Oh lord. I miss writing. It's been more than weeks since I've opened the laptop and started pushing buttons. I had good news earlier this week. One of my short stories is being published by Penguin. It's going for their annual collection of short fiction and non-fiction stories for new Indian writers, First Proof 4. Some of the few Indian writers I admire have written for it. I even met an editor later and on -- she said we should soon start talking a book out of me. It felt good. I just hope it kicks in some inspiration to start really writing. This writer's rock I'm sitting under and this quarter life crisis I'm undergoing -- I need to get over it.
I know my writing is actually quite different from here. But I quite like writing the drivel here. It's my black page space in this big, bad world of web mess. But more than that, not that I know how many of you come here and read, I like to keep the engine of this boat running.
Speaking of which, I need a muse. Maybe it's about being alone. It could be overrated this alone-ness. There's Facebook and a strange impulse to catch up with the list of numbers on my cell phone. But still, I need to find me one.
Sure I think we're living in some strange times.