The Art of Writing

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I was sitting looking at another list of “recommended books for 2015” when I came across two really interesting books due for release this year. Two Years, Eight Months And Twenty-Eight Nights by Salman Rushdie A Spool of Blue Thread by Anne Tyler. But the point of this blog post is, that I don’t remember the last time someone actually recommended a book to me, or gifted me a book, or even introduced a new author to me. When I was a kid, one of the most common gifts I’d get were books, or crossword vouchers to buy books. All my parents did back then was instill that ‘reading books is good’ into mine and my brother’s brains. Funnily, I think it’s been at least six years since my parents recommended that I read a book in my free time. I don’t know why or how the concept of gifting books to each other has died over time. Maybe it’s because we have too many tv shows to watch now? Or too many bands to listen to? Too many social networking sites? Or maybe that when I reached 11th grade, I was suddenly hit with the gravity of the question everyone would ask me, ‘what do you want do after you finish 12th grade?’. Maybe the workload of ISC* got too much to bear? And maybe law school does not give anyone a break? Don’t get me wrong, I still read consistently. However, three years ago I’d finish perhaps 30 books per year? Now, I struggle to finish 5 per year. Through the last four years of schooling, we did two texts of Shakespeare-As You Like It and Macbeth, and in the 11th and 12th grade, I didn’t find a single person who did not loathe Shakespeare. Or Emily Dickinson, or William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Edgar Allan Poe. The poems, and the stories that I’ve studied for the past four years have held a special place because it’s the kind of writing a blogger like me can never hope of achieving. But to everyone else, these were just pages full of complicated and sophisticated words that held no meaning in their dictionary. When I think about it, I now know that English as a language has lost the magic it had when people were first introduced to it. You don’t find many people reading blogs, reading novels, or even reading. But maybe it’s because you don’t find them writing either. Yes, new authors come up everyday, but how many people write because they want to? When I was in school, my favourite class was English Language because we had the chance of writing essays. And all throughout school I never met one person who shared that with me. They were always forced to write. Back in 10th grade I told my mum that I wanted to study English honours, possibly from Oxford(every single English buff’s dream) She scoffed, and reminded me that no one could possibly succeed in an English-dominated career. Of course, journalists were just born mother. It’s truly saddening though, that reading and writing had perpetually died as I grew up. And you never want to grow up that way. I didn’t. When was the last time someone gifted you a book? When was the last time you read/posted on a blog? When was the last time you read poetry? Take time out to write, or to read what someone has written after taking time out~

*ISC-Indian School Certificate for Secondary Examination.

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