While watching the season 2 of The Crown, there is a scene where Margaret, the queen’s sister, goes to a photographer who proclaims he can find the inner you, the hidden you, the you that even you don’t know exists behind all the layers of masks (the curtain behind the curtain as the-character-whose-name-I-can’t-remember from Stranger Things 2 said) and this is why he loves taking portraits of people.
A dab here, a brush stroke there
Perfect face. Now a touch of red,
Some flowery scent, a quick head tilt
And all is in place.
Go out there, entertain the crowd
Go out there, bask in the applause
Go out there, lose yourself
Go out there to break, to recreate.
Back, back to the green room
Get the cream and cotton out
Dab, wipe, dab, wipe
Half face done.
But wait right there!
Under the harsh yellow light,
With makeup on and off
Who is she?
Without the stage and the audience
Who is she?
Without the applause and adulation
Who is she?
With makeup on and off,
Who is she?
Is she the mask of makeup – ON
Is she the mask behind makeup – OFF.
For December, I will be writing stories based on prompts I have gotten from friends, family, friends of friends and some generous people on Twitter. Thank you Mrinil for this prompt.
The sudden jerk of my neck woke me up. I grunted indelicately as my brain struggled to make peace with the cruel ending of the most glorious dream. I came to with a gasp, relieved I hadn’t drooled over the train window my right cheek had been plastered to. Blinking rapidly, I looked around, thankful no one was watching me.
The memories flooded her like a maelstrom of vivid images, half truths and naked lies. This was the reason she had put off visiting the lighthouse for so long. But a time comes when putting something off no longer works and you are forced, by circumstances or otherwise, to confront all those glorious memories. That time had come for her.
Boredom can have profound effects on what you write next. No I am not deleting this blog because I am bored. Neither should the title suggest that. The title just signifies that December and end of 2017 is near.
Coming back to boredom, I have found it an excellent motivator in the recent past. Since the body and mind do not understand boredom (but do understand doing nothing), they obviously fight it to get back to things that are exciting and challenging.
Since #MyFriendAlexa kicked off, I have been trying really hard to stick to a schedule of posting every Tuesday and Saturday. I had thought that would give me enough time to think and I’ll also get back to regular posting. Since I have replaced the words motivation and inspiration with discipline in my writing vocabulary, this set scheduling is perfect. But things have their way of working out, which is rarely working out according to plan.
Here is a glimpse of the writing process:
Sisters are amazing creatures. They are fodder for writing. They annoy, please, trouble and save and teach you things along the way. We have screaming matches when we are together but when either of us is not at home, the other one doesn’t really know what to do with herself.
Without the baggage of the ol’ man, Hunter had been able to utilize his stealth to the fullest. Once he had seen Romeo being carried to the house Lola was trapped in, he knew it didn’t have the force he had previously assumed. It also meant this wasn’t the final destination. It was more of a rest stop – for what he didn’t know.
The realization that he had been hiding from a phantom force had made him angry. But he had managed to keep it in check. He was now hiding in the forest, taking advantage of the night and the fact that the two people who should still be worried about him were probably nursing Romeo.
I think I have figured out why self annihilation is so appealing – it is always easier to start afresh, wipe the slate clean, start from scratch. It may take more effort and time, and there are no guarantees that you’ll succeed this time, but it is easier to erase the board than to find your mistake and fix it.
Why do I write – this is a dangerous question. It takes you down a never-ending hole of self-pity where you are forced to examine your inflated sense of worth and going into that hole is never a pleasant experience.