Mornings

As she closed the door to her apartment building, her eyes were met with the chaos of early morning commuters. She stood on the stairs leading up to the side walk and breathed in the air which by now had grown stale due to the pollution. It was the beginning of summer that brought with it the perfect mix of pleasant breeze with rays of sunshine reflecting on the cars parked on the curb.

She walked and with her walked the illusion. She imagined talking at that meeting, “with 20% increase in company’s…” It was the same meeting which she dreaded owing to the presence of that one person; her coworker. More specifically her ex project partner whose face she could now perfectly imagine sneering at her. She lost a little bit of control as her imagination focused on her.

That face which forever was stuck in that same scowl. “I don’t like you and why don’t you get out of my face,” she yelled at her, only to be brought back into the reality by the smile of her neighbor, she smiled back.

Reason I Left…

Dream– A car speeding down on the asphalt. The sound of waves crashing on the shore, she looks out. The architecture grabs her attention. We’re in Russia, she thinks. Looming above the water, was the structure whose design was so different. It had two parts to it: one tall, straight tower much like the Burj Khalifa and the other angling down in the water. The part pointing towards the water was made of chain like design. She sees her father chatting with the cab driver.

Reality– Somewhere far away, he woke up with a start. Inside the darkness of the room, only his silhouette is visible. Which now is sitting up, hands in his hair. In the few moments after gaining bearings, a thought resurfaces “so you’re gone.” He touches his throat “why do I feel parched?” The clock struck nine. He looks at it as of dazed, “it’s been nine months.”

Actual memory– Click, click, her father’s fingers pressing the DSLR’s buttons. She snaps at him, “put it away Baba!” his cheeks turned the tale tell color of red. He puts it away murmuring, “my first time…away…” She fixes her hair, the ring finger adorned with a diamond ring. “There are a lot of hotels here. Are you here for long?” She glared at the driver. “Yes, we are here to meet her mother, my ex wife. She is getting married soon…” She cut him “why don’t we invite him for the wedding too.” The retort was met with silence. To an outsider her language shifted from English to another when speaking to her father. The cab stops. There was another unique piece of architecture. It covers the walkway but ends on the other side of the water. More like a canopy for the for those walking. She registers the place with awe.

Reality– The only light comes from the window. It’s full moon, the silence, piercing. A typewriter with a page tucked in: his unfinished manuscript. The light coming from the fridge reveals eyes that haven’t had a good night sleep. He walks up to the fridge and opens it. The first thing that catches his attention is the light pink colored envelop tacked to the inside of it. It was sealed. He takes it off. “You’re so forgetful,” she had smiled while saying it.

Nightmare– Scene changes. She is inside a room.There is her mother and her sister whose just gone to use the bathroom. The light is pale and the door (both inside the room and the one to go outside) are made of wood. She is given a candy by an old lady. It is lemon flavored. She can see the mirrors now. Her back was to them before.
She eats the candy. “Why is the room so fuzzy?” she looks around in confusion. “Don’t come out” she screams to her sister. Her body feels like a dead weight. Use slowly falls to the ground. The ladies were trying to open the door.

A sudden gust of wind. The curtain moves, almost like a ripple in water. He opens the envelop. One beige colored page. In cursive handwriting across it, it said “The reason I left…”

 

Hi Guys!

Sorry for not posting, it’s been ages! After summer started I have been in somewhat of a writer’s block. This story is something I have been working on for sometime. However, it’s form or style is still a bit rusty as I honestly am at an impasse on how to approach it. Any suggestions or critique is welcome. Also let me know if any one of you face the same when it comes to writing.

Have a nice day!

 

FAQ: How do I write a cover letter?

Publishing Interns

HOO BOY. This is a big one. Don’t feel like you need to read this all in one go, but think of it like a master list of resources to check if you have any doubts. I’ve also had a little help from my friends, who are both amazing and far more knowledgeable than I:

  • Sarah Fortune, otherwise known as the worlds youngest publishing manager (24!!) and the person who inflicted me upon John Blake Publishing.
  • The amazing Lydia Gittins, press officer from Titan Books and all round superstar.
  • Fran Roberts, marketing machine at DK, SYP extraordinaire and owner of the worlds best floral skirt collection
  • And finally I also have special permission from legendary publishing rockstar Sam Missingham to include her #CVLetterTips, so watch out for those!

Now LETS GET STARTED!

Making sure your cover letter is effective is a huge pain in the ass, but…

View original post 4,346 more words

Closed Door

A blank page. A random tune stuck in my head, playing on loop. An idea that wants to be explored. I have something to say, but words fail me. I am a student, a writer, a girl but most important of all, a dreamer. Not the regular kind but a day dreamer. I can ride the clouds, meet the President or even stand on top of Mount Everest. All of it, without leaving my chair. But for the longest time there is a thought or rather an image or fantasy or what have you, which is not leaving my side. I walk out the door of my house with it. I wait for the bus with it. I even sit in the library with it. All of it has one thing in common. Me, alone and time. I feel as if I have a lot of it.

So back to my imagination. I imagine conversations. Lately it’s only surrounding one person. I met him in real life for a total of three or four times. Rest is just me wanting to take it all in. I wanted more. So the story continues as they say. I wondered how this person would be in their home. Or if they’d have a home. Or what if he is lonely? But no one is lonely right. All of us have people around them. May be I see others the way I feel inside. All of my characters are alone. I don’t know why.

Now I want that person to go away. I want that imagination to go away. I actually want to live my life alone. It’s weird how people affect me. I hate crowds. I don’t like when others get in my space. I am not anti social. I don’t hate others. I want others so bad that it scares me. People scare me. They are the most cruel and silent killers. You know how, they smile, they let you get your guards down, they minute you get get comfortable. Boom! They are gone. I like books instead. They stay.

For every story’s character there is a back story. There should be one for me right. In a nutshell I am a foreigner. I have carried this burden of being alone in a crowd ever since I was a kid. I wanted friends. They look good in movies. Especially in those montages. Everyone is happy and there are lots of hugs to go around. I miss hugs. In school, not in my country but the one I live in now, I had a group. They too left. The time I didn’t even do anything. Doctors said it was depression. I took blue colored pills. One pill to take the pain away. I didn’t have scars on my body. It was all inside. I miss that touch. That feeling of seeing smiling faces who knew me. Or even the feeling of not having people’s smile making my skin crawl.

There is a door that had closed, locking me in. I have to push that door open. I don’t know how to. My arms ache with the efforts. I find strength. I try. I fail. I stand up. I try again. Over and over and over again. This time the door won’t stay shut for long.

This is Why Character Development Takes So Long to Master

On character arcs and developing strong characters

A Writer's Path



by Meg Dowell

On a page, you are in control of time. Outside of it, you aren’t.

I have read and experienced many fascinating stories in my lifetime.

I have also experienced many poorly executed stories.

The deal breaker for me are a story’s characters. If, by the climax of a story, I do not care what happens to them, if I am not devastated by the possibility of an imaginary person failing or dying, then I cannot in good conscience call it a good story.

View original post 1,076 more words

Living in Oblivion

People who wore masks around their eyes.
Oblivous to everything,
living in a state of delirium,
everything decaying and disturbing,
around them,
With a dreamlike ease.
To survive the tyranny of his rule.
The outsider saw an over exaggerated circus,
cracks and peeling still visible,
like make up one had woken up with.