Our princess is in another castle!

As long as you love what you doing, there is no better reward for doing it. In words of Nietzsche, “If you know the why, you can live any how.”

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

— Charles Bukowski

The best part about trying out things on our own is being able to accept mistakes and make corrections when needed. Recently, I have found myself exhibiting a lot of uncharacteristic behaviors that includes worrying excessively about the plot, even when I am aware that it isn’t about stories right now, it is about the exploration of the language. I have plots mapped and characters sculpted, but what I am exploring is a voice that I would like to narrate this stories to me, and maybe then to others.

As I started to explore further work, I noticed, I liked when a judge in a Robert Heinlein’s story doesn’t just allow someone to speak out of turn but instead say, “It seems to me that we need more light and less noise in this matter.” Also, it is beautiful to read when someone describes a stage as rostrum and addresses someone who talks nonsense as a windbag.

To become a good writer, and here I am being honest that it has nothing to do with writing fictions, but like a ringmaster, to develop a command over the wildness that is a language. To make it convey what you want it to convey, as closely as you can. It might take longer than I expected it to take. Maybe a few lifetimes of effort. But I feel ready to be a struggling writer, a devotee at the altar of language, for a lifetime.

I’ve recently discovered Lydia Davis’s work. It is crisp and a genre in itself. Around the same time, I discovered how some short stories don’t have names but mere roles which is also their descriptions–a husband, a daughter, a gardener, a mistress, a wizard or a witch.


A few stories started to develop in February but none reached a proper conclusion. So, there won’t be any submission in February.

March has only one assignment, that is to write two open letters to any two people who inspired me. As I learned from the epic disregard for the theme in February, March may have as many or as few posts as needed. It can be like Lydia’s work, where sometimes a story is one a sentence long. So, write on anything but polish it. Even if it is just a sentence.

February: Seems like our princess is in another castle!