Just finished Vernon God Little... powerful writing and superb narration. Every time I read a book that moves, disturbs, reveals, understands and relates to what I’ve been through one point or the other, there’s this voice in me that keeps asserting writing is what I want to do and I better get to it asap. But then, what do I write about?
The bestsellers in my head that I need to take to the grave? Uh-huh, then can’t write about it, eh?
About the daily grind (which has now been reduced to twice-a-monthly grind or so) with the Law of the house... there you see, I have loads and loads to unload, but the whole issue is so mundane and crass and boring that it’s an effort to go through it live - once, forget the relaying bit!!
The dance drama that goes on every morning in chunks – 7am-8am, 8.30-10am, where decibel levels reach unknown heights and the lull after the show?
The feeling of having lived half your day by 10am and ready to grab a pillow by the time you reach office and switch on the computer?
The best-ever-made coffees, the elixir quotient (EQ) that only one person has the recipe to?
The pointless chats about joblessness and idle-mind’s-a-devil’s workshop?
Those getaways and slipaways to the terrace for the 10 minute breezers with the EQ and a friend?
The cursing and waiting for the three-legged vehicle to take you home?
The comforting thought that no matter what, no matter how lousy the day has been, someone’s going to be really waiting to see me.. Dolce and Gollaana?
Waiting for the kids to crash to begin our day and get the few minutes to connect, really connect?
About when I hit the pillow and wonder when I will stop wondering and start applying what I have been chanting all along about not thinking too much and just living those moments?
About whether I ever will write someday???
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