An Amateur's Attempts has always been that first blog--the start of something. It was my first step into writing. It's made so many things feasible for me, and I'm happy about how it has aided my creative development. I hope that it always stays that way.
I had never really found the need to found another blog for writing, but strangely enough, this year has changed me in a curious way.
I used to be a writer. And then I became 19. and a photographer, painter, scientist and friend.
Growing up, I thought I’d become better. But a channeled love, a channelled concentration, a channelled patience, found it’s diversification. I did whatever I wanted to. I painted. I drew. I clicked. all in search of the thirst to prove that i was good in so many things, wishing upon a perfection in the self.
I’m quite a humbug. And there is one power that is slowly fading in it’s neglect. I wish to pick up the pen again. I wish to pick up the pen, and begin writing, even if the day's worth of writing might come to nothing.
All the things that I write, though, don't belong here. I write these sentences, and then give up on a developing story. I proceed five pages, and then suddenly realize that the plot is dissolving. Sometimes, I halt confused. An other times, I continue and still not find it worthy enough for this space. You see, essays not always develop into wonderful things. Not all sentences become research papers, and not every thought, a story.
Yet, I decided to write, atleast a paragraph everyday: it would help me keep in touch with writing, and exercise the brain.
I began stories like so:
“The second month of the summer solstice. The heat is enervating below the mango tree, refusing to dissipate, adamant and furious. He burns her olive skin but she’s unafraid of tans. Reaching for the ripened fruits and irritated by the scratches on the palm, the thieving proves itself difficult. Before they wake from afternoon naps, she’s sprinting across the open fields, snakelike and victorious— beautiful in stolen moments, the unknown outcast.”
And didn't know how to proceed. But it was a little bit of creative writing for the day, and I didn't wish to throw it away, even if a story might never grow out of these lines. I didn't know what to do.
And such excerpts, such ramblings, such notes to self: I decided to store away in my repository. I have named her SillyIntelligence. Aptly so.
Someday, I hope to transcribe these writings into something more fruitful.
Until these little notes, excerpts, and pictures grow to become stories, I shall put them in the little shoe box and hope for a better day.
Go here if you wish to read up on the smaller things.