Poornima Manco

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A pause, and then…

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All has been quiet on the blogging front for me. I wish I could say that I have dedicated this time to some serious writing. On the contrary, I have done very little writing at all. Have trotted out an entry for a Flash fiction contest, which is new territory for me, so am interested to see how that fares.

My overriding problem right now is that I have a burgeoning story that I have no inclination to complete. The very same one that I started out, directionless, and plotless to be precise. Conditions have not improved since.

I am still clueless as to where this meandering tale is headed, and whether I even intend to see it to its destination.

I try not to do things by half measures, and am a terrible perfectionist when it comes to completing tasks. Equally though, I am a terrible procrastinator when the said tasks are not to my liking.

So, would it be so bad to abandon this story at the midway point? At the rate I am going, I am not likely to make the deadline anyway. Then, why the guilt?

As for those of you who are wondering why there seem to be more thoughts and musings than stories of late, I will be posting a story soon.

Watch this space.

Sugar, Spice and all things hormonal

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I have a daughter, teetering on the edge of teenage hood. It is an interesting transition. Yesterday, quite out of character (or perhaps, very “in character” for the age), she declared that she hated everyone, wanted to run away, and couldn’t understand why she felt that way.

Luckily for me, I wasn’t the ‘bad guy’ for a change. Poor Daddy and younger sister were the culprits. So, of course, needing someone in her corner, she came to me. I am so glad she did. Distant as the memories of my own traumatic (!!) evolution to the teens were, I could sympathise.

I recall my mother asking vainly, “What happened to my sweet girl?” Well, she was effectively replaced by a monster for the next few years.

To my own daughter, I gently explained, “Sweetheart, these are your hormones playing up. You are going to feel this way a lot. When you do, rather than throw things, or slam stuff, go into your room. Breathe deeply, listen to music, text your friends (also similarly alienated), and just ride it out.”

To my totally astonished husband I said, “Darling, it may soon be your turn to be the good cop. So, let her take her time, apologise for shouting at her, and take heed. This is not a five year old. This is an angst-ridden almost teen.”

As for me, I hugged my nine year old close, and vowed to enjoy her pre teen innocence and simplicity. Another few years, and no doubt, a new drama will begin.

The joys of Procrastination (and the side effects)

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I have no one to blame but myself. You do not start a story with no clear plot in mind. This is what I have done…again. Previously, it has somehow worked. This time, not so much. My story has stuttered to a halt. And rather than do what all writers must do, which is, show up, shut up and write, I am procrastinating.

Suddenly that circuits class at the gym…the one that’s going to kill you…looks very attractive. Oh, and cleaning! The pleasure I am deriving from that. Not to mention, the laundry, the dusting, the cooking, the unloading of the dishwasher…. Heck, I’ll even slap on some gloves and give the toilet a thorough cleaning. Anything but what I must do. Which is write.

I could argue that I am writing….doesn’t this blog count towards something?

Yeah, I know.

Back to the dusting then.

A change is as good as a rest

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I am back after a brief hiatus. It was the necessary amount of time it took me to reassess, recuperate and rebound (somewhat) from the sad sad time in our lives. The sun is shining and in some small way, so is my outlook. I cannot thank my friends, and my lovely readers/followers for believing in me and allowing me the luxury of wallowing in my sorrow for a bit.

Onwards and upwards hereon.

Is it worth it?

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I was in the middle of writing a story when I found out about the demise of a family member. That was nearly two weeks ago. Since then, I have been unable to return to that story, even with a submission deadline looming.

I could ascribe it to writer’s block. Or being far too busy, or far too grief stricken. But underneath that unwillingness to carry on writing, lies quite another beast. One that I find myself unable to name.

Is it doubt? All writers have their fair share of that. Is it ennui? There is certainly some of that within me, right now . But the overriding feeling is one of hopelessness. Why am I writing? What is the purpose here?Is anyone even reading what I write? And what do I hope to accomplish with my half baked stories and strange ramblings? Do I expect to become some kind of best selling novelist at my ripe age? Haha to that.

All human beings want to leave some kind of a mark on the world. Whether it is in the form of art or music or progeny or a business venture, there is always a yearning to be remembered. In the end, however, how many of us really are?

Death is a great leveller.

Right now, it is making me question all that I have felt was important or worthwhile. Will I come out the other end still writing? Only time will tell.

Mother

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Having lost another loved one recently, emotions that were long suppressed have been churned up once again.

Today is my mother’s birthday. Or would have been, if she were still here. Only, I lost her nearly fifteen years ago. At the time it was like a tsunami had devastated me. I sleep walked through an entire year, unable to comprehend the magnitude of my loss. Slowly,however, with the help of my near and dear ones, I regained equilibrium, and started to live life once more.

The death of a parent is a reality all of us have to face at some point in our lives. It is normal to feel adrift…rudderless. Mothers, Fathers, siblings…..these are the people who know you, warts and all, from the very beginning. They are your moorings. How does one pick oneself up once they are gone?

With great difficulty.

My grandmother said to me at the time, ” You are not the first, and you will not be the last.” Wise words from a lady who had been orphaned at a very young age.

And so, you put one foot in front of the other, and keep moving.

We are doing just that right now.

In love and remembrance of my wonderful, brave mother. And all the others we have lost along the way. God Bless you and keep you.