Words don't come to me now-a-days. Words I can Write out and effectively record. Words that shout out my disapproval or critique or even appreciation. At least not as easily as they came to me about 6 months ago.
It's not that I have lost the desire to write, it's just that I'm not in the right mind to sit at my desk and invest three or four hours in writing. I have something going on in my life right now which is taking up all my time.
My day begins and ends without me even realizing where I lost the past 24 hours.
I've never been more busy and I've never been so full of bristling energy and enthusiasm. So I'm happy to stay away from writing as long as I know I'm spending my time doing something worthwhile instead.
Besides one cannot write when one has nothing significant to say or express.
There was a time when blogging was for the sake of sometimes sycophantic sometimes positively awestruck comments, likes on my Facebook page, changing the template for the umpteenth time and taking part in blogging contests in the hopes of getting some recognition, some form of tangible proof of the fact that at least in this virtual spatial plane, my writing matters.
But then time passes and you change, evolve and mature. Unlike other people, you realize that writing is not just a hobby for you or a way to relieve pent up stress. It is a much more important and vital part of your existence which you revere in a way you didn't even know of.
So this is why I haven't written a single line in over five months now. Because I want to write when I feel it will hold some meaning, some significance.
There were times when I gave in to inner paranoia and couldn't help but wonder, will I be able to write again? Was blogging just a childish game for me? or the latest fad which I had busied myself with? Was I writing because I could afford the time back then and quit the moment real life came calling?
As it turns out I was wrong. I can still write. I am writing right now and it is making me feel alive like never before. Inside my head at this very moment, is a mess - of words, of expressions, of emotions, of things I don't fully comprehend yet, all dying to coalesce together and manifest themselves in pages of coherent thought.
I have found my words again. And it's all thanks to Haruki Murakami, who of course needs no introduction. (There's google, if you do need an introduction though)
"Sputnik Sweetheart" in the course of just one day, has helped me rekindle my relationship with my creative side that had eluded me for a while.
And boy have I ever felt more relieved for choosing to read Murakami when I was feeling a bit out of it?
If you have read my blog before, you know that I have gushed about him already but now I feel I wasn't able to do justice to his creative genius in the review of Norwegian Wood. An author of his stature deserves to be accoladed in a greater and much better way.
Murakami's work is like an abstract painting. You can never fully grasp the meaning the artist intended to convey or the underlying message it carries as it's always open to interpretation by the reader. But what you are instantly struck by is the seductive beauty of the vignettes he creates.
You can't help but plunge headlong into the enigmatic tale he spins. You are slowly but gradually pulled into the core of it without even realizing that you are engrossed so deeply that you cannot pull away of your own volition. Like an ingenious magician commanding the attention of his viewers on stage, he makes you build unshakable faith in the illusions he begets.
Murakami does not ever want you to fully understand what's happening, because if you do, the charm, the magic melts into oblivion robbing his writing of its unique surreal quality. But at the same time, you do understand...at least as much as its necessary to connect with his characters and their psyche.
He has the unparalleled ability of stringing together the main narrative and the psychological repercussions the happenings have on the central characters in a way such that both meld into one entity, indistinguishable from the other.
And not even once do you feel that the story has lost its clarity.
In the world Murakami envisages, nearly anything is possible and legitimately so.
His writings are bound to provide you with intellectual as well as emotional stimulation especially if you're low on inspiration. And create gateways to a whole new dimension, where your imagination knows no constraints and can conjure up delightfully distorted images without having to forego a touch with reality.
And that is why, at this very moment, he is my one true Sputnik Sweetheart.
It's not that I have lost the desire to write, it's just that I'm not in the right mind to sit at my desk and invest three or four hours in writing. I have something going on in my life right now which is taking up all my time.
My day begins and ends without me even realizing where I lost the past 24 hours.
I've never been more busy and I've never been so full of bristling energy and enthusiasm. So I'm happy to stay away from writing as long as I know I'm spending my time doing something worthwhile instead.
Besides one cannot write when one has nothing significant to say or express.
There was a time when blogging was for the sake of sometimes sycophantic sometimes positively awestruck comments, likes on my Facebook page, changing the template for the umpteenth time and taking part in blogging contests in the hopes of getting some recognition, some form of tangible proof of the fact that at least in this virtual spatial plane, my writing matters.
But then time passes and you change, evolve and mature. Unlike other people, you realize that writing is not just a hobby for you or a way to relieve pent up stress. It is a much more important and vital part of your existence which you revere in a way you didn't even know of.
So this is why I haven't written a single line in over five months now. Because I want to write when I feel it will hold some meaning, some significance.
There were times when I gave in to inner paranoia and couldn't help but wonder, will I be able to write again? Was blogging just a childish game for me? or the latest fad which I had busied myself with? Was I writing because I could afford the time back then and quit the moment real life came calling?
As it turns out I was wrong. I can still write. I am writing right now and it is making me feel alive like never before. Inside my head at this very moment, is a mess - of words, of expressions, of emotions, of things I don't fully comprehend yet, all dying to coalesce together and manifest themselves in pages of coherent thought.
I have found my words again. And it's all thanks to Haruki Murakami, who of course needs no introduction. (There's google, if you do need an introduction though)
"Sputnik Sweetheart" in the course of just one day, has helped me rekindle my relationship with my creative side that had eluded me for a while.
And boy have I ever felt more relieved for choosing to read Murakami when I was feeling a bit out of it?
If you have read my blog before, you know that I have gushed about him already but now I feel I wasn't able to do justice to his creative genius in the review of Norwegian Wood. An author of his stature deserves to be accoladed in a greater and much better way.
Murakami's work is like an abstract painting. You can never fully grasp the meaning the artist intended to convey or the underlying message it carries as it's always open to interpretation by the reader. But what you are instantly struck by is the seductive beauty of the vignettes he creates.
You can't help but plunge headlong into the enigmatic tale he spins. You are slowly but gradually pulled into the core of it without even realizing that you are engrossed so deeply that you cannot pull away of your own volition. Like an ingenious magician commanding the attention of his viewers on stage, he makes you build unshakable faith in the illusions he begets.
Murakami does not ever want you to fully understand what's happening, because if you do, the charm, the magic melts into oblivion robbing his writing of its unique surreal quality. But at the same time, you do understand...at least as much as its necessary to connect with his characters and their psyche.
He has the unparalleled ability of stringing together the main narrative and the psychological repercussions the happenings have on the central characters in a way such that both meld into one entity, indistinguishable from the other.
And not even once do you feel that the story has lost its clarity.
In the world Murakami envisages, nearly anything is possible and legitimately so.
His writings are bound to provide you with intellectual as well as emotional stimulation especially if you're low on inspiration. And create gateways to a whole new dimension, where your imagination knows no constraints and can conjure up delightfully distorted images without having to forego a touch with reality.
And that is why, at this very moment, he is my one true Sputnik Sweetheart.
