Having blanked out in front of my laptop, I was reminded of a scene from the movie, Shakespeare in Love. Confiding in a friend, the bard describes his writers’ block, churning out one orignial, creative metaphor after another; almost like a musk deer who is oblivious to the fragrance emanating from its naval.
It all began when I happened on an IG post by a popular Dubai-based weekly, inviting short story contributions up to 50 words. ‘That’s doable,’ I thought and whipped out my thinking cap and a coupe glass of creative cocktail (juices). I started typing out a sentence only to backspace – the copyeditor in me took over the writer in me. This process repeated a few times and an hour later, I was sitting, blanked out in front of a blank screen. It came as a rude shock because I’ve always seen myself as someone who is ‘good at writing’. Moreover, I have been a published writer for ten years, yet, now, here I was, defeated by 49 words.
Ringing up a friend, I narrated the misfortune that had befallen me, not unlike the bard had, only replacing creative metaphors with a different kind of creative language. In my defense, the extended home arrest has taken its toll; ‘#wfh’? More like ‘#wtf’ if you catch my drift. He, my friend, not Shakespeare, advised, “Sachin Tendulkar didn’t hit a century in all the matches he played.” Partially convinced, I slept over my confusion only to pen down this post the next day. It’s not classic literature but I’m pleased with it, if I may say so myself; pleased enough to put it out here, confident enough to expose it to potential scorn and judgement that abound in netospehere.
Now that I’ve earned it, let me pour myself a real cocktail!
AdminStan 4/25/2020 9:18:11 AM
Can we read the entry?
Writefully Yours
No, can only see the image.
Writefully Yours
Sorry, I thought you meant if I am able to see the post. Some tech glitch I suppose. Have resubmitted. Thank you :)