I really want to get back to blogging once more. It's as if the minute I stepped into college I became too busy to care about my teenage hobbies and unfortunately I sacrificed writing along with it. There is nothing and I mean absolutely nothing in this world that should stop someone from writing. It is one of the few activities that not only makes you think but also clears the writers head at the same time. Like now I started writing to talk about why I could not write but now I know that such trivial reasons should never stop me again.
Writing gives me an outlet of a manner in which I can express myself like no other. The only form which like me prefers to be blunt than subtle, which prefers to be bold than shy but at the same time can always choose the latter. The beauty of writing is never underestimated. But what is underestimated is the effect it has on the writer. People believe that great writers are born , well they are wrong , great writers are created through the lives they lead and the people who lead their lives with them. I think this applies to anyone. An artist of any form always presents some part of themselves in their expression of the art. How many times have we come across artists and writers in particular who's life story bleeds into their novels or plays. It's as if God intended the soul to be dispersed. Ever piece I write I leave behind a piece of my soul which felt what I felt. Does this mean we are losing parts of our soul when we write or that an artists souls is never ending?
I am intrigued by the train of thought that has brought me to this juncture. Did I stop writing because my soul no longer wished to part with my physical form the body or was there none left? These musings I have at1:47 am can never be predicted much less analyzed so I am going to leave it at this, except by thanking a new friend without whom I probably would'nt have considered writing when I actually did not feel like writing. Also here is to more posts and uniterrupted trains of thought.
Alamelu
Writing gives me an outlet of a manner in which I can express myself like no other. The only form which like me prefers to be blunt than subtle, which prefers to be bold than shy but at the same time can always choose the latter. The beauty of writing is never underestimated. But what is underestimated is the effect it has on the writer. People believe that great writers are born , well they are wrong , great writers are created through the lives they lead and the people who lead their lives with them. I think this applies to anyone. An artist of any form always presents some part of themselves in their expression of the art. How many times have we come across artists and writers in particular who's life story bleeds into their novels or plays. It's as if God intended the soul to be dispersed. Ever piece I write I leave behind a piece of my soul which felt what I felt. Does this mean we are losing parts of our soul when we write or that an artists souls is never ending?
I am intrigued by the train of thought that has brought me to this juncture. Did I stop writing because my soul no longer wished to part with my physical form the body or was there none left? These musings I have at1:47 am can never be predicted much less analyzed so I am going to leave it at this, except by thanking a new friend without whom I probably would'nt have considered writing when I actually did not feel like writing. Also here is to more posts and uniterrupted trains of thought.
Alamelu
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