• The Lighthouse

    The Lighthouse

    The memories flooded her like a maelstrom of vivid images, half truths and naked lies. This was the reason she had put off visiting the lighthouse for so long. But a time comes when putting something off no longer works and you are forced, by circumstances or otherwise, to confront all those glorious memories. That…

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  • The end is nigh

    The end is nigh

    Boredom can have profound effects on what you write next. No I am not deleting this blog because I am bored. Neither should the title suggest that. The title just signifies that December and end of 2017 is near. Coming back to boredom, I have found it an excellent motivator in the recent past. Since…

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  • The Anatomy of a Blog Post

    The Anatomy of a Blog Post

    Since #MyFriendAlexa kicked off, I have been trying really hard to stick to a schedule of posting every Tuesday and Saturday. I had thought that would give me enough time to think and I’ll also get back to regular posting. Since I have replaced the words motivation and inspiration with discipline in my writing vocabulary,…

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  • #HappyBirthday Sister

    #HappyBirthday Sister

    Sisters are amazing creatures. They are fodder for writing. They annoy, please, trouble and save and teach you things along the way. We have screaming matches when we are together but when either of us is not at home, the other one doesn’t really know what to do with herself.

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  • Self destruct in 3…2…

    Self destruct in 3…2…

    I think I have figured out why self annihilation is so appealing – it is always easier to start afresh, wipe the slate clean, start from scratch. It may take more effort and time, and there are no guarantees that you’ll succeed this time, but it is easier to erase the board than to find…

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  • Show me the meaning

    Show me the meaning

    Why do I write – this is a dangerous question. It takes you down a never-ending hole of self-pity where you are forced to examine your inflated sense of worth and going into that hole is never a pleasant experience.

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  • The old man

    The old man

    An old man sat at a desk, his head buried into his chest, eyes closed and arms crossed across a bloated tummy. His legs were crossed too. Lips pouted in concentration, reading glasses held precariously on the nose, soft snores could be heard coming from his being. His clothes were rumpled, mismatched and faded. The…

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