Being Myself…

The “Writer’s” Block!

// October 20th, 2009 // Experiences

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time, yes sir, when I used to have a million (literally) things to write about and hence was pretty effortless thing to do. My past bears witness that I have never done anything that would require making an effort . However, today it’s been more than hundred days since I have had a time to write anything, and I mean ANYTHING. I don’t feel good about that but somehow have not been able to help it. Though its not all bad. I mean, I do get random snippets however when it comes to weaving a story around that it’s pretty impossible for me, atleast right now.

For example recently while watching a western genre movie the following thought came to me.

If I were a good ‘bad-guy’ — you know, big-time, big-city gunslinger rides into town, and the local sheriff pins a badge on him and says, “We need a man with your experience, training, and proven track record, ” or something like that. I mean, would I be a big fish in a small pond, or what? Would I have ladies stealing glances at me and dropping their handkerchiefs on the sidewalk, or what?

Just as soon as this thought had crossed my mind and I could further extrapolate the follow-up steamy sequences, I was back to reality. I was hungry. I mean how do you fight blocks like these?

OR

When recently at an airport as I paid for a tea and a Sandwich with apparently bland chicken and mystery cheese I thought, I could have eaten the shrink wrapping and the Styrofoam and not noticed the difference. As soon as this thought had crossed my mind I saw an ass of a person dressed in Pink Jeans and yellow t-shirt with brown leather jacket, the kind that you can buy for 150 bucks at a sidewalk in Mumbai. I practically wanted to go up and ask, “Is that a disguise, or did you get dressed in the dark?”

The only good thing that I remember at this time was that I got to play eye-hockey with a beautiful damsel. We did it for sometime before I winked and she apparently couldn’t trust her emotions so she turned away.

Another thought that crossed my mind was when the flight attendant announced that the carrier was serving PAID fast food for the convenience of the passengers. Cow Shit. The difference between Bullshit and Cowshit is that the former is used to denote a gross and aggressive distortion of the truth, while the latter is a milder, more passive crock of crap. How can you write an article or weave a story in either of these three instances?

OR

When I came pretty close to kissing a girl… We were on a hike walking next to each other when she turned, and we found ourselves face-to-face, about a foot apart. It was one of those awkward moments, and we stood for exactly three seconds, then I put my hand out and brushed her hair, then her cheek. I moved in for the big smooch, confident we were about to lock lips, but she stepped back and uttered the magic word that all modern Indian men have been Pavloved to respond to. “No.” I immediately jumped back six feet, and I clasped my hands behind my back.

Actually, that’s not exactly what happened. She did say “no,” but I hesitated, a look of abject disappointment on my face, and she said, “Not now,” which is good, then “maybe later,” which was better, then “I like you,” which was best. I said, “Take your time,” which I sincerely meant, as long as she didn’t take more than seventy-two hours, which is sort of my limit. Actually, I’ve waited longer. Ofcourse I could not write anything for the next 72 hours. Or for the next 144 hours. After that time this story and the girl both lost their appeal. Sour grapes right?

OR

When recently sitting on a beach, I was watching seagulls. These things are weird, I mean totally crazy birds. I watched this guy circling, looking for breakfast, then he spotted it, and began this insane kamikaze dive into the water, shrieking like his balls were on fire, then he hit the water, disappeared, then shot up and out like he had a rocket up his ass. In his talons was a silver fish who’d been just paddling along down there, chomping minnows or something, and whoosh, he’s airborne, about to slide down the gullet of this crazy bird. I mean, the silver fish maybe has a wife, kids, and whatever, and he goes out for a little breakfast and before he can bat an eye, he is breakfast. Survival of the fittest and all that. Awesome. Totally.

Early bird gets the worm, early worm gets eaten!

OR

When I was sort of involved with a girl and we clearly liked each other, despite some run-ins and misunderstandings, some differences of opinion, dissimilar temperaments, differences of age and background, and probably blood type, and tastes in music, and God knew what else. Actually, if I thought about it, we had not one thing in common except the profession, and we couldn’t even agree on that. And yet, I was in love. Well, okay, lust. But significant lust. I was deeply committed to this lust. We looked at each other again, and again we smiled. This was silly. I mean, really dopey. I felt like an idiot. She was so exquisitely beautiful… I liked her voice, her smile, her coppery hair in the sunlight, her movements, her hands… and she smelled soapy again, from the shower. I love that smell. I associate soap with sex. That’s a long story and I don’t want to shell out personal secrets here. This then brings up the question of why I am being selective in my writing which again I dislike. Unnnnh! Talk about pressure…

Next thing I try is looking at things upside down. It worked for a notable writer. Maybe it will for me too!

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