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The Storyteller

SO TODAY has been a very mixed productive work day. I believe I have absolutely tired my eyes out staring at the computer screen so much in 9 hours. More than that actually. Do we ever stop working by the clock? I envisaged two lines of a story throughout the day just to keep up with my energies for some creative output for the day. 

I was very happy in the morning after my dance class and decided to paint something today. The morning breeze and slight drizzle on the way back home put me in high spirits. I felt charged and every atom within me bounced with endless energy. Something about witnessing the bright day and chaos on the streets had me unexpectantly cheery for my usual self. There is a madness in routine and habits. Anthony Trollope is said to have written meticulously every day. He wrote every day for three hours, 250 words in 15 minutes and 66 pages per week was his decided course for a book draft. This kind of routine is sure to produce good writing habits. I have read so many articles that suggest each day we must write a few lines to better our writing skills. I believe in it because irrespective of the subjects, I wrote steadfastly each day in March last year in 2016. I also received an email today for a writing competition that I participated in last year, for the first time. I still remember polishing and editing my story and sending it to about three friends, each different in their temperament for their feedback. It was wonderful to hear back from them. This year is bigger. Ruskin Bond is among the writers providing us with a writing prompt to build our stories. I am so excited and charged up. There are 10 writers- one each for a month providing us with paragraphs. The deadline for the first story is July 30th. I better hurry. In a flurry of emails built up over the past few weeks, I missed this competition update. It's never too late. All I need to do is put on my thinking hat(s) and shoot off the keys. Yay to me, the eternal optimist. 

I also ended up reading a whole lot of history about the Vikings, Borgias of Rome, Temple of Artemis, on art, culture and civilization and an array of interesting articles on the internet, of course. We tend to flow astride on the internet, hopping from one subject to another without realising the time lost in doing all of this. Then, worked a bit on a graphic design birthday card for a dear friend. While I was doing all of this, in the midst of it all, my mind conjured up memories from this day a few years ago. It was a farewell meeting with a dear friend that lasted for more than four hours into the late night and had me running down the train station in a frantic bid to catch my return fare back home. How those minutes are still fresh in my mind! I know I will forget it bit by bit in a few years, but certain moments leave a deep imprint and stay etched in our hearts. Some of my most precious memories have books and my favourite people in them. My friend who is very gracious at times and also an extreme cynicist when he cannot help it is surprisingly a very good listener too. Sometimes I keep yapping anxiously and often angrily about the society and us, mortal humans when he chuckles and keeps our conversations sane by shooting down my arguments. Well, we do need such people too in our lives who know how to direct us, stray storytellers, when we go riding in all directions. Glad for a few such in mine. 

This story germ will keep revolving and making its presence felt in my life for the remainder of the year. Not all of them ought to have happy endings, but could we really come up with a miserable end to a plot in the hopes of continuing it further? That's a long question and one I often give space to in my brain. People, their emotions, presence and involvement affect us all. I suppose that's how we have developed and evolved into this culture zone from the civilization status. We create all these values and philosophies about being better and then weave stories about them. I scarcely recollect a moment gone by that has not transpired me to different worlds of architecture, arts, ethnicities paving ways for scenarios rich in colourful tapestries of woven histories of people. I have often been overwhelmed with feelings so strong while reading, imagining all those lives panned out in front of my eyes, giving us a vivid experience in their misery and happiness alike. A friend of mine was reading The Shadow of the Wind and promptly texted me after she began and finished the first page. She said she had a strong inkling of how the story was going to move and absorb her indefinitely. Sure enough, after she finished reading it she gave me the book saying she needed another copy to keep that experience within her. Now, that is a living memory, my friends. One, I hope, we shall all cherish with each new storyteller and their stories. 


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