The Accident

Image copyright: Marie Gail Stratford

Looking back on that fated day, I feel it was an omen. We first met at a bar, where I was sitting drunk, nursing my bottle of vodka. 

You looked into my eyes and smiled, I fell for you then and there. Or maybe, it was the offer to buy me a drink seeing my condition. 

Either ways, I had no regrets when I woke up the next morning in your bed, wearing your shirt.

It was meant to be a one night stand but the two pink lines that I saw on the pregnancy kit today, told me otherwise. 

This drabble is written for Friday Fictioneers- 26th September for the above photo prompt. 

A Writer's Dilemma

Image courtesy: Google

I was ready to tear my hair out in frustration; the very purpose of this visit was lost. Here I was, a struggling writer who wanted some peace and quiet, sitting secluded in my hotel room. 

Just a minor hiccup- I could't write; call it writer's block or simply the lack of creative juices flowing when I needed it the most. 

I was confused, such breathtaking sights outside the window that called out to me and the inability to concentrate on what my protagonist needed, on the other hand. 

The breeze, crisp and fresh, wafted in through the open window, caressing my face; I shut down my laptop and went outside, where hopefully, the answers would greet me. 

This post is written for Five sentence fiction for Confusion at Lillie McFerrin Writes.

A Stranger in You

Image courtesy: Google

We met as strangers; a heady combination of my lavender against your woody aftershave. A secret glance, when you thought I was not looking. An amused smile. We were opposites, poles apart from each other. And maybe, that was what drew us together. 

I was a writer, books were my entire life. But you, on the other hand, didn't even glance at a book unless it included Sports Illustrated. 

Never had I dreamt in a million years that I would find myself besotted with someone like you. Six months was all that we got to know about each other. Yet, it felt like six years, the end of which I knew right away that you were the One. 

Years have passed, at times I've felt that I know you like the back of my hand. But there are days when you remain a mystery, eluding me like a stranger. There had been a lot who had thought that it would never work out between the both of us. That there was no way on earth that we could exist together. 

But with each passing day, we proved them wrong. Sure, there are days when I feel like I've totally lost it. Yet, you hang in there with me, patiently. 

And here we are today. As strangers we met, but now the very idea of life seems bleak without you in it. 

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Book Review- Scandalous Housewives: Mumbai by Madhuri Banerjee

Madhuri Banerjee is a writer that I love reading immensely. She has the talent of hooking your interest right from page one. So when I saw her latest on Flipkart, I didn't think twice about clicking on the 'Buy' button. I have been following the author on her blog for a long time now and I love the way she tackles subjects like sex and relationships. 

From the book cover- Sapphire Towers: just another residential high-rise in Mumbai where the humdrum routine of daily life carries on with clockwork precision. But, beneath the tranquil surface lurks a web of deceit and lies spun by a group of lonely housewives.

Gita, frustrated mother of two young daughters, longs to escape the monotony of her marriage—and lusts after a forbidden relationship. Sarita, conservative Gujarati housewife and mother, is addicted to kinky sex and pays a dear price for it. Stylish working mother, Aarti, nurses an appalling secret that could end her marriage. And sultry ex-model Natasha, who seems to have it all, is hopelessly in love with a much younger man—the son of one of her friends.

Even as these women scramble to conceal their darkest secrets, an anonymous email is sent out to all the residents of Sapphire Towers, and has horrific consequences.

Racy and unputdownable, Scandalous Housewives: Mumbai is the first book in the sizzling new series by bestselling author Madhuri Banerjee, which  tell the stories of the unsung housewives of urban India who will go to any lengths to fulfil their deepest, darkest desires.

My Take: When I read the blurb and the title of the book, I was reminded about the popular TV show - Desperate Housewives that I had recently finished watching. I was a bit disappointed at first when I felt it was too similar to the TV show. Natasha, the ex-model reminded me of Gabrielle Solis in the show who has an affair with a younger man and the stylish working mother- Aarti reminded me of Lynette Scavo. But that was where the resemblance ended. 

A few pages into the novel and I was engrossed well into the story. I loved how the author has chosen to end each chapter in suspense, making the reader want to continue to the next one. At first, I was bit irritated and skeptical since a lot of the housewives are portrayed to be doormats to their husbands and in-laws, even though all of them are strong willed and educated. 

But towards the end of the story, I'm glad to say that my assumption went for a toss. All the four housewives are believable and are the women we see around us, if we look carefully. As Gita begins an affair with her brother-in-law, Aarti bumps into her ex at a party-who offers her all that is missing in her marriage. While Natasha has a fling with her best friend Sarita's son, Sarita and her husband have their own secrets in their bedroom, one that can be quite scandalous when it comes out.

The turning point of the story is the anonymous email that gets circulated among the residents of Sapphire Towers threatening to reveal all the deadly secrets that the housewives guard with all their heart. The story is engrossing and keeps your interest right till the last page. I finished reading the book in couple of days straight as I simply had to know what happened next. 

The sex scenes in the book are nicely done without being vulgar. Madhuri also writes about a lot of issues that many urban families would like to keep under wraps- be it the bedroom secrets, handling adolescents or the choices that a woman is forced to make by the so called society.  If you like reading books by Shobhaa De like me, then this is the book for you. Though the novels written by Shobhaa De have a stronger plot line and her heroines are much more reckless, Madhuri's stories are much more toned down making it a lot more believable, if you know what I mean. 

What I didn't like was the book cover. I really wish the publishers could have picked up a more suitable jacket that did justice to the story inside. Though I have read all the novels by Madhuri, I must say that this was her best one so far. I have enjoyed reading her previous works but she handles a lot of sensitive issues in this one, that its hard to ignore the fact. It's rather evident how much she has grown as a writer with Scandalous Housewives. I would definitely give this one a four stars on five. 

I highly recommend this book if you like reading Indian writers like Shobhaa De. It's a very well written and edited book and I'm sure that you would not regret a waste of money or time after reading this one. This one is a part of a series and I know that I would grab the next one as soon as it's out! Moreover, you shall get all the answers to the one question that is written on the book cover:

What happens when what lies between the sheets becomes the linen that is washed in public?

Bottom line- I loved it!

Solace

Image courtesy: Tumblr

I spent my whole life 

Searching for the one thing

That would make it whole

In people, places, things

But now I know that 

Happiness comes from within

And the only person that can 

Give you solace is yourself

Book Review- Seeing the Girl by Anuradha Vijayakrishnan

For me, there have been two types of books- ones that are remembered for its brilliant story line and the ones that are remembered for the beautiful narration and language, even thought the story may not be one where there are a lot of twist and turns. Seeing the girl belongs to the latter category. 

From the book cover: Seeing the girl is the story of three women who live inside one another's lives dangerously. Janaki is poised to enter into a conventional 'arranged marriage' when unanticipated events break out. A marriage takes place; a daughter is exiled from the sanctuary of her home while the other struggles to build a life. Then someone dies, caught in the vindictive shadow-play of life and secrets that must stay buried. 

Janaki narrates this dark and intricate story, pausing to let Amma and Leela too interweave their versions of the truth. Yet the story never ends: the survivors are merely tired victims who must outlive every fatal tragedy.

My take: The novel is narrated in the first person by Janaki or Janu, as she is called, the protagonist. Her mother and sister- Leela are given a chance to tell their side of the story as well. What I loved about the book is its beautiful and lyrical prose that the author has used. Sprinkled with the right dose of Malayalam words that are essential to the crux of the story, many a time, I felt that it was woven together like a poem. 

The reason could be that the author herself has confessed to poetry being her first love. It is evident from the way she narrates and being her debut novel, it certainly calls for a loud cheer. Her writing reminded me of Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, a personal favorite author. The story even reminded me of her 'Sister of my heart'. Though both books talk about the relationship between sisters, Anuradha dwells into the darker corners of their thoughts and secrets. 

When Rohit, the boy who had come 'to see' Janaki, eventually gets married to Leela, it sets about a turn of events for which there are grave consequences. Also playing an important role in the story is Chitra-Kunjamma, her father's first cousin. 

The book is not too long (290 pages) and I was finished with it in a few days. I loved how the story had started off, but felt it was a bit dragging towards the middle. Like I mentioned before, it is not a book which actually moves forward with a lot of twist and turns. It gives us insights into the female mind - the love and the destruction that a woman is capable of. 

I would give this one a three stars on five. Being from Kerala, I could relate to a lot in the story- the stereotypes that a woman is often subjected to, the decisions that she is forced to make. I also loved Janaki, with all her faults and fears. This is one book which has to be read patiently. Give it a read if you are prepared to do so! 

World Gratitude Day

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Like mentioned on Write Tribe here, expressing gratitude should be a daily practice. But since a lot of us are busy running around with our lives, it's nice to have a day to remember all those things and people that you are blessed with, right? So, take a moment and write down all that you are grateful for. 

Here goes my list:

~ I'm grateful for the wonderful people I have in my life. My family and friends, who have always stood by side. 

~ I'm grateful for the little joys that life offers me everyday. Like the smell of baking muffins or a mug of hot coffee. 

~ I'm grateful that I'm gifted with the power of sight. Something that I've always taken for granted. But without eyes, there would be no seeing or reading. 

~ I'm grateful for the gift of writing, no matter how small it may be. Writing is a blessing.

~ I'm grateful that I have the luxury to splurge on things that I want, once in a while. And I'm also thankful that what I own doesn't define me. It never will.

~ I'm grateful for the many many books that I own today. Those are the truly priceless treasures in my life. 

~ I'm grateful for the trust and faith that a lot of people have in me. You are my rock. 

~ I'm grateful to you, my readers. Without your honest feedback and criticism, I would never have come so far. Thank you!

~ I'm grateful that I got the chance to be published. Seeing your name on print is a breathtaking feeling. 

~ And more than ever, I'm grateful for the gift of life. To be alive, breathing and living. 

So, what are you grateful for today? I would love to hear your thoughts! 

Forever and more...

Image courtesy: Google

They said that grief was a strange thing, it tears you apart, leaving scars that are invisible; but they also said that this pain, this dull ache which holds you in its clutches would diminish over time. Then why is it that even after ten years, the pain still seems like a fresh wound, the skin around it like a sore infection, which refuses to heal? 

Janet stood near the tombstone of her dead husband and wiped away the tears that had begun to form from the corner of her eyes. He had promised he would be there with her forever; he was the one who held her hand as she battled breast cancer and he was the one who had wiped away her tears and fears as she lost her hair to chemo. 

But today, as his tombstone stood blurred before her eyes, she smiled for the first time in a long time seeing the tiny yellow flower which had grown beside it, keeping him company; he was no longer alone and strangely enough, neither was she. 

This post is written for Five sentence fiction for Grief at Lillie McFerrin Writes.

On 'Message in a Bottle' and 'Carrie'

It's been one week since I blogged last. Blame it on my laziness or the convenient writer's block which is usually the scapegoat for the former reason. But either ways, I did miss writing. Personally I feel that though a break can be good, I find it hard to get back to writing after a gap. Maybe, it's just me. But writing regularly is like working out regularly. You start getting better at and it begins to show :) I shall consciously make an effort to blog more often. I miss the me that I'm when I write and let my thoughts flow. Sometimes, I wonder about how delightful it would be if one could just let your thoughts be transformed straight into beautiful words. But then, I guess the fun of writing would be gone. You won't be able to feel the words flow from your fingers and that's one thing that makes writing worthwhile, doesn't it? 

Of course, that's just one of the reasons to write. Sometimes, you need to write because that is the only way there is. You write because you find yourself through it; you find joy in hearing the sound that your pencil makes when it scratches against paper. But the one thing that I can't live without, even if I don't write regularly is to read. And read I did. Two wonderful books by two different authors in two extreme genres- romance and horror. Yes, I read 'Message in a Bottle' by Nicholas Sparks and 'Carrie' by Stephen King. 

About 'Message in a Bottle':

I do enjoy reading Nicholas Sparks from time to time and had seen the movie based on this book long back. I'd forgotten most of it by now, but what I did remember was that I'd enjoyed it immensely. With that in mind, I picked up this book. 

When Theresa, single, divorced and mother to a twelve year old boy, discovers a message in a bottle on a morning during her run on the beach, she is surprised to say the least. What she expects to be the whim of a child reveals itself to be a heart wrenching letter written to a Catherine by her lover- Garrett. Being a columnist, her curiosity is aroused and she soon discovers couple more of these letters by chance, received by different people. 

What starts off as a journey to discover the face behind these touching letters, soon turns into something which is beyond her control. As she meets Garrett and falls in love with him, the invisible presence of Catherine casts a dull shadow over their relationship. I'm not going to talk more about the story as you would have to find it out yourself or it would take the fun out of reading the book. 

But, what I can tell you is this- be prepared to be left teary eyed when you finish with it. You will find the magic with which Sparks moves you, with each and every word he has written. I loved this one! But the best part of the book are, of course, the beautiful beautiful letters that Garrett writes. It's no surprise that women fall so hard for writers who have the ability to move you through their words! I would give this a four stars on five. 

About 'Carrie':

Ironic as it may sound, Carrie is the first book by Stephen King that I read. Yes and it was only last week! Anyhow, better late than never, right? Especially when it comes to writers like King. Carrie tells the story of the seventeen year old Carrie White who is the butt of cruel jokes and pranks in her school. From being controlled by a religious fanatic of a mother and being made constant fun of by her peers, one can't help but feel sympathy for the confused teenager. 

But there is one thing which makes Carrie special, a secret which she harbors. She has telekinetic powers, the ability to move objects using her mind. King builds the story well towards a powerful climax- on the night of the prom. 

The story is narrated through paper clipping and from newspapers, magazines and excerpts from books. It simultaneously also narrates what Carrie was actually going through. I would give it a three stars on five simply because I didn't enjoy the narration in some places. The articles and magazine clippings seemed a bit too drab for my taste. Thankfully, that was only in a few places as I loved the book and the story. 

King has done full justice to each of the characters- be it her mother or her classmates like Sue and Chris. A book not to be missed if you are a fan of the horror genre, like me. And a must read for all King fans. Even if you are not one, you just might turn one after reading this!  

Second Birth

Image copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

We looked at each other across the camp fire. It was a full moon night. I can feel the warmth spread across my face. Was it just because of the fire? Or was it because of the passion that threatened to burn me down, reflected in your eyes like burning embers?

The fire has almost died out. The cold wind blowing our way adds to the chill. You come closer, hold me tight and nuzzle my neck. I'm apprehensive. But the pain is sharp; instant. You draw back and I can see your fangs that are tinged with my blood. 

This drabble is written for Friday Fictioneers- 5th September for the above photo prompt. 

Grey

Image courtesy: Google

It was a new academic year in school and I was excited in going back. I loved my job, more so because I loved the little children, with all their innocence. They made me believe that the world is a better place. Even though they would have to grow up one day and refuse to believe otherwise. Maybe, I was the deluded one. But today, nothing could dampen my spirits. 

After two months of idling away my time with books and assignments, I was ready to greet the new class and students. This year, I would be handling grade one, kids who are still struggling to grow up. But no more awkward or scared to come to school. They are the ones who had a great zest for life, their enthusiasm was contagious. I grabbed my books and drove to school.

As I entered the classroom once the assembly was over and called out the attendance, I took my time in getting to know each one of those twenty five kids that were in my class. Some were shy, others a bit fidgety but on the whole, a pleasant bunch. I saw eyes that looked up at me with so much of hope, so much of confidence, I could feel a smile breaking on my face each time I spoke to one of them.

And that was when I noticed him. The boy with the curly hair who sat at the back. Ishaan. Obstinate and stubborn, he looked cross, unlike the other kids. Maybe, he was having a hard time coming back to school after the summer vacations. I smiled at him and was greeted back with a scowl. I was a bit taken back, I was yet to encounter such hostility for a six year old. 

Though I tried to talk to him, he seemed determined not to talk to me or his classmates. He sat there, clutching his bag, not caring about what went on in the class. Few days passed and the ice was yet to break between us. The only time I saw him get animated was when it was drawing class. While most kids loved drawing, I saw in his eyes a passion, one that was rare to see in a child his age. 

He squinted his eyes and continued drawing, unaware about what went on around him, so engrossed was he in his drawings. I would walk around and try to catch glimpses of what he drew- toy trains, teddy bears, mountains. Though he was yet to warm up to me, he was no longer bothered when I tried to talk to him. 

It was after a couple of weeks that he finally mustered up and managed to speak to me. He showed me his drawings and I was enthralled. His drawings were mature for his age. Each picture told me a story. This boy was truly gifted. The family that he drew, presumably his mother and father, they seemed to sit apart across a table looking sad. Was he having problems at home? Why was he determined to dodge my questions? The only way I got to know anything about his life was through his drawings. 

But what stuck me was this, all his sketches were in shade of grey. They were devoid of any color, whatsoever. He used his pencils to draw and while the rest of the children in my class seemed to run out of colors to enhance their drawings, Ishaan was more than happy to continue his artworks using the mere normal pencils. 

At first, it didn't bother me much. Maybe, he just liked to experiment with pencils first. But that was before I saw it. The one painting that he drew so carefully. With extra care, as if perfecting every little detail before showing it to me. I was disturbed by what he drew. How could this be the drawing of a six year old? He looked at me with his innocent smile. I didn't know how to react, I simply smiled and told the class that I would be back soon and stepped out. 

I had to tell someone. This child, obviously needed help. We would have to call in his parents for sure. I hurried to the principal's office, Mr. Dev would have to help me with this one. This was not something that I could handle on my own. I went to his room and showed him the drawing and told what had happened. For a moment, he seemed not to hear what I was saying, all he did was stare at the sheet of paper in front of him. Ishaan's drawing.

"Where did you find this?" he asked, a look of bewilderment on his face.

"This was drawn by Ishaan, the boy in my class," I replied, equally puzzled.

"Ishaan, you said? What is his full name?"

I gave it to him.

"Are you sure? Let me check my records. I don't recall enrolling an Ishaan in Class 1 B," he told me. 

I was confused. What was happening here? If there was no Ishaan, then who was the curly haired boy in my class?

"I was right, Miss. There is no Ishaan in your class. None of the twenty four kids in your class are named Ishaan."

Twenty four? I had twenty five kids in my class. Ishaan was the twenty fifth. 

My face must have gone ashen white, because he asked me to sit down and got me a glass of water. And that was when he told me. About the bus crash one year back. How the kids in grade one were taken on a picnic on that cursed day in the school bus. The bus that met with the accident. A lot of kids were injured. But one had died, along with the driver. 

I looked at the drawing in my hand, the one that Ishaan had drawn so carefully. The bus filled with children crashing. And then I understood. Why he had not used any colors in his drawings. Because he had drawn what he had seen around him. For him, the place he was trapped in was grey. There were no colors in his life. Not anymore. Not for the past one year. 

I felt a chill go down my spine as I looked outside the window. The last bell had gone while I was sitting in Mr. Dev's office. Children had boarded the buses that had started going, one by one. That was when I saw him. Ishaan. Waving at me from the window seat of one of the buses. A giggle on his face when he saw me. His beautiful curls bouncing with him. The sunlight glinted on the bus window casting a rainbow for my eyes and then, he was gone. Just like that. 

P.S. I had missed blogging for the past few days as I was busy celebrating Onam. Wishing all of you a very happy happy Onam!

P.P.S. This story has been running around my head for quite some time. It refused to go away till I penned it down. Pardon me if it's a bit rusty. 

Good writing Vs Bad writing

Image courtesy: Google

There have been so many books that are churning out in the market nowadays that every Tom, Dick and Harry seems to be a writer. No, I don't blame them. Writing takes a lot of effort, the good ones at least. But it pains my eyes to read the really lame ones. The kind I got when there was a flat 50% sale on Flipkart and I just couldn't control myself from clicking all the Indian authors that I was curious about. 

Yes, I have encountered really bad writing (no grammar, cliched plot lines, annoying protagonists to name a few) when it comes to reading Indian authors. Why is it that only writers int he Indian market seem to think that writing can be treated so casually? The least you can do is proof check. At least the editor should have done that before the book goes to print. Of course, this should be after you have a story that's worth telling out loud.

I'm in no ways condemning any writer(s) with this post. I really appreciate the effort and discipline it takes to write a full fledged book. But what surprises me are the so called best sellers which can be labelled as simply average. Thanks to the wonderful world of social media, marketing books even before it launches off seems to be the ideal strategy nowadays. 

I happened to read a book the other day by a supposedly popular Indian author. I have read many articles and interviews about her and she was highly praised in all of them. So, when I picked up her book I had a minimum set of expectations. But what I was left with was a sour aftertaste. The book was one of those kind that made me want to climb into its pages and smack the characters. It was that irritating. 

Of course, the fact that the book was written by a teenager was another thing. Maybe it was just too amateurish for my taste. But what pained me was that the story line seemed to be lifted right out of Fifty shades of Grey (which I never liked, there I said it!). But even the story line there was much more polished that its cheap Indian imitation. Again, I repeat, I really appreciate the effort that the writer has taken to write a full fledged novel. But is it worth writing a book simply for the fact that she wants to be read? What was funny was that a lot of people actually seemed to read her and given good ratings too.

Is bad writing really excusable? Even the controversies regarding Chetan Bhagat have raised many a eyebrow. But as much as I have enjoyed some of his books initially, the quality seems to be dropping at an alarming rate. Maybe I won't pick up any more of his books henceforth. Though I must admit that he has given a moral boost to a lot of writers to come forth with their stories. And thanks to him, I now flee when I see the words "IIT" and "Love story" together on the cover of any book.

We also seem to be living in an era, where the popularity of a book seems to be directly proportional to the author's good looks. Kind of pathetic, I know. But this is just something that I have observed in the Indian market. Mind you, I'm not saying that good looks is all you need to write a book, but the "young crowd" seems to be lapping up and vying for the attention of a particular writer that I'm talking about. I have seen love stuck teenagers who have gone to ridiculous extents on his Facebook page. We shall not go into the details, anyhow! And most of his books seemed to be around the same lines. The few I have read at least. 

Pardon me if I'm wrong, but these are just my honest opinion. It's a breath of fresh air when I find good Indian writers and the substandard work that I have read pales in comparison. There are so many good writers out there, people I've read on many wonderful blogs who deserve a much better chance than these so called published authors. Those names I would not think twice if I were to buy their books. Yes, a lot of bloggers are underrated. 

Again, I'm selfishly glad that there are bad books that are selling quite well in the market. At least, it's getting published. So, maybe, there's hope for small writers like me too. Of course, I fervently hope that mine stands a better chance in being labelled as "good writing" rather than just the best seller tag. And by good writing I mean a story which can be related to, one that has good grammar, punctuation and even characters that are actually believable. 

Image courtesy: Tumblr

What do you say? Is it better to have no writing rather than bad writing? Or should the two never be compared? I can't help but feel a relief whenever I pick up classics or even the thrillers and the light reading that's published by foreign authors. It's like a soothing balm for my eyes after the literary pain it has been subjected to. 

I have nothing against Indian authors in general. In fact, some of my favorite writers are of Indian origin. Anita Nair, Jhumpa Lahiri, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, Shashi Tharoor, Jaishree Misra and Shobhaa De- to name a few. These are some of the writers I absolutely love and who have inspired me to write the little I have till now. And what I have learnt is this- conduct your research properly before you set out to write a book. Write it because you believe in the story and not just because it should sell. Write a book which a reader can relate to, where he can see a bit of himself. One that lingers in his/her mind even after turning the last page. 

Concluding with a beautiful quote by Toni Morrison- “If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.” And I must say, couldn't agree more!

Mental detoxification

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There are days when the everyday stress gets on my nerves. Days when I feel like screaming my head off. When nothing ever feels right. Ever. Though those do not happen everyday (Thank God!), I have wished for that special place where I could run away to. With just my thoughts for company. 

I don't know if anyone shares this with me, but there is always a tiny voice inside my head that refuses to keep shut. Even when I'm trying to let my thoughts drift away, willing my mind to just go blank, the Voice starts getting all fidgety and sarcastic (at times). Weird, I know. Even when I'm listening to music, the Voice HAS TO start dissecting it, including the lyrics. 

This has started happening so often that it's the Voice that greets me the moment I open my eyes. Sometimes it's all sweet and nice and other times it's all bitchy and clingy. I hate it and I also love it. The Voice keeps me sane. It helps me come up with things to write about. Be it stories, poetry or simply rantings like these. 

Maybe, that's why every once in a while it would be advisable to get away from all the chaos and ruckus of life and rejuvenate yourself. Not just your body, but your mind needs detoxification as well. And well, for the calmer and powerful minds, there are always things like yoga and meditation. But thanks to the Voice, I find myself unable to concentrate on either of those for more than couple of minutes. 

That is why, like many of you, I find writing down whatever is running around in my mind, therapeutic. Your words may not make much sense to anyone else except you sometimes. But the person for whom you have started writing in the first place is bound to be left happy and satisfied- YOU. Yes, I believe that you will be able to enjoy your writing only when it becomes a burning desire, a desperate need to pen down your thoughts. Without which life would be meaningless. That's the sort of writing that comes from your heart, where you bare a piece of your soul each time. 

When all else seems desolate, when hope ebbs away from life, I cling on to writing like the last straw. No matter where I may fail, I believe that words will never fail me. So much going on in my mind right now, and the Voice refuses to tire down. Tell me, what do you do for mental detoxification? Would love to hear all your thoughts!