The Prelude to Work from Now on

Somebody far smarter than most people once said, there’s your version, my version and then there’s the truth.

*waits for it to sink in*

Since nobody is really able to come to any ‘real’ conclusions anyway based on personal experiences, we might as well adopt the Eliot way. I.e. we get to disassociate the writer from his/her creation to the point that the person narrating the story is also not assumed to be the writer.

Clear enough, eh?

So since my personal experience is basically limited to college (academics)/ assorted relationships (varying from toffee-butterscotch to grape-purple ice candy) my reactions to the world (which are normally, as I read further, thoroughly explored by other people hundreds of years ago)… Which means whatever I write is ultimately quite useless/pointless/meaningless/anything of value-less, maybe it’s high time a different approach is adopted.

It would be a shame to know that I came so close to the truth only to wrap a cream napkin around my eyes and profess to be ignorant to the facts. Again, simply speaking, it would be stupid to deny the obvious that nothing of great merit is really popping out of this rumble-jumble heap of thoughts that I call my (nearly) daily blog posts.

What I am trying very hard to spell out for some obscure reason (as always) is that there should be a better reason for writing. Writing for the sake of writing is wonderful but what does it get one barring aching fingers (pure and total exaggeration)… This is what reading Peter Barry does to me, makes me question it all and reminds me of the questions some part of me tried to so hard to forget. It raises up all the relevant debates raging in the world and clearly sings out the question “and my dear, what are You doing to contribute?”. Before I can mumble my excuse and hide my face in another Kinsella, am bombarded by the ‘great’ ones of literature who may or may not have made a lasting impact but that never stopped them from trying.

Sigh. Why can’t it be simpler?
M once told me (in a completely different context, maybe it was D.P related),
“Nothing is really that complicated *Insert my name*, it is you who makes it So complex”
I know M, deep down I know (okay, even up here I know) that I don’t necessarily Need this additional pressure or extra bombardment of questions, I know but I don’t really want to swim in the shallow end of the pool, especially not when I know the deep side of it exists well within the reach of my dreams:)