I'm back from another writer's block. Looks like I can't stand my writing for more than two months, and I can't stand my not writing for more than ten months! I've exploited and exhausted my right to be called a wannabe-writer long back.. now I'm not even a wannabe anymore.. But beautiful composition is like a magnet. You're attracted to it howsoever hard you resist. And every time I come across one, I wonder what went inside the mind of that writer to shower such beautiful words and connect them with the right chord.. Sometimes I wonder, how people who are so abhorrent in real life get to write such splendid lines.. I have always been so much in love with Naipaul to the extent that my passwords were all naipaul for quite a long time until I read an article on hacking and morphing and revenge-pornography and got scared to death, and changed them.. He had given me such pleasurable experiences with his simple yet beautifully crafted words.. Words that just flow like the giggles of a brunette!
"Last week I had my first snow. It came down in little white fluffs; you felt that a gigantic hand had punched a gigantic cotton wool sack open, letting down flurries of cotton shreds. "
And to think that he was just 17 while writing it, makes the taste even sweeter!! But in real life, he was all that I would hate in a man, abusive, misogynistic, womanizer, bigot, and what not. And yet, how could he write so amazingly! Is that his alter ego?!
PS:LS Elections are nearing, and as always I've started having nightmares and sleepless nights. I love as well as hate my obsession with politics!!