Things I Wrote At Sea
I sailed the sea to the Greek islands and Turkey, promising myself I wouldn’t blog or stress or do any of my usual. Two days in, I reached for my pen.
Writer’s Diary
SMS
1:25 a.m. is more Saturday night than Sunday morning, no matter what the calendar says. After a day of light drizzle or no rain, the clouds let themselves go again. For a few seconds all I can hear is the rain. Not the sound the ground makes as the water…
I Am Jill ‘s Last Wish
I started with a wish and turned it into a story. This is a revised version after Kavita Bhanot’s workshop on fiction writing.
My Ideas And I Often Talk To Each Other
This, she thought to herself, is uncomfortable. Bloody uncomfortable. Like being pregnant and not able to deliver. Or like being married to Prince Charming and not being able to make love to him. *Groan* Those lines might have been really good but sounded trashy. Only because…because…she gave up. I have…
Fiction | Poetry | Pop Culture
Why Mona Lisa Smiled
Who is the Mona Lisa talking to?
Memoirs Of A Story-teller
I saw a tag floating around and decided to write my own memoirs in 6 words: I strove for individuality, then acceptance.
Black and White and Red
She may have watched Gone with the Wind too many times since she only dresses in black and white. A reflection of the way she thinks. And she supposes that a penchant for red lipstick makes her friend, a close affiliate to Bozo the clown. Bozo reasons that someone who reads Kundera and Murakami,…
A Cube of Ecstacy
Her fingers paused on the edge of the key-stroke. The ceasing of the rapidfire tap-clackety-clack-tap of her keyboard sounded very loud and she glanced up guiltily to see who had noticed. No one had, apparantly, so she breathed in a slow rush of air, settling that odd fear to rest…
PenTathalon: A Mental Workout & Five Writing Exercises
The PenTathalon sounded like fun. And unnerving given its ‘Five Exercises for Fiction Writers’ description. What does a fiction writer look like, one wondered. I found out on the morning of Saturday, 3rd February.
I Am Jill’s Unfeminine Wiles
Jack’s eyes lazily scanned the room, taking in all, accommodating none. Gillian paused mid-speech, in spite of herself and her breath stuck in her throat. Then she caught herself and smoothly moved on, ramming her words into each other to create an artful slip of tongue. The ripple of amusement…