Lost in a world of words, a place with no name, and a feeling that is neither this nor that – I dust off scrolls of part-time novellas that aspire to live happily ever after…
Ok. Fine. Computer files and word documents. To me it’s all the same. This time around they are just as sacred. They even have password protection. So it’s just as mysterious.
” The act of writing is an act of optimism. You would not take the trouble to do it if you felt it didn’t matter. ” Edward Albee
I hope this feeling lasts.
I hope I’m able to hang around this empty space and watch the world get painted around me. Being inspired to write feels almost like a scene out of ‘what dreams may come’ when you walk through a work in progress, a blob of paint, and it takes its own shape. It take’s it own life. It’s kinda perfect. Actually.
So while I hang around in limbo, waiting for people to return my calls and reply to my emails. I take time out to relive a story I think is worth telling. It’s changed so many times. Yet. It’s stayed exactly the same.
How does that work?
All I know is that I need a ticket to Casablanca. Actually I’ll settle for any place in Morocco. Till then I indulge with music, architecture, paintings, and fragrances. It’s all I have right now. It’s enough to entice me. It’s enough to make me daydream. It’s got me writing again. No not this blogpost. My first novella. Or at least the first to cross a publishers desk.