Writing a killer opening line isn’t one of my strong points. I am more aware of that as I attempt these free-writes, than I am when I work on other things with more time on my hands. I still feel obliged to come up with something to write about for these real time rambles. It’s harder than it appears. Apart from technical (i.e. grammatical) errors that lack of proofreading time does not permit to correct (for these half-hour free-writes also include editing), I also risk writing things I may have left out on other, carefully considered posts. It is especially dangerous to write these when I am in a bad mood, or just having a bad day. Though I can get quite sombre with my writing here, I don’t want any of what I write or do to be depressing. I’d hate to be the cause of misery. But then, I think this paragraph has been depressing enough.
You see, I have not begun this week in a good mood. It began excellently, for I went to watch Spy yesterday, for which I hope to have a review up tomorrow here. Maybe not as funny as Bridesmaids or The Heat, but then, it is in a totally different genre, and one of the funniest I’ve ever seen in it. Part of the reason I’ve not been in a good mood is because I haven’t been writing much lately. I have been planning around my writing, including making a list of potential topics for Of Opinions – The Book (yes, that is how creative my tentative title for it is), but I haven’t acted much on that planning. Sometimes, I wish I was able to cut all the noise around and inside me, to be able to create a mind that is fertile for writing. Instead, writing is always the disciplinarian. Same with reading. I plod through the first bit, until I find it engaging enough to gather momentum and hopefully reach the finishing line resting on that high. I guess, I hesitate because it all appears so daunting at first. To wish to write something that will be of a certain length determined by its literary form, that will be for a specific platform, and all such mundane technical details inhibit my working on it. With reading, it’s more visual and simple – the thicker it is, and the more it challenges the thickness of my mind, the more I’m likely to stay away.
And there is shame in admitting that to you. I told you about the post on cyberbullying last week, the one I had written but am still in two minds about publishing because of its personal nature. My inability to tell you about things that may potentially help me exorcise them, as well as hopefully help someone living with similar experiences, made me think about the many ways in which shame operates in everything we do. When you look at it objectively, why should a writer experiencing reluctance at reading or writing something feel that it diminishes her capacity to write? It doesn’t make sense, just as most, if not all, sources of shame don’t make sense. And yet, as a writer, I am made to feel that it is an obligation that I should know about everything worth knowing, at least within my field, and that I should be able to approach my work professionally, instead of telling people that I am unable to fulfil both obligations. Well, I am.
I tentatively titled this post Real Time Ramble: Music and Yoga, since yesterday was a World Day in celebration of both (though I found no time to do either) and it would make something topical to talk about, but that clearly didn’t happen. Another of my writing #fail(s) is the need to always come up with a title first, before I embark upon coming up with the rest. Oh well, what would writing be without the misery?