Diary of a Working Writer…

Some people are like cheap biscuits. Dry, crumbly disappointments destined to dissolve into chai and ruin a perfectly good cup on a perfectly good day. Unlike biscuits though, they’re not so easily locked away in an old box of tin and tend to leave a hateful long-lasting aftertaste.

What surprises me is that one often strikes these geniuses on either horribly great days or amazingly awful ones. [Well, I do at least. Case in point, today.] Paragons of vice created for the sole purpose of sucking out pleasure with their custom-made fangs of discontentment.

Luckily, I’m a writer and so born with an inbuilt arsenal of silence within a loud, active brain. For those who don’t know, that’s the compartmentalized space [read, basement] we use to record grudges, broken hearts and fictional and real people we really don’t like. [There’s a separate warehouse for sugar, spice and all things nice.]

Sure, it’s better, more adult to take the higher road and kill your villains with kindness. But making them the most loathed character in your book who gets run over by a bull on page thirteen is much, much therapeutic.

Don’t believe me? Think about it:

That sexist colleague, the rude client? Lost his hair in flash fiction.

Bad date from six months ago? Dumped melodramatically in a short story.

Unforgettably rude relative? Immortalized by bad breath in Chapter 12.

As the saying goes: Keep Snark and Write On.



    • A. Perveen

      Me too! I think everyone who writes or does anything creative – painters, singers, etc – feels the same. It does take time to get comfortable – with your craft, yourself – to be able to let it all out. Blogging had definitely helped me there.

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