Monday, January 31, 2011

Writers Are Readers First

When Mr Wordsmaid told me about this blog, I was both excited and uncertain. Uncertain because I didn’t know what would fit in, in a writers’ blog.

Today, when I opened the blog, I was surprised to see 33 posts already. Some of the entries are brilliant – the kind you would read and think ‘Wish I could write like that’ or else ‘Why didn’t I think of this before?’

I will not call myself a writer. You don’t become a writer because you know to spell a few words. It’s like saying everybody is a singer. Everyone who speaks can sing – but only some are good at it. Unlike singing, however, writing can be acquired.

I’m sure all of us know the secret to good writing. Reading. Here’s a small story. I turned into a PG Wodehouse reader somewhere in my high school. I say PG Wodehouse reader, because for a long while, I would not read anything else. And before that, I regret, I did very little reading. I’d feel more confident if I wrote soon after reading a PG – and this is when I read it in one stretch. For some reason, it seemed easier to find words and get that ‘flow’ we all seek.

It still works that way. And it needn’t be a PG. It can be any good writer, as long as you don’t take long breaks in your reading. I keep asking people like Sabz and Manu how they write so well – what do they read? They have both taken a lot of effort in developing the command over language they have. I know they do not have to rush to get a book and read it every time they sit to write. What they have read over the years have equipped them with the tools they use so brilliantly now. It is not just them. Any good writer – dear Miss Mercedes for one, am sure has done her bit of reading.

However, just like you can never finish learning music (Yesudas would tell you that story of looking ahead at the big vast sea called music and after 70 years of swimming, he still has a long long way to go), you can never complete a course on language (I don’t mean the one at college). Manu reads, Sabin reads, Mercedes reads, and anyone who hopes to be a writer MUST read.

All that on reading has made me very guilty. I will make my next post after I have read at least one book.

Before I stop, can we all take up an assignment? On posting about what we are reading now. Or making a promise on how much you would read the following year? No one is going to break your leg if you break the promise. Well, may be, except your English teacher :-).

Feel The Words

Can we come up with some musical nouns?

Bloemfontein, Tsotsobe, Beirut, Eliot, cuckoo, Roland Garros, Mallorca, Cronje, poem, violet, lavender, lilac, Isabella...

The list will be long.

The aim of the exercise is to make us sensitive to words. Words are beautiful, as they are powerful--they break hearts as they mend heart.

To begin with, let's collect words that have a musical ring to them.
Thinking how lucky am i to be life!!Realy lucky...
Sometimes your own diary doesnt seem proper to express your views....


11 O' clock at night.I was late for sleep.Usually I go to bed by 10 O'clock.Tensions and burdens of the day tired me.I fell into my bed and in a few minutes went into deep sleep as though I had taken sleeping pills.
Disturbing my sleep, I heard someone knocking at the door.My sleep didn't care that.More knockings and with a surprise, he entered hastily into my room.I woke up terrified and ask him,"Who are you?" Without answering,he looked into my eyes as he knew me for many years.I repeated my question.At last he replied in a sweet voice,"you can call me what you like.Can we go for a walk?" I wanted to say no but without my knowledge my head nodded 'Yes'.
Before saying anything he held my hand and both of us walked stealthily.Iwas unable to see anything in my way.Fear tied my eyes.Knowing my feelings,he held my hand firmly.We stopped before a door and he pushed the door.He invited me into his world of wonders.Everything there was new to me.Holding his arms, I flew like a bird around the world.I felt the cold of icecubes.I touched the hot sands of deserts.I walked through oceans.I played with the moon.
Time went by.At one moment he stopped and stood before me.Then with a trembling sound,he said,"I have to go now.Before going,I want to say something to you.It is in this letter."He handed me a piece of paper.I read those word and to give a reply,I looked into his grateful eyes.With hesitation, I opened my mouth.But suddenly I heard a big shout.I slowly opened my eyes.It was my mother.Angerily she shouted,"Its 7 O'clock.wake up."I took some minutes to become conscious.Sorrowfully,I recalled those words:
"It was nice time with you.See you again"
Yours dream

Sunday, January 30, 2011


For a long time,i waited for rain.I prayed, but no use. Hopefully i looked at the sky.........he smiled at me. Is he moking?......May be! Then i asked to the wind, will it rain today? The naughty wind caressed on me. He whistled on my hair... and he replied, "no rain". Then he promised me tommorrow will be a rainy day....mmmm i'm waiting..............

Black Shades

The Night was never ending .Darkness spread every where. The sky seemed very sad and there were no stars in the sky. It was trying to tell us a story - a story of mourning .

It was a suicide. The family was alone that night. The children stood near the body of their father, which was hanging in the roof. They were crying. No one dared even to touch the body .People who were standing in front of the house and some of the relatives tried to console the mother who was laying on the floor. The police was there on duty. People went back to their home .She could n ' t control her sobs .

She was re - collecting the memories of her past life which were not at all a peaceful one .Their family was a joint one .The problems from his own family was unbearable to him. They were isolated by other families. The mental problems compelled him to make such a decision. The relatives arranged the funeral along with the help of their neighbors. The son burned his father ' s body with a few drops of tears in his eyes. The family members of the dead offered them all the basic facilities which were at once denied by them.

The children could n 't accept these offers from them. More over they liked to consider them as their enemies because they lost their father for ever . That time the family members were apologizing to the dead for their cruel deeds.

In this present world people commit suicide in order to escape from their problems and responsibilities. people do n ' t give any importance to Moral values . Some times you can save a life with your sweet smile or your sweet words can change them. but we are not ready to spent our time for others. We are happy with our own life , then why should we interfere in others problems ?

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Writing Humour

The other day, I had a talk with Sabin. We were talking about writing humour and the kind of readers who enjoy it.  

I have been into humour for a very long time. I think I am the first online humour columnist in the state.  I started writing Freekick in Sunday Kaumudi in 1998. I wrote for many years and had some dedicated followers. I learned how tough it is to maintain readers for such a long time. Whenever my concentration waned, my readers were up with cudgels. They forgive an attempt at pathos, but can never stand a failed attempt in evoking laughter. After three years I found the stress too unbearable that I stopped writing Freekick. I said, enough. Only then that I knew, there were some readers who followed it all these years, and they started forcing me to take it up again. I came back and wrote Freekicks for a couple of years more.

Yentha gave a fresh lease to Freekick. I wrote some good pieces. I wrote some uninspired ones too. So, what kind of humour clicks I thought. There is a melancholic side to humour. I was stumped many times for the queer way many of my inferior stories are accepted, whereas a few which I think has a claim to any pantheon, bombed.

I let loose my imagination run wild as I sit to writer a piece. If something cannot bring a laugh to me, it is a goner. I will then read it aloud to my wife, and pay close attention to her face. Does she smile, laugh? It fails or passes the test.

You can’t call the incidents, I create as outright lies. There is indeed a play of imagination. For example, in my latest piece about Pettah Railway station, I wrote about Mariyappan who cursed Pettah Railway station for turning him out. Mariyappan was my mind’s creation. But what are the facts in the story? In my childhood I had often seen people squatting near the pettah railway line for that purpose. In the story I had to particularize. I had to find one ass representing all the desperate asses. I created Mariyappan's.

So when the second railway line was laid, the authorities found one ass, not budging, that of Mariyappan’s:

“They requested him to move his ass a teeny weeny bit, so that the Venad Express could pass. (Later they told him roughly that the railways had more efficient signaling system than what he proffered. Some gratitude!)”

Humour moves through hyperboles and understatements. I know one ass is too little to work as an impediment to a speeding train. But such hyperboles help readers imagine and tickle their funny bone. I wrote ‘’Venad Express’, not just any train, to bring particularity helping readers see.

I used understatement when I wrote in the same article, “They are so good mannered, that they will say which place you will go that day.” That is about auto drivers of Pettah. I know that readers will go back and reread that statement. But I made one small mistake there. I repeated the word, ‘will’ nearly spoiling the fun (the first ‘will’ is ok). In humour a word can dampen the crackers.


If I said I met Edward Cullen you probably wouldn’t believe me. But I did meet someone just as perfect as him.

Gregor was the most handsome, beautiful, godlike creature I had set my eyes on when I first met him over tea at his house. His father, Gagik was a brilliant astrophysicist who had come to the University as a consultant. His mother Karine (pronounced as kah-ri-nay) too an astrophysicist had accompanied Gregor on a short visit to his father. They were Armenian. I had never heard of Armenia before, so I Googled it.

It is a cold,Caucasian country bounded by land on all sides. I now understood why Gagik loved the sea. Armenia was known to have faced the worst of poverty in the wake of the world wars. Karine explained in her very poor English how they had absolutely no electricity or cooking gas till a few years back. I shuddered imagining a cold dark place without food. I gathered Armenians must be very strong, fierce people at heart. They looked quite powerful on the outside too.

Mummy, Karine and Gregor were talking merrily amongst the chink of the crockery. As I reached for the ghee-like frozen white Armenian honey (not Gregor) I tried as hard as I could not to look at him. His godlike features scared me. He had grayish green eyes and when they looked at you can feel the burning gaze right through you. He was tall with broad shoulders, quite athletic. When he talked to you his eyebrows creased, trying hard to understand what you were saying. I stirred the honey into my tea listening to what he was saying without looking up. My brother Omar was having no trouble though, and was already talking him silly.

He was saying something about having lost his way a hundred times in the maze like university campus full of identical houses and streets. It was hard to pay attention to what he was saying if you tried looking at him.

A few days later Gregor popped into our place. Thump! I stood listening to his smooth even voice, from upstairs. He was asking Mummy whether he could take his ‘little friend’ for a ride. THUMP! Alas! His ‘little friend’ was not I. He was wondering if he could take Omar for a ride in his new car. New car? I wondered. I watched Omar from my bedroom window upstairs hopping into a glamourous new Dodge with Gregor. What could an eleven year old and a 25 year old do together? Heavily I turned to my economics textbook, trying to look at WTO in a more friendly way.

When they came back I asked Omar what they did. They had had a ride around the campus and had gone bowling.” And?” I pressed on. They stopped to eat at the cafeteria and simply watched cars sitting at a deserted bus stop. Apparently Gregor watched them with a lot of fascination. He must have, for roads in Muscat are always daily ramps for hot and expensive cars. I got more inquisitive. “What did you talk?” Omar who was by now getting slightly irked suddenly remembered something and laughed. Omar said, “ Gregor and I were sitting watching cars and then he said he wanted to buy a ‘bawmve’ some day”. Bawmve? “He wants a BMW,” Omar burst out laughing. I too laughed. Later when I sat thinking about it I thought Gregor was ambitious. I wondered what he did for a living.

In the weeks that came Gregor often came by to pick Omar up and they both would go out somewhere for a bite or go bowling. Each time I noticed he brought a new car, an expensive one. He obviously had some really good connections because I don’t think costly cars could have just dropped from the sky in front of his house everyday. One day Mummy asked whether he liked Muscat. He loved it, the people, the weather and all. He was also looking for a job here.

I went downstairs after Omar and Gregor had left to ask Mummy about him. Apparently  he made online security systems for big companies. That’s no little job. So he must be really brilliant.

About a week later Mummy and I went to their place to bid farewell to Karine who was leaving. She opened the door with her warm smile but I saw nothing of it. I was looking dumbfounded at Gregor behind her. He was clad in an exquisite black tuxedo, stunning as ever. He smiled. Till then I thought it was stupid of women to swoon on seeing their favourite male celebrity. Now I knew exactly how they felt but was in enough control to stop myself from doing the same. He was on his way to an interview. I stood rooted to the spot even as he glided past me to his car.

I did not see Gregor for many months after that. He obviously got the job. Excuse my shallowness but with looks such as his who wouldn’t?
About half a year later he came again to say goodbye. He had grown thin but handsome as ever. I looked at those blazing green eyes for the last time.

Friday, January 28, 2011


High in my mind,
Looks not very much shy,
Here comes the FRIEND
My dearest FRIEND

The very happy smile in you,
Makes me so safe in good faith,
The laughing chatting and the look
Impress me with great joy

Claims no hesitation,no tiredness,
Proves yourself efficient and fearless,
The loyal presence of yours,
Defused the sense of loneliness

Wait unto Empty.

We waited at the bus stop for the 9 o'clock Volvo that would take my parents to Calicut. It was half past 8 and night had just set in. There were still a good many vehicles on the road.But the crowd was thinning as the sky grew darker.

I leaned on the dirty,greasy pole of the shed and watched the people on the street. There were men with satchels slung over tired shoulders,women with infants and hand baggages,worn out and sleepy-eyed boys and girls going home late after their night classes.Out on the road there were those heroes on their Apaches and Bullets who never missed a second glimpse at the pretty girl on the footpath.After a while I began to categorize them---the lean,average build men with satchels had to be construction workers, saree-clad stout women with spectacles and an old fashioned leather handbag had to be a middle-class clerk,an office employee of some sort or teacher, bike boys with backpacks (and sometimes a girlfriend) were the techies.

The "fancy-stores" and the most of the restaurants had already closed at 8 pm. Eventually the auto-rickshaws disappeared and rarely would a battered old bus rattle past.  The giant night coaches began zooming by one after another carrying doze passengers.I kept my eyes skinned for a bus called "Madathil",the one my parents were to board.

At about 9 the medical store behind our bus stop too pulled down its shutters.So did the bakery across the street.The men who had been talking animatedly over some local feud too were gone.Suddenly the air felt cooler and the amber glow of the streetlights seemed more pronounced. Someone made a catcall and it rang out through the nearly empty street. The prowling cat with bright eyes had slunk away. It was as though everything had stepped back into the shadows waiting for the night to cross.

image courtesy: gettyimages
At last "Madathil" came. We bade goodbye to my parents and left the empty street.

Some Exercises for Creative writing

Here are some exercises for you. You can practise them at home. If you want to know what we think about those attempts post them.

1) You find a line from a poem or an ad or some novel. Write it out and keep going. Write the first paragraph of your novel or write for 15 minutes. 
2) Start with a character. Many novels begin with a character. One paragraph.
3) Start with a situation. It should be odd, an intriguing situation. It is the opening paragraph of your novel.
4) Start with a death in the character's family.
5) Start with the wedding ceremony of a character.
6) Start with an image. A telling image which engages the senses of the reader.


Make every word count

Stephen Wilbers in his work, 'Keys to Great Writing' says: "Get the full value of every word you write. Recognise the power of a single qwell-chosen word.". He says there are 14 ways.

1) Delete redundant modifiers. eg: true fact. end result. new initiatives. repeating again. climb up. completely finish. final outcome. free gift. future plan. refer back. sudden crisis. personal beliefs. present status.
Please, please, please avoid wasting reader's precious time.

2) Delete redundant categories
When a word implies a category, don't write the word and the category.
eg: round in shape( pinnallathe! Nobody writes round in colour). pink in colour.(in shape;-p). period of time. unusual in nature. of a cheap quality. in a confused state. at an early time. hones in character(like me)

3) Replace redundant word pairs with single words Any and all. full and complete. each and every. one and only.

4) Replace wordy expressions with single expressions
Many expressions we meet in everyday  speech should be avoided in writing. Our job is to reduce the number of words and carry across the point. Why do you use 'prior to' when you can write 'before? Due to the fact that...ayyo ... say because. 'A majority of' can be replaced with 'most'. One the grounds that(because). For the reason that(because). in view of the fact that(because) in due course(after) pertaining to (about). in support of (for or of). have the capability of (can). of the opinion that (think that).

So we have learned four different techniques out of the 14, I promised. Try to follow these in your writings. Go through your old writeups and see whether you used some of these phrases and words which do not count or add.

More will this space.

"Hey,what happened?", I asked.

Anjali seems to be terribly disturbed.she used to be a cheerful gal who talked and laughed her hearts out.But what happened now?

"Didn't get through the exam."her voice gave way to a subdued sob.I glanced over her marklist.Black letters ornating the green tinted paper.


Dont get surprised.Its not the only kind of its kind.There stands twenty of my classmates who managed to get a non-zero single digit mark by sheer luck. The fact that they can't even do justice to their mother tongue troubles me all the same.

"Dont worry, why cry over spilt milk?you've another chance.clear your paper in the forthcoming supplimentary exam.Get going I'll help you."I consoled her.But who is responsible for it?

A year ago I found students pleading with the Principal to admit them to the college.The same students now struggle to score these splendid marks.

Students these days limit their goal to securing admission in a reputed college."College life is to enjoy.......,to fulfill heart's desires......learning will go with it.",says a second year Degree student.For girls like her cutting classes is a fun.One who deceives teachers the best is the most brilliant.she usually has a huge circle of fans.Canteen is their official discussion and gossip room.Toilets their busy beauty parlours.How many times one have to apply pancakes? Can you guess.........

Once.......Twice.............No at least thrice.

One just before the class,another at lunch break and yet another after the class.

Cobwebs ornate libraries.Newspapers lay unread.Oh!the reading room is occupied.thanks to the triffle weeklies and monthlies.Classrooms........Who cares for it?

This easy going attitude makes the class inactive,boresome and monotonous.Hey ,I'm not advocating to be bookish which of course is unjustifiable in any sense.But I've never found an enthusiastic soul with a cravy mind eager to plunge his head into the delighted ocean of knowledge.

Sad But True........

Wednesday, January 26, 2011


I knew that it would one day come
I knew I'd have to sing this sad song
I remember my first day at college
I was still a kid, just out of school
My heart was beating faster
As i walked through the corridor
Soon I learned to love and not to fear

English literature, the land of stories, plays and poetry
Caring teachers who teach us with love
Lovely friends and very little study
We enjoyed while in the class
Teased the teachers, played games
Bunked the classes and went for movies

We enjoy till the moments of separation
and those cherished moments will live forever

I am proud of my beloved college
I am proud of what it has done to me
For it has taught me to keep cool
And not to believe in everything I see

I believe college days are the most happiest in our life
And now its time to shed tears...
The best days of my life are going to end


Knock Knock!Waiting.Knock Knock,this harder. Oh bother! Open Sesame!,(scrounging for my TNT).
BANG!!I'm home!

Hello Wordsmaid and fellow writers,thinkers,jokers,skeptics and romantics.And yes readers.The annoying kid with untidy hair and dirty shoes has walked in again with her insanity and incredibly stupid ideas..Don't mind me ranting on about school or dropping ridiculous poems. Before I forget let me thank them gung-hos for letting me in.Danke Schon.

Allow me to take  Lunacy for a walk here around Wordsmaid.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Like a blowball she came to me
Floated in the breeze for a while
I dared not to look at her
Fearing that the fire would char her down.

She was lively and cherubic
Wanting love and wanting to love
Sensing my ceaseless flow of love she thrilled
She never knew her smile would turn into a cry.

She swayed in the wind, enticing me
Her naughtiness delighted me
Her magnetic appeal drew me closer to her
I never knew I would hurt her.

On my rough palm she took a seat
I was amazed, she found it cosy
Sipping love from my heart she elated
I was cautious to refill it, she sipped more.

As she sneaked into my chamber of dark secrets
I opened the doors wide and let her in.
She stumbled on the beast and the man in me
But she loved the beast more.

I gave her a bunch of sincere love
And a pinch of deep sorrow.
I realized, its time to say goodbye
'I should let her go', my stony-heart pushed me.

Opening my palms I asked her to leave
As she clung on to my fingers I blew.
She loosened her hold and went down and down
I turned my head at her yearning eyes.

She left with a chunk of my heart and her's broken
I hear her call for my love......I am sorry.
I worship the darkness at night.

The darkness that creeps over the horizon hypnotize me....taking me far.. far away

From this polluted and busy world that I squander my whole day.

I am not a vampire nor a witch but still the darkness amazes me.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Scribblings of a perpetual dreamer..

My life is a bubble created in a baby's hands. It floats in the air for sometime. It bursts.

Why did it get created? For whom? Nobody has the answer except for some saints who sees life into things.

Life rises and ends like a giggle.

I walked into this mysterious world as an outcome of my parents' desire. Was it just for the perpetuation of races? No. They love me so much. There may be other reasons too. I haven't asked them. But someday I will.

I have only a vague memory of my childhood; a fuzzy trailer made out of what had been told by my parents. At times achan tells me about the first day they took me to school. They had expected me to cry my eyes out like other children. But I didn't. I walked straight into the class without turning back even once. When he tells this I see a strange smile on his face. May be I was in a hurry to start weaving my web of dreams. be continued

Sunday, January 23, 2011


An unexpected,uninvited guest turned up on our doorstep yesterday morning and it looks like she's here to stay.

With a graceful gait and fair complexion, I must admit , she is very pretty. That worries me especially when i see the look of longing in my brother's eye every time he sees her. Young, bold and beautiful- a lethal combination.

Extremely energetic and enthusiastic, she is game for anything. We put up race to see who was fastest and she unceremoniously beat both my brothers.

They were impressed.

Knowledgeable, well read and confident, she has her own opinions about any topic thrown at her. Her curiosity is insatiable and a little irritating as she goes about poking her nose into everything she sees. She just has to know the what and why of everything. Encourage her doubts at your own risk as once she starts, she wont stop.

I maybe able to pick up a lesson or two from her as she is very smart. I don't know when she plans to leave us. Considering the way I have grown used to seeing her face everywhere I turn, I think i will miss her when she does.

Or maybe she should just leave. I don't trust my brothers much they are brainstorming over how to convince her to join them for lunch next Sunday. At the dining table, they plan to seat her beside the ketchup.

They love roasted chicken with lots of ketchup.

The Red Moon And Bright Thoughts

Tonight the moon was red. And, it was scary. I took my kids to the balcony and showed them the moon that looked like a bloody eye. They were amused.

Moon has always had an emotional pull for this moody Cancerian. I still remember quite graphically how I walked one full-moon night at Kodaikanal. I walked a few kilometres watching a round, full and extremely magnetic moon looming over me like a hypnotic gaze of a forlorn lover. That night I wanted to write, as Neruda wrote, 'the saddest line of all'.

That was one phase of my life and writing. I was devastated after I had to separate from my love. I sat on top of a lonely rock on the hilltop nearby my house and watched an reddish-orange ball of a December sun melting its heart over some skeletal silhouettes of casuarinas and gulmohars far away.

I wrote bloody poems of dejection and despair. I made those who read me even sadder.

But life has taught me to write with a positive energy--even from the pit of troubles--so that my readers will be encouraged about life, and be hopeful.

I want the moon to be silvery and yellow. Or, at least bronzed.

But tonight it was red. But tomorrow, it would be yellow again.

And, I will be glad watching it from my balcony, over a clutch of disappointments buried deep in my heart.

Write on, friends, write on!


I can only ask the silence around me.

The night is unusually quiet,
a solitary owl stares at me from the dark,
the moon butters the balustrades,
the chair next to me in the balcony
is empty.

Where are you?

I sum up my life, and it’s
not tallying. I try to throw in
some truths from our past.

My failures stare at me
still and insensitive, like the owl.
Before I give in,
you say it’s not over yet.

Hope, yes, I do hope in the only hope,
and I know one day you’d come,
from our past and from your present,
into our future.

But tonight, alone in this starry night,
I can only ask the silence around me:
Where are you?

O Muse.....Come to Me....

I prayed and prayed as we used to do in our school assembly....O Muse...Do come to me and bless this li'l child of yours who is wondering what beastly force took away the magical powers of creating wonderful fountains out of ink....But no one heard my prayers and now I decided never to pray again...:-(.....challenge dear God???I will rise up like a phoenix!!!
[The writer seeks pardon for the poor language of her first post in this blog....What to do??The Muse and me are n a sort of 'chaghada chaghada'!!]

One of the best profile stories I have come across. Click the link below.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

A few metaphors about 'Wind' I came across today morning

The wind(in Autumn) has a rough manliness in its voice,- not the tone of a lover, but of a husband.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The galloping/ wind balks at its shadow - John Ashbery

The river breeze
Out in a thin russet kimono
On a summer evening - Basho

An outlaw wind frightened the gulls and made away with the last leaves - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Point to note - Play with your imagination. Bring an original metaphor.

Friday, January 21, 2011


Silence,sister of loneliness
enemy of energy,
father of melancholy,
friend of mourner,and
mother of secrets.
Creeping,exploring and pinching the heart,
unbearable severe pain,but no outer remarks.
Two minds,one heart exchanging
and sometimes argues,boasts.
full of regrets,crying from the deep core
crushing nd pulsating,but no outer remarks.
Silence.......who knows its great depth and width?
Sensitive suffering,soundly suffocation
stress and strain for silly something
subconsciously thinking,selectively avoiding
submerged feelings in a secluded valley.

Can you say a new thing in an unconventional way?

You do it  in a way that surprises and delights the reader.

Version 1. I like e-mail, because it is efficient and direct.
Version 2. I like e-mail, because it is efficient and direct. No receptionist, no voice mail, no elevator music.

Which one do you like most?
Point to be taken - When you really want to drive home a point, abandon the realm of rational thought. Appeal to your reader's imagination. Make him see.

Can you come up with more such examples? Just find something you like and walk your imagination. I am waiting.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Welcome writers!

Welcome all to the exciting terrain of words and sentences. We begin with no fanfare. We begin.