Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Day 235/366

Do you ever have that situation where you're too lazy to finish a conversation with someone because its already been said in your head? That's me. And I think its because of the fact that I'm constantly writing inside my head. There are days when I run to work knowing that I have pending stories. It's actually fun. And newspapers seemed the best option to channelize my writing and make enough to pay the bills.

A book is a permanent place for one's thoughts. That's why there are diaries. A novel could just be someone's diary having found a publisher, right? I mean, it's a matter of luck to have one's writings noticed and picked up by kind publishers. It's not so much about the fact that the book was launched. It should be enough that you got to tell your story.

I stopped at one of those road side book stalls. You know, the book vendors who sell it on carts. I saw Urban Shots & Down the road there and when I asked how much it costs, he said 100 and was willing to go even lower just to make a sale. The first thought that crossed my mind wasn't that I'm going to be losing out on royalty because of this. We're in a world where piracy is too widespread. I just felt happy that more people could pick up a book with 28 stories on campus life and be transported back to their school or college days. That's what counts, right? The value of the words. If someone can't afford to go to Crosswords but people enjoys reading, they can still read others' experiences. And its great that anthologies like this are coming up because it doesn't need you to be a published author or famous. You're just telling your story. And to have a platform to do that and any age is a pretty amazing feeling!

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Day 224/366


The written word would thrill her still
But the lust for it had gone
To read a novel or book of poetry-
Become too tedious a task.

In her twisted little head,
Was no dearth of fairy tales
But the grown up in her said “No”

Am I literature-dead?
She would ask herself
Without getting a satisfactory reply.

She would dream of new places constantly-
Of travelogues and stranger’s tales,
Of Neruda’s love and postmen,
Of palaces and queens.

When reality would took its ugly form,
And no time was there to read.
She killed herself by letting go
Until she was brain-dead.