is just one thing that gets us back to paper every time. The love, unconditional and uninhibited, that we hold for writing. And I would like to believe that this love can turn situations like these, which are nothing but flaws in my capabilities and frustrations that arise out of them, into a muse.

P.S. having written all the bullshit that I have, I must confess that the extraordinary spur of motivation is something I am still looking for. Until then, I hope, highs like these keep passing me by.


Happy New Year!

Published February 3, 2014 by Virgo293

I know I am very late. I know no excuse is good enough, because it will be an excuse after all. But I hope the fact that I am doing it now makes up for it. That is the thing about pauses. They delay revivals much more than planned. Well, since I haven’t posted for very long, it is apparent that I don’t have too much to say. So I mustn’t bore you too much.

I just wanted to wish everybody reading this (and all the people who aren’t), a very prosperous new year. I wish that this year proves to be a progress for all of us, in ways more than one. I wish that faith, hope and love fill all our lives. But most of all, I simply wish that this year, we are all happy, with or with out these things aforementioned. After all, as Tagore says, “It is very simple to be happy, but it is very difficult to be simple.”

I hope that the words of this legend are able to fill up the vacuum this long absence has created.

Have a great year ahead.                                                                                                               Kudos! 🙂


Published February 3, 2014 by Virgo293

Her usual demeanor seldom changes. She is sitting where she often does in a state like this. That corner of her room has seen her in worse conditions. But today she has decided that she will not let restlessness overpower her, and she is hoping that this choice will do her some good.


Often when she writes, the ink gets scrambled on paper. She has tried to control it many times, but the pen has a journey of its own. She knows that she has the power over the paper though. She can with-hold what she likes. Or be cruel enough to crumple the secrets that uncontrollably reveal themselves on paper. And though she hardly uses it, she knows she has the power of choice. The luxury of choosing when to put that pen on paper.

If only she could have this power over herself. If only she could get that pen in control. She would not have anything written over herself. But paper hardly has power over itself.

Many have often told her that every blank sheet has its destiny written. It just has to be patient enough for its time to come. Resign perhaps to the fate that chooses the ink and font for it. And trust that fate with whatever its might is.

If only, she could say that to herself. Perhaps then, the pieces left of her would empower themselves. Perhaps then, out of what she writes, a story will emerge. A story she would want to tell.

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