Word of the Week #86:

Caesura

Poetry… Who doesn’t enjoy that, right?

Well, I suppose some could say the same about tea, or beer, and I happen to hate them both, so who can say.

Regardless, we must not digress.

You see, I have always been one who enjoyed a good verse. I am more old-school with my tastes, though, most familiar with the names Shelley, Keats, Wordsworth, and above all, Frost. Contemporary poetry, however, seemed rather alien to me.

From the outset, it appears somewhat formless. It is not bound by any conventional lyric meters or rhyme schemes. Now, I’m not a purist, but playing with no rules whatsoever seems like cheating.

However, over the course of this year, my opinion has changed, and after having spent the past weekend almost entirely dedicated to Spoken Word poetry, I have finally begun to get the hang of it.

You see, traditional poetry is like a fragrant mist. It will envelop and entrance you. Spoken word, however, is quite different. It is simple, stark, and unconstrained.

It is actually quite like an axe—hits hard and cuts deep. It is not a chisel that delicately shapes the world around us. Instead, it is better equipped at chopping away at the flaws.

Spoken word is not cheating. Instead, it is a different game altogether.

And, like with most games, I have no interest in staying a mere spectator for too long. I am here to play.


PS: All sportsmen will tell you that there was one moment towards the beginning, one flash of brilliance, that made them fall in love with the game. For me, that came as a line I heard this past Sunday:

Liars will say that they are artists.
Ironically, they are not lying.

Aditya Mankad, Pseudologia Fantastica

Advertisements

Word of the Week #85:

Revelry

Just this Sunday, my sister and I were sitting in a cab. I was looking out the window, as we whizzed past the flashing lights.

“I have a meeting till 5PM on Thursday,” she suddenly announce. “I don’t think I will be able to make lunch.”

“Huh? Okay,” was all I could elicit, at the moment, not sure what to do with this little piece of information.

It is not like her to make small talk, after all, nor is she known to volunteer information for no good reason.

Also, considering her schedule, it was almost always impossible for her to have lunch at home on a weekday, and I could not see why she would feel the need to specify it, that too days in advance.

I stared at her for another few seconds, before either of us could spoke again, and I was so wrapped in my thoughts that I do not remember even a word of what followed.

What I do remember is the sensation when, after an entire minute of befuddlement, realisation finally dawned on me: Thursday also happens to be my birthday.

It may seem odd to some, but to me birthdays do not seem like a big deal… Especially when we are talking about my own. If it is someone else’s, I would still love to make a big fuss for their sake. That is still fun.

But, you see, I have already seen enough birthdays. Their novelty has already faded. Now, it is no longer a day I look forward to for the weeks, or even days, that precede it. Moreover, I have not even been able to spend it with the entirety of my family, for the past two years. That rather dampens the effect.

Now, I do not say that I will not celebrate. It has been a good year, and all good things deserve a celebration, right?

But, more than Thursday, I am looking forward to Wednesday night. On 15th of November, 2017, we commemorate the third anniversary of the completion of the first draft of Arrkaya: Origins, after a marathon writing session that lasted 46 hours and ended only because the manuscript was complete. It is the time to remember one of the finest day in my short lifetime, and I could not be more proud.

So, the party does not start at midnight. No, it shall start at 10PM. Just as it did, three years ago…

This week should be fun.

Word of the Week #69:

Tryst

So, this past week has hurtled by, as I have been forced to just sit and watch; not that I was particularly ill or anything of that sort, of course. When am I not ill, anyway…

Nah, I guess there are just some weeks like this one.

It is, however, disconcerting when we consider the fact that the end of the contract with my current publisher is no longer at the horizon—it is now very much in the forefront—and I have barely begun working on the editing and rewriting required to prepare the second edition of Book One.

I will admit, as have many readers already observed, that the first edition could have used a little more time and work than it was afforded. Well, I am wiser now.

To write is human, to edit is divine.
—Stephen King

Add to that the fact that the manuscript of Book Two is still not quite completely ready and one can very well begun to hyperventilate.

Quite honestly, this is one of those few instances where the word ‘deadline’ could literally be true.

But, as I keep proving to myself more than to anyone else, I am made of sterner stuff than that. Moreover, it have always found it easier to concentrate on a task when it begins to seem, to an uninitiated onlooker, overwhelming.

If everything seems under control, you’re just not going fast enough.
—Mario Andretti

So, now that the going has gotten tough, it is time for me to get going.

Au revoir.