Two day weekends had become inadequate. And then I run into a one day weekend. I cannot recall the day when weekends moved on from being a break to follow your passion to a basic recharge which was not enough to get you through the week. The day when my day job had killed my dreams. It did not happen in a day, it was a slow painful death. There was a time when writing a few pages used to get me recharged and add a spring to my step that lasted the day. Days when I used to write were far and few in between, similar to the posts that I have made in this blog. I needed the safety net. I needed to pacify my misplaced ego. In simpler words, I was addicted to my monthly payslip, and the annual hike. It was no different from the bonded labour, humanity had broken free from. The only happy moment I now feel was when I sat slouched in front of the television and saw a good movie start immediately after the previous one got over. I want to wake up again to the dream of writing. My l...
On the writers craft.