Musing from excerpts in a note I recently received :
"Yes i do believe you write well,requires far more finish though.There is a clarity of thought in sporadicity."
and
"If you wish to upgrade your writing from the merely well strung sentence to one of depth,you must add maturity to its face value.You strike me as being in your mid to late 30s--let that come across in your writings,teenage angst merely looks -- unrequired."
"Yes i do believe you write well,requires far more finish though.There is a clarity of thought in sporadicity."
and
"If you wish to upgrade your writing from the merely well strung sentence to one of depth,you must add maturity to its face value.You strike me as being in your mid to late 30s--let that come across in your writings,teenage angst merely looks -- unrequired."
I have for the sake of prevailing anonymity of the sender only extracted these 2 salient points concerning my writings.
The first is a paradox is it not? In context, believe, write well, requires finish ... clarity, sporadicity (there's such a word in the English language?)
For one, I do not believe I write well hence why I call my string of words Incoherent Ramblings (of Ashka=Hope). I live under no delusion that I am a writer of any kind of salt. I merely write what comes to mind. I write what has created some sort of reaction in me. I write basically as an avenue to say half the things I never say to anyone.
There's some anonymity here in blogging although apparently that myth has been shattered long ago - people I know read my blogs too - damn it!
What tickles me is the fact that random people tell me I write well. I am always amused at their earnestness in trying to transmit their apparent appreciation of how I take some words and play around with them and end up with something readable.
Maybe it is this misplaced belief in that their appreciation is real that I have taken to writing here more often that I really should. A false bravado and faith in what I might achieve by doing so.
I don't deny I have a weakness to leave some of my pieces hanging like unfinished business, because the reality to me is, it remains unfinished business a lot of what I ramble on about. Everything is hanging like pregnant pauses waiting for some clarity of end and closure. None comes as yet ... and so my thinking and my thought processes remain at an impasse ... transient ... expectant ...
Sporadic - yes! Undeniably so ... because these thoughts come in bursts and spurts. From things I observe in my day to day business of living. If I could muster enough clear concise well arranged thoughts on regularity, hey I could be the next Oprah or J.K.Rowling (never read a single book of this female).
Why? Because then I'd be able to milk other sorry sods who are like myself in some suspended limbo, aspiring and dreaming with no real idea of where we are heading to. Why do we even take to putting words out on paper or on blogs? Why do we try to express what has been possibly expressed by some agent represented royalities enriched creme de'la creme of the wordsworths of the literary society?
Why? Simply because we have a dream. And such little forays into it keeps those sputtering flames alive. At least its relative to me. I have some dreams. Not sure if I'll ever get anywhere with them, but I say fuck it! and just do what I enjoy ...
Maturity? aaaaah ... I severely lack this or so I have been told countless times by so many people I have lost count or rather I don't wish to keep count. Angst ridden teenager wannabe - that's me!
*heheeheh* I cannot help it. I am angst ridden about so many many things. And angst with no vent is damning to a spirit like me. I fit in no particular mold. I am neither this nor that, here nor there. I seem to be classified and categorised by so many people, it's entertaining. Their perceptions vary. They feel comfortable in how they see me - I let them be.
This is my platform to do as I please with some thought towards sense and sensibilities that prevail - but really I don't give a hoot. There's still a lot about .ani that even .ani is discovering, how can anyone else understand the mechanics of my mind then - I expect them not to.
And so I lack the maturity of a 30 something in my writings ....
SIGH!!
Do I need to be mature in my writing? Was this not my personal therapy to an already overloaded existence of demanded maturity and responsibility to everything within my sphere and space? Are these demands already over exaggerated and over emphasised? Why should I then not escape into my own realm of make believe?
Don't writers do that most times? Create their make believe happy world and escape into it. I don't know, perhaps I will never make it as a writer of any serious consideration but hell at least I am having fun with what I am doing.
If teenage angst is what comes across, I make no apologies for it. It was meant to do that exactly. In fact, it's a choice I make. My realm of serenity is fraught with angst, it's what keeps the ticker and the thoughts going.
Now don't get me wrong here. I am not displeased with the content of the excerpts. In fact I welcome such feedback. I mean this is from some published writer (sorry I didn't know you existed prior to your note to me), so they know what the market wants, what people are looking for and what makes a writer successful. So I take it on board. Plan to mull over my previous pieces and future pieces and hopefully, I am able to address the concerns highlighted as I waddle along.
I have no genre other than angst perhaps. Unrequired? You think? Another perspective might imply that this angst is results from experiences I have lived to tell ... a self psycho-analysis of the rights and wrongs thus far.
Anyhow, it's now 19:30 hours, time to pack up and head home. Got to continue working from home and that drive is awfully long.
So off I go netizens of the world (like I have anyone reading me at all - ahahahahha) Mukesh was right when he said I am the type of person who will talk aloud even to myself and manage to have multiple viewpoints in such a monologue ... indeed I am truly in a new class of the insane.
Cheers and off I scoot ... I likely will be conversing with me myself and I on my drive home over these thoughts ..
Happy trails .... :)
The first is a paradox is it not? In context, believe, write well, requires finish ... clarity, sporadicity (there's such a word in the English language?)
For one, I do not believe I write well hence why I call my string of words Incoherent Ramblings (of Ashka=Hope). I live under no delusion that I am a writer of any kind of salt. I merely write what comes to mind. I write what has created some sort of reaction in me. I write basically as an avenue to say half the things I never say to anyone.
There's some anonymity here in blogging although apparently that myth has been shattered long ago - people I know read my blogs too - damn it!
What tickles me is the fact that random people tell me I write well. I am always amused at their earnestness in trying to transmit their apparent appreciation of how I take some words and play around with them and end up with something readable.
Maybe it is this misplaced belief in that their appreciation is real that I have taken to writing here more often that I really should. A false bravado and faith in what I might achieve by doing so.
I don't deny I have a weakness to leave some of my pieces hanging like unfinished business, because the reality to me is, it remains unfinished business a lot of what I ramble on about. Everything is hanging like pregnant pauses waiting for some clarity of end and closure. None comes as yet ... and so my thinking and my thought processes remain at an impasse ... transient ... expectant ...
Sporadic - yes! Undeniably so ... because these thoughts come in bursts and spurts. From things I observe in my day to day business of living. If I could muster enough clear concise well arranged thoughts on regularity, hey I could be the next Oprah or J.K.Rowling (never read a single book of this female).
Why? Because then I'd be able to milk other sorry sods who are like myself in some suspended limbo, aspiring and dreaming with no real idea of where we are heading to. Why do we even take to putting words out on paper or on blogs? Why do we try to express what has been possibly expressed by some agent represented royalities enriched creme de'la creme of the wordsworths of the literary society?
Why? Simply because we have a dream. And such little forays into it keeps those sputtering flames alive. At least its relative to me. I have some dreams. Not sure if I'll ever get anywhere with them, but I say fuck it! and just do what I enjoy ...
Maturity? aaaaah ... I severely lack this or so I have been told countless times by so many people I have lost count or rather I don't wish to keep count. Angst ridden teenager wannabe - that's me!
*heheeheh* I cannot help it. I am angst ridden about so many many things. And angst with no vent is damning to a spirit like me. I fit in no particular mold. I am neither this nor that, here nor there. I seem to be classified and categorised by so many people, it's entertaining. Their perceptions vary. They feel comfortable in how they see me - I let them be.
This is my platform to do as I please with some thought towards sense and sensibilities that prevail - but really I don't give a hoot. There's still a lot about .ani that even .ani is discovering, how can anyone else understand the mechanics of my mind then - I expect them not to.
And so I lack the maturity of a 30 something in my writings ....
SIGH!!
Do I need to be mature in my writing? Was this not my personal therapy to an already overloaded existence of demanded maturity and responsibility to everything within my sphere and space? Are these demands already over exaggerated and over emphasised? Why should I then not escape into my own realm of make believe?
Don't writers do that most times? Create their make believe happy world and escape into it. I don't know, perhaps I will never make it as a writer of any serious consideration but hell at least I am having fun with what I am doing.
If teenage angst is what comes across, I make no apologies for it. It was meant to do that exactly. In fact, it's a choice I make. My realm of serenity is fraught with angst, it's what keeps the ticker and the thoughts going.
Now don't get me wrong here. I am not displeased with the content of the excerpts. In fact I welcome such feedback. I mean this is from some published writer (sorry I didn't know you existed prior to your note to me), so they know what the market wants, what people are looking for and what makes a writer successful. So I take it on board. Plan to mull over my previous pieces and future pieces and hopefully, I am able to address the concerns highlighted as I waddle along.
I have no genre other than angst perhaps. Unrequired? You think? Another perspective might imply that this angst is results from experiences I have lived to tell ... a self psycho-analysis of the rights and wrongs thus far.
Anyhow, it's now 19:30 hours, time to pack up and head home. Got to continue working from home and that drive is awfully long.
So off I go netizens of the world (like I have anyone reading me at all - ahahahahha) Mukesh was right when he said I am the type of person who will talk aloud even to myself and manage to have multiple viewpoints in such a monologue ... indeed I am truly in a new class of the insane.
Cheers and off I scoot ... I likely will be conversing with me myself and I on my drive home over these thoughts ..
Happy trails .... :)
