The art of writing

The past few months have been fairly demanding for me – so much in fact, that I am unable to post as often as I used to, as often as I would love to.

But then I have managed to churn out a few posts in the last couple of months, haven’t I? However, while thinking about them has been a satisfying exercise (as always), somehow the writing part was not that good.

Usually, I spend at least a few hours, if not more, when writing a post. My first draft gets revised into a second, a third – on an average there are at least 10 edits to each post.

And yet, in these past two months, I have hardly written anything that required more than three edits. This does not mean that the quality of my writing has improved drastically, as if by magic. Instead, what I think is happening is that my writing does not turn out to be as beautiful to me as I would like it to be.

But then this will not be forever – there will come a time when I will have some time on my hand at least to write proper posts. And until that time comes, I will wait.

Eight months is not a long time.

Choices

1. A small cottage somewhere in the woods. A nice garden full of flowering plants, and a river nearby for when you feel like messing around with a boat. Of course, if you want to meet someone all you have to do is to plop into the boat and row until you reach the nearest village.

2. A house on the side of a hill, with a magnificent view from every window. A winding road climbing down the hill to take you to civilization.

3. A sailboat (at least 20 ft), with a cabin below and a spare engine just in case. You could sail wherever you wanted to, and even pick up passengers when you wanted company.

4. A small house with a small garden in some non-descript village along the Konkan coast. A sign outside that welcomes people driving by that are thirsty for a good cup of coffee.

Which one of these would you choose, dear Reader, to spend the rest of your life?

Alea iacta est

The Rubicon is a shallow river that starts in the Apennine mountains and drains into the Adriatic sea. In ancient Rome, it was like a Line of Control – any promagistrate (or army general) who crossed the river at the head of his troops automatically lost his right to command – such was Roman law.

On 10 January 49 BC, General Julius Caesar led one legion – the Legio XIII Gemina – and stopped at the river’s edge to contemplate: whether to take off his helmet and cross the river alone, or to lead his troops on and thus initiate civil war. In the words of historian Frances Titchener:

We know from [Caesar's journals] that Caesar is not taking this lightly. He knows that if he marches on Rome with his armies, then he is a public enemy, and that he will either have to win, or die. For a Roman patrician like Julius Caesar there is no life without military service; there is no life without service to the state … he does realise that if he goes back to Rome, he would be killed. At this time the northernmost border of the Roman territory in Italy is the River Rubicon. Once someone crosses the River Rubicon, he’s in Roman territory. A general must not cross that boundary with his army – he must do what the Romans call lay down his command, which means surrender his right to order troops, and certainly not be carrying weapons.

Caesar and his armies hesitate quite awhile at this river while Caesar decides what to do, and Caesar tells us that he informs his soldiers that it’s a little tiny bridge across the river, but once they cross it they’ll have to fight their way all the way to Rome, and Caesar is well aware that he’s risking not just his own life, but those of his loyal soldiers, and he might not win …

Finally he makes a decision, it’s time to go … he says ‘Roll the dice’: ‘Alea jacta esto’.

Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon, and the die was cast.

A snowy day

I was in for a surprise when I got up today morning – light snow had been predicted for the morning, but the ground was actually covered with a fairly heavy blanket of white.

After dunking the usual cuppa, I got ready and stepped out for the bus to work. Apparently, the snow had taken everyone by surprise – the roads were not plowed, and I had to walk through about 2 inches of snow. As I waited for the bus, my right toe started hurting. Before I could think of anything, a friend who was driving by picked me up and I was warm again. By the time we reached the Light Rail Station, I realized what had happened – snow had leaked into my shoe.

This was my third pair of shoes in just over a year in Denver – the soles of the last two shoes had cracked within months of buying them. In hindsight, I think that was because I purchased cheapies here. Back in India, I have always paid a lot more for shoes, but then I know which are the better brands; which shoes will be a “value for money” purchase.

After reaching office, I took off my shoe and examined it – the sole had started to come apart near the toes. It was not a lost cause – a spot of glue would easily fix them. However, considering my past experience, I don’t think that this quick fix will last beyond a couple of months – I will have to buy new shoes anyways.

But then that’s all right. A couple of months from now, I will be back in India.

What’s in your bucket?

It’s that time of the year again – when every conversation that you care to eavesdrop upon revolves around resolutions. And then there are folks who prepare “bucket lists” – I think it’s a catch-all kind of term to include everything. Or more probably, something to give you a comfort factor when you know that your resolutions aren’t meant to be.

So what’s in my bucket? Just hot water – all it needs now is a load of salt so that I can soak my tired feet in it.

And that’s my resolution for the next year – to give myself breaks and take rest whenever I can.

What’s in your bucket??

Sitting here, just wasting time

I’m sitting in the bedroom, connected to the internet. The laptop is on, but I don’t feel like browsing any site. Random thoughts are flowing through my head – and whenever I think of writing about any one of them, poof – that thread switches off.

Over the past few days though, one thought has regularly crossed my mind – why do I hate emotions so much? Be it stories, poems, songs or even movies – if it has even a slight touch of emotions, I simply cannot tolerate it.

Give me introspection, brooding moods and dark thoughts – and all my senses are alive.

But love? No sir, not me. Mr. Cupid, sir – please visit the next person.

I think in my world, love is best expressed by care, not affection.

Saving Connor

Last week I finally finished reading Limyaael’s “Sacrifices Arc” – her adaption of the Harry Potter stories. I must say, I am overwhelmed – I actually can’t think of words to describe it.

Canon Harry Potter is for kids: I would summarize it as Witches… Wizards… Magic!!! That’s wonderful!! And let’s kill Lord Voldemort too!

But the Sacrifices Arc is not a children’s book by any standard. It’s a brilliant study of character conflict with literally dozens of characters interacting with each other and changing over almost 8 million hundred thousand words. And it’s a Bildungsroman too – not just for the protagonist (Harry), but also for several other characters.

Like I said – I simply can’t think of words to write about it. Read the books for yourself, and you will get sucked into the wonderland that Limyaael created for her own amusement.

I did, and now I don’t think I’ll ever read canon Harry Potter again.

How to buy a new cellphone – Step 1

Last Thursday, I was driving my daughter to school when the phone rang. We had had a winter storm the night before, and the roads were icy – so I simply told the person that I would call her back after some time. I dropped my daughter to school, drove back home safely, and put my hand in my pocket for the cellphone – but it wasn’t there.

I searched the car, hoping that it fell inside somewhere, but no luck. I must have dropped it somewhere in the snow. I did backtrack and search for it, but I think someone else must have found and kept it.

Or maybe it’s still lying in the snow. In that case, whenever the snow melts and the phone is visible, it is highly unlikely that it will be in a working condition again.

And that, dear reader, is the perfect first step for buying a new cellphone – lose your handset where it can’t be found, or in a place where it will be unusable if found.

So long, and thanks for all the fish

Well, almost.

For reasons that I prefer not to disclose, for the next few months I won’t be able to post as often as I used to.

Priority

pri·or·i·ty : noun,

plural -ties

“the right to precede others in order, rank, privilege, etc.;precedence”

Example: “my family is my highest priority”