jurithewriter

I am writing a book. It's contents are random unstructured thoughts. Much like my blogs. I need to be inspired to write. I cannot just think that oh, I haven't written something in a long time, so let me sit down and write something.

I have been away from home for 5 months now. Do I want to go back? I don't know. I am confused. I have had too much time to think. Too much idle time is a very bad thing for middle class people to have. It makes one delve into one's deeply suppressed desires and untapped potential (imagined or real). It makes one want to wonder whether one wants to return to the tame, unexciting routine which one so much needs for earning their daily bread and to pay their EMIs.

I admit to a certain kind of narcissism. I like reading my own thoughts that I sometimes put down in writing. I have written in the past. Short stories, medical articles and poems. But I have been a bad document controller and have misplaced most of my writings which, obviously, I deeply regret now. I understand that writing on your own BlogSpot is perhaps the most secure way of ensuring that you do not lose your own writings. It is very difficult to replicate one's own writings later. More so perhaps because the inspiration that was there at the moment of writing a piece cannot be replicated.

With time to kill and memories to forget, I started to write, at a rather disturbed frame of mind. I wanted each thought occupying my mind to be happy. I wanted these happy thoughts to replace in totality whatever was going on in my mind. I started writing memories of the unique childhood I had. And about all the happiness that came to me by just being a patient because of the amazing paradigm shift I had in my thinking process and about which I have written in an earlier blog.

The book needs to be completed. I have written about 45000 words already and all of these words, believe me, came effortlessly. I feel amazed that I have been able to write so much. I have always wanted to write a book. There are many incomplete books on my computer. The inspiration just stopped at a point for those books. They seemed too contrived actually. I have now realized why. I was trying to write for an audience and it just wasn't me writing. This time there has been no audience in mind. It has been all about transliteration of my thoughts into words and typing them on a computer monitor.

It can be completed only when the story of my being a patient gets over. I hope that happens very soon. I hope I can get it published. I realized that writing a book is very easy when I started searching the net for tips on how to get a book published. Publishing is what is the difficult part. Très difficile mes dears. Very difficult my dears.