Dear Friend of my Heart,
It has been a time like no other and it is only in collusion with an ofttimes repulsive obstinacy of a wearisome recluse (to speak otherwise or remain silent), that I have spent the better part of this ordeal initially in quiet meditation and now in extensive reading. As a school boy I identified myself so entirely with books, with literature, that I knew exactly who I was and how I was meant to bide my time in this world. I was in love with pages, especially the yellowing ones in the obscure recesses of my school library. I remember the first encounter with Oscar Wilde. Though at the time beyond my comprehension, I was intrigued by the sheer wit and the wicked usage of language, of which I unfortunately understood too little. Of course later when I bought a copy of Dorian Gray and lay at the stadium in the university indulging with it under the potent clouds of Indian monsoon, I felt a mystical sense of yearning, leavened so deliciously by a satisfaction that is momentary. How I burned for this momentary satisfaction every moment as I read through those crisp pages.
To study literature is perhaps the most grueling, even a macabre torment that a lover of literature could invite upon themselves. The horror lies in the fact that one ends up failing to enjoy literature as they once did and they are not even aware of it for years. Banished from verdure pastures and picturesque vistas of imagination, I found myself to be lingering and festering instead on the surface of the page, where words are supposed to speak of stylistic, sociological, or psychological significance. This loss of religion is a part of growing up and becoming a member of the belletristic order of sinners. I don’t identify myself as a hedonist, and have been quite moderate in regard to carnal matters, yet I would readily concede to an allegation of being a shameless bibliophile.
It is also with great pleasure and not without a hint of pride that I inform you of finishing the first draft of my book. There are still hills to climb and seas to sail but it does feel good to have something that I can get printed and hold in my hands. I still haven’t given enough consideration to the publishing process and it is only with an eager anticipation that I await your thoughts on that front.
I have been reading Maritime novels lately, for research purposes. I am planning to read extensively before returning to the writing process.
Here is a list of books read or currently being read (I like to read several books simultaneously) :
- The Tempest by William Shakespeare
- Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
- Moby Dick by Herman Melville
- The Phantom Ship by Frederick Marryat
- Mr. Midshipman Hornblower by C.S. Forester
- Lieutenant Hornblower by C.S. Forester
- Master & Commander by Patrick O’ Brian
- The North Water by Ian McGuire
I have not been taking as many photographs although the light is quite inviting. There are a few pictures that I would love to share with you. Perhaps the next post shall provide a more opportune space for that.
Have you been reading something interesting lately? It would be kind if you recommend me a book that is dear to you, a maritime novel, or otherwise. I do look forward to your suggestions!
Yours in isolation,