Republishing this story to reminiscence Ollie, beloved dog who turned into an angel yesterday. He was the muse for this story. Full of life and antics, he was much admired and loved across the blogging community. I hope he continues chasing squirrels where he has gone.
Perseverance, eh?
I am currently reading a novel “Sealed Divine Throne” by Tang Jia San Shao, which is a translation of a Chinese web novel. It is a journey of a light-element hero, Long Haochen, from age 8 onwards. After 600+ episodes, I have reached age 25 and am still a long way from the end. Out of the original 72 demon gods, he still needs to kill 67. So, at least 600 episodes more.
Hats off to the writer who has built an entire world based on calculated spiritual energy and tool-based magic. The thing that has kept me wondering the most is the perseverance of the writer (and the character too, of course). To stick to a set of characters for so long and let them grow bit by bit…
It is something I wish to achieve one day. Right now, it is a struggle to stick to a story for a week. Even in school, I was one to write the shortest answers. During exams, other people used to fill two or more sheets and ask for more until the examiners ran out of paper. But I was bent on conserving natural resources and hold the record for saving half the pages of examination answer sheets.
So, when I started out as a short story writer, I kept it really short–I mean really tiny-winy three-four lines. Since my sole audience was my two-year old daughter, she never complained. It is difficult to explain the aesthetic side of a stork’s journey down the crocodile’s stomach. She would certainly ask intelligent questions, like how come the stork’s beak managed to get inside and how on earth did the crocodile digest it, but I never had to write it in The Lord of Rings detail.
And then I attended one-hour workshop on tiny story writing at work. Bingo! I could write three-line stories for adults! As an instructional designer, the “conciseness” suited my temperament–my motto had always been that if it can be written in a half-a-word, why use a full word–sheer wastage of energy! (This rule only applies to writing. Otherwise, I am certified chatterbox.)
So, naturally I never felt the need to expand when I published my book, The Forest Bed and Other Short Stories. It had 30 stories with a word count of 100-200 each–most of the pages were filled with illustrations instead. The stories were still longer than I normally would write. But I realised that I had to to reach a minimum count of words to call it a story book.
After that I strived to write longer stories. But they take too long to finish. For me, anything that I can’t finish in a single sitting is a lost cause. I will most certainly forget about it the next time I open my computer.
So, I was wondering how people manage to write long novels/serials.
Do you have any suggestions regrading how to stick to a story for a long time?
Yesterday
She stands in middle of the raucous party.
–
Do I dare?
No, I don’t.
Of course, I choose to live in the past.
It is the safest place to be.
There are no risks, no uncertainties–
just plain solid facts.
There are are a few regrets
but I can always shrug them off as past.
–
Do I dare?
No, I can’t.
Future is steeped in risk.
Can’t get there
without weathering some storms
or facing my demons!
Can’t strive, plan, fail…face fresh hurt–
Too full of blows from the past.
At least they didn’t manage to kill me…yet.
Can’t move on.
–
Do I dare?
No, I won’t.
I sneak a peek at her across the hall
while trying to ignore her.
She smiles in my direction.
I frown at the pain in my chest
in the hole filled with resignation.
Ah! I forgot to breath!
–
Do I dare?
Don’t I stand on the mountain of hurt
collected in years past?
Will I be able to get past?
She is looking here expectantly–
a smile playing on her mischievous lips.
–
Do I dare?
May be…
I smile back and step forward…
The past still hurts.
Well, one baby step at a time.
Leaf Sheep Sea Slug

I am a Sheep Leaf Sea Slug.
Residing within deep ocean of myriad thoughts;
Eating chloroplast made by others;
Absorbing plots, phrases, ideas;
Using them for my own photosynthesis;
Shaping the onslaught of stories;
Giving birth to something original;
As I turn into a plant myself.
I am Sheep Leaf Sea Slug–
I cannot exist until you do…
Author’s note: Sheep Leaf Sea slug is around one centimetre long mystery found in Japanese ocean waters. It is the only known animal able to do do photosynthesis using chloroplast made by other plants. It looks like a cute sheep that developed leaves! I saw the pic today and it was love at first sight! ๐ฅฐ
Image from https://www.facebook.com/story.php/?id=100064630361709&story_fbid=6229719240399925
Lost and Found
Weird it is that you’re seemingly lost
yet you find ways to find me;
I see through eyes that aged long back
the dreams that once defined me;
Whatever would I do if I go looking
for whoever I left behind me.
No where close to who I was
I stand to be someone I can’t stand,
My calm hides raging storm within–
lightening and thunders without rain;
Yet unyeilding shell of fake smiles,
hides rawness in the refined me.
Mirrors I hate for mocking the old me
that sold me…
Ghost
I keep waiting for you to leave,
Watching the corner where you stand
Shaking your perfect head at me;
Finding fault
picking at me.
Surely you can’t still be here.
You left without a backward glance
Reducing me to tears.
Begone the ghost
of lost years.
A Fresh Start? Ha!

Nothing changes in the new year–
Same resolutions broken on day one;
Shivering under covers in the morn;
Punctuation mistakes on files;
Playing dolls (because when do I get a choice?);
Snotty kisses that make me smile;
Bird watching under the sky;
Same good old life.
An year gone, another arrives.
I’m keeping the happy memories;
N’ letting the sad one’s slide.
Author’s note: What was you favourite part of the old year?
Cover art: By my 6-year-old daughter, taken without consent, hoping to be forgiven. At least it will get me a few likes ๐
Blue Painting – Pink Painting
She tries avoid looking in that general direction
Where, in her room, hangs the pink painting–
A gift from someone who loves but doesn’t understand.
Her eyes roam everywhere except that wall.
You could mount a stag’s head there and she wouldn’t notice.
She doesn’t want to notice
the typecast.
….
In his room, hangs a blue painting,
Something he bought along colourless clothes
To erase all doubt per chance;
Something he hated at the first glance;
A reminder of the bondage that sets him in the mould
And throws him in the inferno
Hoping he would fit the cast.
…
Wish they could switch…
Wish they do switch…
Nothing worse than a painting
That speaks against your heart.
Kash asman surkh aur zameen neeli hoti,
Sabko apna jahan khud rangne ki ijazat mili hoti.
Translation
If only the Sky was red;
If only the Land was blue;
If only everyone had the right
To colour their own view.
Author’s note: A lot is often lost in translation. Please read the last bit again with the following in mind:
Asman or Sky is considred male in Urdu while Zameen or Land is considered female.
What do think about typecasting people in gender roles?
Memories
Yu toh mukurane ki zindagi me wajah na thi,
Me tujhko yaad karta raha aur muskurata raha.
Translation:
Though life offered no reason ever to smile,
I kept thinking of you and beamed at the skies.
Darkness
Andhera tere dar pe nahi mere dil me tha;
Me dastak se darta raha; tu intezar karta raha.
Translation:
Standing in the darkness outside your door;
Willing it to open; fearing it would;
Craving the light escaping from the sides,
Steeling to face it; fearing I would;
Hoping to accept me; fearing I’m ruined;
Knowing you stand right beside the door,
Just waiting for me
to knock…