What starts as an exceptionally good idea turns out to be a damp squib. There is nothing wrong with the idea though. It has all the makings of the one that stands out. However what it is meant to be and what it becomes are world apart. Call it the execution gap or inability to take the idea to its logical conclusion, something surely seems amiss. Something which no one accounted for or thought it worthwhile to make a note of. Perhaps the idea itself is so overwhelming that failure looks a distant reality. The adrenaline rush and the enthusiasm to put such ideas in action at times results in turning a blind eye to common sense. What remains thereafter are just remains of day difficult to make sense of an already scattered in bits and pieces which were lost in translation.
To be honest, I’m not sure. I didn’t have a plan for this. A few ideas popped into my head yesterday, but I let them slip away without writing them down. So now, I’m here, wondering... What should I write about? I’ve always admired how writers seem to find the words. They don’t just tell stories; they make sense of life. Whether it’s fiction, essays, or poems, their words flow effortlessly, drawing you into their world. It’s like magic—captivating and transformative. Somehow, they’ve mastered the craft of turning simple words into gems that stay with you long after you’ve read them. And then, there’s me. I just write. I let my thoughts spill out, raw and unfiltered, without much structure or thought. No carefully woven narrative, no grand flow—just whatever comes to mind. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever get to the level of those writers who make it all seem so easy. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. But right now, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m writing. I showed ...
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