My first piece of writing was fiction. I wrote a long short-story about an assasin who falls in love with his target and ends up saving her life. Cliché, but it was my first story.
I titled it ‘Summer Fields’.
Since then, I plunge into my repertoire of fiction once a year and read Summer Fields all over again. Strangely, as the years pass, I’m still waiting to be embarrassed about my first piece of writing as I feel with my other pieces, even some I’ve published on Medium.
But Summer Fields doesn’t embarrass me.
Granted, the story wasn’t as…
In eighteen years of reading, I’ve never read a book like this.
I’m all for unlikeable, faulty characters but only when I can understand their motivations.
Lauren Groff is one of my favourite literary authors. I have already reviewed another work of hers, Delicate Little Birds. Since I loved that one so much, I decided to pick up her 400-page marriage saga — Fates and Furies. It was shortlisted for the National Book Award in 2015.
The story is split in the middle, and then repeated. Basically, the events are the same, just told twice from different narratives. …
Until a couple of years ago, I used to be proud of my multi-tasking skills. I loved deadlines, too. I felt that I work better under pressure.
You know that thrill when there is a sense of urgent purpose to every little task you perform? As if you’re in the final level of Temple Run?
It took me a few years and several life-breakdowns to realize that Temple Run is infinite. So are urgent deadlines.
In my 20s, my entire life was work. I was dating a nightmare. I got entangled in a soul-sucking friendship and to make…
Existential musings of an anonymous writer
Can I call myself a writer?
Perhaps, it is prudent to first ask — Who is a writer?
I say, a writer is one who writes. Period. If you choose to not insert any ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ before it, my definition would suffice.
Let’s check Google.
A Short Story
As soon as she entered the office, Serina was asked to lie down.
Is this some trick?
Sighing, she flopped on the recliner bed.
Hate you, Mom.
“Okay, all aboard. Let’s go!” announced Dr. Preethi like a pretend pilot. She was a middle-aged Indian woman with wild black curls, and a soft yet stern look that spelt business.
“So, what changed your mind to come over?”
Sinking into the fluffy bed, Serina searched her memory.
Best be straight.
Licking her lips, Serina grumbled, “My mother.”
Dr. Preethi twirled her finger rings. …
Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t a writer.
Let’s be honest: the success of our lives today is measured by how comfortable it is. A creative pursuit, however, means accepting endless and complex emotional discomfort.
An artist contemplates the minutest detail of life until it churns inside her being like a whirlpool of bile. They go through life questioning, deep down, whether they really understand themselves, and knowing that very few will ever understand them.
Therefore, an artist is forever in need of wise counsel.
Over a hundred years ago, from 1903 to 1908, Austrian poet Rain Maria Rilke wrote ten…
I have been, let’s just say, going through a lot since 2021.
2020 was strangely good. I was able to write a lot and cook a lot because, all this free time. My husband and I spent way too much time cuddling in front of the television while still being able to bring in a decent income.
But towards the end of it though, horrible things happened. It was an old pattern/trigger of ‘familial drama’, something that plagues a lot of us. We know how to manage them. …
The year was 1942. Nazis were occupying Europe. The Dutch government had already surrendered in 1940 and now, the Jews were being openly persecuted.
It was in July 1942 that 13-year-old Anne Frank and her family went into hiding in a Secret Annexe carved into her father’s office building. The reason: Anne’s sister Margot had received a notice to present herself before the SS (Schutzstaffel).
“Anne and her family lived in the Secret Annexe for 2 years before they were arrested and sent to Auschwitz”.
Anne’s life was difficult. There were eight people hiding in the Secret Annexe. People shared…
She often wondered whether time had stopped. Aeons had elapsed since she’d met him, or so it seemed to her. She tried not to think about the future, but that was all she could think of. As if to dampen her spirits further, he seemed rather aloof on phone calls. Could it be that he had found out the truth about his father? Or the circumstances of her departure from his father’s life.
The thought nauseated her. The cookie in her mouth turned to ash. Anu picked her mobile phone and opened the photo gallery. Sarthak was staring at a…
I eat diamonds for breakfast. Lawyer. Writer. Popular Loner. Top Writer on Quora ~ 2016, 2018.