I am back; Just not yet !!

This blog post is solely dedicated to the readers who have asked me in past few months, as to why I am not coming up with anymore posts.To be more precise,this blog post is a response to a friend and quite a dedicated reader asking me, ‘have you disowned your blog?’truthfully,I have tried to write in last two months.last to last month,I wanted to write about how one could make better decisions in life based on principles of economics..sunk cost,hidden cost fallacy et al.last month I was totally going to write a blog post titled “how to choose the perfect method to commit suicide according to your personality type”..but I chucked the idea considering the readers who would be influenced most,would probably not stay with me for long time. :P So here I am,writing about how I can’t write.yes,yours truly is complicated and silly like that.

I am failing at writing and I am failing gloriously.I am nowhere near how I want to write.Sometimes I am able to write a sort of something,but then it just keeps on sitting there on the pages of notebook,staring at me with blank eyes,lackluster due to lack of further editing.I want to get into this black of ink the white of my words such that they express exactly how I feel and think. I want to write something so riveting ,that it amazes even me,and I am honestly trying to get there.Until I achieve that,there is not much point writing original posts on blog,but I have thought I would be sharing some thoughts,quotes and words from some famous writers and philosophers every week.after all,the blog should not feel ignored.

To end this post,I would like to share a small paragraph from the novel “Black Boy” by “Richard Wright”literature world isn’t still in agreement on considering this novel an autobiography or a work of fiction but anyhow, at one point in novel, this is how Mr.Wright explains his failed attempts at writing during his early years :-

"My purpose was to capture a physical state or movement that carried a strong subjective impression, an accomplishment which seemed supremely worth struggling for. If I could fasten the mind of the reader upon words so firmly that he would forget words and be conscious only of his response, I felt that I would be in sight of knowing how to write narrative. I strove to master words, to make them disappear, to make them important by making them new, to make them melt into a rising spiral of emotional stimuli, each greater than the other, each feeding and reinforcing the other, and all ending in an emotional climax that would drench the reader with a sense of a new world. That was the single aim of my living."