The Siren & the Banshee – A Short Story

“You can’t,” said the hag.

She wore a dirty green robe with a hood that obscured her forehead and eyes. Her hooked nose with its bulbous tip overhung her cavernous mouth, shivering ever so slightly when she spoke.

banshee

“I can,” replied the young woman who unlike the hag wore nothing. Her skin glistened reflecting the golden rays of the evening sun. Her hair that shimmered with a light of its own, shed an ethereal glow upon her face, lighting up her sea green eyes and making the tint of her soft lush lips look richer. Her body was cast in alabaster and molded to perfection, but it moved with the fluidity of music, of water, of air… Continue reading “The Siren & the Banshee – A Short Story”

Good people of Dundee – be what you want to be!

“Good people of Dundee, your voices raise,
And to Miss Baxter give great praise;
Rejoice and sing and dance with glee,
Because she has founded a college in Bonnie Dundee” – William McGonagall

I must be brave to reprint those lines on my blog, for they were spouted by the gentleman who is considered to be the worst poet in history.

Statements with such strong absolutes make me shudder. They also make me think about how the whole self-publishing thing would work, if critics and not readers were opining and deciding whether an author’s work was sold. Continue reading “Good people of Dundee – be what you want to be!”

Inheritance of Criminality & Genetic Purging of the Human Race.

As scientists break new grounds in the study of criminality, fiction writers of today break their keyboards attempting to find every loose thread in the theory and spin it into a yarn.

When The New York Times reports that a STUDY SAYS CRIMINAL TENDENCIES MAY BE INHERITED, we sit up and take note.

We’ve known through multiple observations made by many different people that children take after their parents, and while nurture has a part to play in how we shape up, our nature or our genetic makeup often defines the impact of nurture on us. So a child with aggressive, short-tempered biological parents may become more subdued if brought up in a more even-tempered family, and yet growing up in its own family, the child’s genetic traits could worsen. (Thus, a hot-headed but non-criminal parental pair, may produce and “nurture” a child whose natural genetic traits would be further emboldened by its experiences.)

Unfortunately, given the growing intolerance (or thinning of skins,) the only place to discuss inherited criminality remains fiction, because fiction automatically enables us to present different opinions without getting judgmental. Continue reading “Inheritance of Criminality & Genetic Purging of the Human Race.”

Saturated eBook Markets and Desaturated Writers

I happened to read a post that made me feel terrible, both as a reader and as a writer.

The gist of the post made by a writer is that her books aren’t selling because there is a glut of writers in the eBook space as every one who can write, is writing and publishing.

According to this writer,

the only writers selling their books are those who can afford the time and money to promote and advertise their books

OR

those who turn lucky and succeed for an unknown reason (and definitely not for any talent they might have.)

Continue reading “Saturated eBook Markets and Desaturated Writers”

Physical Labor is Like Water…

it flows down – down to the weakest and the most disadvantaged section of the society.  The edifices of the past that make us gasp with awe, extracted the labor from the susceptible either through force, or through collective psychological manipulation.

Think of a mammoth building project, that a king wishes to complete in his life time. It could be the city of Akhetaten at Amarna or the Tajmahal in India, and imagine how it might have come into existence. We say now, that Akhenaten built the city at Amarna, and that Shahjahan built the Tajmahal – but the statement is erroneous. The men we attribute the building of these huge monuments were merely the financiers – in cash and in kind (and in Ancient Egypt, it was mostly in kind – beer, bread, linen, grains and so on.)

These monuments were built by the poor – the peasant class. In Ancient Egypt, the men were rounded up for their essential service to Pharaoh’s building projects – this happened before the floods, for at that time, there was nothing else the poor could do. In medieval India, there were huge colonies of craftsmen who lived in low huts and worked around the year on the Emperor’s projects. Continue reading “Physical Labor is Like Water…”

Finding Time…The Eternal Quest.

Time is such a charmer, you see. A casanova of sorts. First, it binds your heart with invisible silk and encloses it in a soft embrace, lulling it into believing that it would be there for you forever – and then, one day, you wake up with your heart cold and shivering, and realize that the sweet, calming comfort is gone. And then you see time fleeing away. The pile of tasks to be completed,  you learn, had been growing undetected, and transformed into a time-guzzling monster.

I can’t seem to find time these days. I need it to write blogposts, to edit “The Price of Nofret’s Nose”, to Continue reading “Finding Time…The Eternal Quest.”

Eating Books.

This week, I tasted a couple of books and swallowed one. About those that must be chewed and digested... I’m still working on a few that I read years ago.

I love reading books from different genres – mostly fiction and some non-fiction (mainly historical and psychological.)

In my little library there indeed are books that must chewed and digested (and those that I am still chewing and digesting.) Some of these are: Ken Follett’s Century Trilogy, Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, and George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice & Fire series. 

And then there are books that I’ve swallowed. I ordered them because they were on the bestseller lists of psychological fiction. I didn’t stop to experience their texture (or the lack of it;) I didn’t swirl them around my tongue long enough to let my senses be taken by them; and now, I don’t remember anything about them at all. Continue reading “Eating Books.”

Cracked Mirrors and The Grim Reaper – A Short Story

The soft breeze of the night transformed itself into a gale and rushed ahead to open the windows of the house for her. Mirrors cracked, curtains bellowed, hitting a vase somewhere in the house and crashing it to the floor.

It’s odd that my calm and serene presence should be announced with such violence, she thought.

Inside the house, in his bedroom, he slept on his side of the bed, undisturbed by the violent storm that raged outside. The other side of the bed was empty. A wave of guilt washed over her. She had been here before and she was the reason why he slept alone.

He lay supine, alone and in peace. She stood next to his bed, Continue reading “Cracked Mirrors and The Grim Reaper – A Short Story”

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