You are kind to me and dance happily at the sight of the Tumblr text post screen, but I think it’s time I tell you that if you strike me in the form of an ‘I’ to ‘you’ writing voice and point of view again, I might just monologue into loneliness forever.
Attempting cherry clafoutis tonight - I’ve been drooling over this since I watched it on Masterchef. Wish me luck!
Breakfast was happiness today.
One of them is to write something beautiful on antique paper, roll it up, put it in a glass bottle, seal it with a cork and throw it into the sea.
And I imagine this throwing in a perfectly idyllic sunset sea shore, with pebbles and shells, salty sea breeze, and gulls flying overhead.
I was playing meow with my cat - he’s quite proud of me, I speak cat rather well.
Also, I haven’t written anything new for over a day now, and that’s a terrible feeling.
There’s little to make me feel happy today, except that mum made lots of dessert, and my cousin is visiting and he brought home a chocolate truffle cake. Oh, happiness. Oh, cocoa.
Other good news - I love the song 9 Crimes. Incidentally, the ninety nine brilliant people are now following this blog. Thank you all!
Drop in the ask/message box, dear Tumblr people, and talk to this guilty bored soul.
I can’t seem to help it. If I like some character and they are perky and do funny things and make silly strange decisions, they end up with fascinating blends of features I love. Such as aquiline noses, prettily coloured eyes, carved jawlines, thick hair of cinnamon or chocolate brown or deep golden or jade black, a freckle or a mole on just the right place, long fingers like pianists, collarbones visible in a way that any pendant they wear (and most women in my odd mind do) rise and fall along the contours of the neck, strong eyebrows in a man, perfectly shaped toenails, Adam’s apples and faintly veined hands in men. Oh well. I think I can be forgiven the Adam’s apple, such intrigue.
I tend to slip ‘coffee in rain’ references in my writing a lot. These pictures are of last year, when I was in hostel. It was a gorgeous Sunday morning, and my room-mate and I whipped up some hot coffee and walked around the school campus, feeling alive quite literally.
Trivia - This wall overlooks the main road, and all of us hosteller girls quite traditionally stopped by and looked over this wall to the outside world, to all the cars and the rickshaws and the boys hostel on the other side of the road. We couldn’t go out without a letter of permission - and hey, this is India!
This includes making them eat lovely, exotic things. I try making my characters (for need of a more dignified pronoun) enjoy a grand English tea with pretty crockery and just the right weather. And no, it isn’t enough for Ryan to sit in a gorgeous room with French windows open to a little lake and enjoy an ‘English tea’ - I must, of course, write about the freshly baked scones and just how right the texture of the clotted cream was, and how divinely right the scones looked with the dollop of cream and blueberry jam (homemade, of course), and how sublime the jasmine-rose tea was and how there were actual petals floating in the teapot.
I also love making characters eloquent. I am a terribly awkward person and my word choice progressively degenerates as conversation becomes first-hand and face-to-face. I think I end up channelizing all the wordy obsession for the right words and perfect sentence structures in the way people in stories talk to each other.
If someone doesn’t own a dog or a cat or (fit in nearly any mammal legal to own, or not), the character tends to be an evil, lopsided person who will do things like breaking apart people who love each other, or killing wonderful people who were meant to do brilliant things in life. Anyone with a redeeming trait in stories always has an animal who loves them, even if that is their sole redeeming trait.
There is rarely blood or gore or any sort of scratch in what I write; I think I’m oddly repulsed by any hint of abrasion and need of antiseptic. This is obviously something I need to tackle but I think I’ll exploit all the different ways of causing pain without bleeding until then, and it is ironically sad how many of them exist.
Good food, suave conversation, lots of pets, no physical injury or ailment. I wish I lived in my stories.
Speckles of imagination, everywhere around.
I was spending my holidays with my grandparents in this little old world in a bubble town. On my way to the market, I’d seen a lady sitting on her front porch with cabbage leaves all over her lap and two goats - one white with a brown ear and one a gorgeous black - leaning into her, muzzling her and munching the leaves. The white one had his forelegs bent in the most adorable way.
I love goats now.
I also love small towns and people who are enlightened enough to know just how much happiness front porches, cabbage and goats in the sun can provide.
Yes, I am one of those sappy people who have the whimsical hope of meeting a good-looking broody stranger at the airport, reading a gorgeous book I love, and scratching his perfectly aquiline nose from time to time.
Of course, he would also be on the same flight as me, that goes without saying in this romantic rigmarole.
So yes, I did have my oft dreamt about, rather exotic and Iraqi, airport adventure this fine, fine day. Isn’t it a perfect day?
I shall write about it, once I stop dreaming about it.
Dream, please, and dream silly. They do come true.
Oh, to explain my fetish for straight noses, I actually can’t explain it except they are just made to be envied.