I wonder the stories pillows will unveil if they were the gossipy kinds. I wonder the secrets they will spill, shared to them in the privacy of night. I wonder if they will whisper to you the names of all who have snuggled with them before. I wonder if it’s promiscuous, for they comfort everyone and no one has ever called them a bore. I wonder if we would really sleep with them if they weren’t so silent. They know our dreams, they listen to our thoughts, they hear our snores, and they comfort our indoors.
Ever kept a pillow under your feet? Held one between your arms? Put a leg on one? or had one over your face when it’s too bright? or cover your ears when it’s too loud? Ever kissed a face on a pillow goodnight? Ever threw it at someone in the middle of a night? Ever sniffed a pillow for a scent? Did you have a pillow you loved more than the rest?
Do you remember what we talked when we shared a pillow on that hill, watching the city light, under the blanket of night?
Another cut from the reel… click… and what I’ve achieved may not be tangible but that makes it neither precious nor unsalable on its own. It is the time when I have to collate my learnings and decide on the pursuit I am undertaking. After a very long time when I received a diary as a parting gift from a friend, I didn’t write sequentially on it. I didn’t put dates on it instead I randomly wrote on different pages of that diary. I have to accept that I may wish to write longer stories but I am sharper with the micro-genre. Instead of honing my skill and laboring over intricacies of sentences, the sheer expanse of a novel becomes an excuse for me to write mediocrely.
Though it may suggest a lack of planning, or suggest an inefficient implementation of a plan, or may raise questions on the effectiveness of the plan itself, yet I think I have to start finishing before I take on other projects. This month and the coming months, I will focus on summarising, that will make the outcomes as micro-fictions unless they organically grow into a longer piece.
The magic may happen outside the comfort zone but you have to camp there when it happens instead of running barefoot into the abyss. Since the runway is clear, I would prefer not to learn river landing until I can land on the ground.
I am back to the same stance as it was in January and will be working on improving the ultra-short format of fiction. The last two I wrote last month, I sent to a few places and they didn’t get through. It wasn’t disheartening but it would have been delightful if it would have gotten selected.
“Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as the headlights but you can make the whole trip that way.” – E.L.Doctorow