15/08/2014 by Siddiqui Fayesal
Writing is an ongoing exercise. I wouldn’t know much of it though as I’ve come to realize that I like planning and hate executing.
An odd sense of déjà vu just trampled me and rode off into the garden behind me. I probably have said that before too. Ah, screw it. I’ve got a few things going and I’d rather tell you about that. The past few months I have taken my writing more seriously than usual; the past few weeks, more so and my fountain pen has raced through 2 notebooks of 100 pages each in the last half year. I know it’s not enough but I only say it aloud to feel better. Despite all this I am in a position to seriously considering calling myself a human equivalent of a failed start up.
Threads loosen up and fall around like ancient cobwebs; the gigantic story line ends up broken in a landslide of a confused mess and I stand, alone, whimpering at the forgotten plot that I wove with earnest vigour. I stand silently, holding on to my fountain pen in one hand and a tattered notebook in another hoping that the failed phenomenon turns out to be a nightmare.
But it won’t end simply because I will it so.
Writing a full length novel is a difficult job; perhaps I should start with something smaller and less demanding in terms of a storyline. A big book demands more characters, more dialogues, more infinitives!
Two nights ago a friend mentioned something that made me feel good in a, well, good way! She wanted to write a bit more regularly and asked for my help.
And I, forever ready to help fellow wannabe writer, said yes!
I give her a plot, simple in terms of a story and character, and she executes it. To make this a little more interesting, and even the friend in question is not aware of this, I will be doing the same. It’ll give me fodder for writing and it’ll help me write a decent sized story. I give her a plot and she gives me one.
Life should be pleasant for now!