A WHISPER IN YOUR HEAD

I attended this writing workshop today. I stare at the sky, my eyes searching for the moon. My eyes fall back to the stars as my quest for the moon on a new moon day was indeed in vain. A military prop plane flies above watching over the skies. Make it two. An airliner approaches to land on the western horizon.  Is that how freedom feels like? Could they see the moon from up there? I attended this writing workshop today. Not going into the specifics but I found myself surrounded by a number of writers for whom writing meant a number of different things. It was an interactive session where I heard many say why they wrote. Some said it was a medium of expression, discovery, therapy, or even for the joy of writing. Although I don't consider myself to be an expert blogger, I do feel like there are various events that could happen regarding writing for an audience as opposed to writing for yourself. Just going to list out some ideas which I learnt today and from personal experiences...

  Dear Reader, Before I start my blog, I would like to say that my words shall never be as poignant or heartfelt as the speech given by Chief Seattle but I shall try my best to blog with the childish fascination and awe that I felt when I came across this book. The powerful words and remarkable pictures in the book do make me envy those who own a hard copy of it. (link to the text) https://archive.org/details/BrotherEagleSisterSky/page/n7/mode/2up   Brother Eagle, Sister Sky: A Message from Chief Seattle is an illustrated book by Susan Jeffers originally published in 1991. The book contains a speech given by a leader of the Northwest Indian Nations, Chief Seattle to the government in Washington D. C. responding to the buying of native land that is considered sacred by his people. Spoken about 150 years ago during the end of the wars between the natives and the colonists, his plea against the robbery and destruction of nature is simple yet moving.    ...

     Recently, running through the pages of my sketchbook which, had coincidentally turned into a journal that had more sentences than pictures, I realised that the spirit of writing has come back. Abstractly recalling the lines of Orhan Pamuk I believe, the angel of inspiration choses to reveal images and dreams only when the writer feels lonely, doubtful in his efforts, his story and the value of his art. Well then here I am running through the words on my blog. Just taking where the words take me.      Why am I here? Why am I writing or blogging again? I am writing for myself. One has to start somewhere, right? I am no expert and I hope to learn as I write away. Oh wait. Here’s something. Our department hosted an exhibition last week. Speaking of writing we put up a stall where the visitors could write a poem, one line per person. When the crowds had slowed down, I went to the stall, reading the lines people had anonymously made. Although I do not reme...