Writing, not writing, not being able to write: everyday frustrations for a writer. Being able to write like a spring gushes water: aspirations of a writer. But frustrations and aspirations are so radically different for different people: Radha in this post by Anouradha Bakshi has such different frustrations and aspirations.
Cooking is as much a creative and fulfilling process as writing, and in the past few days, I’ve found cooking the easier of the two:).
I cooked over the weekend, and spent seven straight hours yesterday, cooking for friends, and did not mind it in the least. Cooking can be such a sensory, even sensual act: your ability to smell, touch, and see count as much, if not more than your ability to taste. I have written before about how therapeutic it can be.
You can have it all too, never mind if you stay in a seedy loft at the other end of town. You can do it. Remember, I started off just like you. Just pick me up from the news stand and let’s go home, where I’ll tell you all my secrets.
As I wrote in my last post, I have a lot of time to kill and breaks to take in between writing sessions, for dreaming, blogging. Blog browsing as well.
I have been trying this morning to catch up on the posts on blogs I follow, and this one made sense. With so much of made-up beauty around me, it was refreshing to read about souls without artifice.
I am not writing about Venice, but about The Venetian, a casino hotel in Macau.
I have been here since yesterday, and so far, I’m quite taken with the experience, attracted and repelled at the same time.
The casino, of course, is out-of-bounds for cameras, so I have no pictures. To me, the overwhelming first impression was of a colorful fish market, only without the stench and the noise.