I have published 94 posts since I started blogging on this new platform. They have generally reflected the state of my mind and heart. The intervening period between them too reflects the same. The longest gap between two posts was of 4-5 months. There was a time when I wrote a weekly diary, and there was a time I wrote my own ‘eulogy’. Then I had described my love for the English language. Here, I also worked on writing poems and sonnets. Sometimes, I indulged in my regular haughty, arrogant and inconsiderate self and published tosh. However, I still haven’t said all what I wanted to say or have got to say.
There are, as I write this, 89 drafts in my blogger. I sometimes wonder whether I will be able to publish those drafts ever. Some are quirky, some are bizarre, some betray my inbuilt arrogance, some expose it, some are herculean in task, some are as simple as algebra. There is a pending open letter to the open letters, and then there is incomplete essay on box and innovation. In one pending post, I uncover my personality and I have titled it “Uncovering”. There is a poem titled “As I collect” pending for I am not yet done done with collecting. There is a short story I titled – Beast of Burden – whose only three paragraphs I have written.
One day I talked to myself about story with no ends and the conversation is incomplete. Then there is a post seeking answer to fight or embrace the absurdity. There is a pending poem titled “Anomaly” pointing out ironies and anomalies, and then a collection of prose titled “Perplexed” at about the same time also lies pending. I started an essay, but humorous [and little scholarly], titled – Best Discoveries of All Time. The essay is yet to go beyond the list of 5 discoveries. Then there’s a pending “experimental version” of Sonnet LXVI. One pending posts roars about the “Need of a War Cry”. Then there are pending rumblings on death, aftermaths of breaking up, a poem on solitude titled “Fortress” and a long rant on “The Selfie”.
One post telling my favourite rhetorical devices has been left hanging in the air. I have an almost incomplete schizophrenic dialogue on “Regrets”. At one time, I indulged in, through way of writing, developing a process of forgetting. Then, there’s the writing about The Lament, a post explaining my “constant grudge”, and then a long pending rumbling against “Photography”. A sonnet that I grandly numbered as III is still pending while one pending post describes my preferable way of dying. One meditation on “Vairagya” is also not complete and so is post on how different professionals will express or profess their love on Valentine’s Day. I have a grand post pending titled as “Review of Mankind”. The Queen of ALL pending posts is named-“How to kill people non-violently: A lecture on peaceful and pragmatic misanthropy”.
In the end of it all, I have only one thing left to say:
How many posts must a (wo)man publish, before you could call him/her a writer?
The answer, my friend, is buried in the drafts; the answer is buried in the drafts.
If you write, you are a writer. If your pompous you call yourself an author.