More Social Networking!

Hello,

Well I am now on twitter. Its been quite a while since I was thinking of making a twitter account. 

So you can follow me at @HowAnxious. You can follow me and of course, I will follow you back. And if you want, type out your twitter username down in the comments section. I will look into your profile and follow you. But I am new to twitter; so it would take a bit of time for me to get into the flow of the website. So, bear with me..

And moreover, I have been consistent in updating my goodreads account since last year but I haven’t got any friends there. You can be my friend there and we could share our reviews about the various books we have read. You can reach me at Red Rose.

And I am going to set up the goodreads and the twitter widget in the sidebar so that it would be easy for you to pay me a visit. 

That is all.

-HA

Writer’s Cookie

He was turning out to be the person he wished he would never become. He was terrified of the boredom he was experiencing daily. It was as if he had nothing to do.

“The last book, I wrote, was five years back,” he told his close friend.

It was never published. Truthfully, none of his books were ever published. He had written a few books, some of them he could never convince himself to send to the publishing houses and while the others he had sent were kindly rejected, though he didn’t know because he never got a reply and he forgot it all with time.

“It is alright. You have a few ideas in your mind, right?”

“Yes, I have but they mean nothing till the time I start working on them. They have to come to life to mean something,” he desperately put forward his agony.

“Then work on them.”

“I can’t. Whenever I turn on my laptop and open a word document to type out the words ready to pour out of my soul, I end up typing not even a single word.”

“Why is it so?”

“It is because I feel doubtful either about my ideas or about my capability of working over them.”
He sipped his tea but didn’t pick up the almond cookie, even though he wanted to and rather just looked at it with a morbid sincerity.

“You are no longer enjoying your writing, are you?”

“I haven’t been writing. So, how can I tell?”

“It is okay. Take some time. And may be then you can join a creative writing class.”

“I am old now and there would be kids there.” He finally moved his hand towards the cookie to pick it up; it had lured him into a desire to consume it.

But his young friend’s hand was swifter and she picked it up and gobbled it down and his hands remained in an awkward position. It was the last cookie.

The One Who Stands Alone

Sometimes it becomes difficult for me

to know who can be a friend and who can’t be one

I thought I succeeded in making some of them

but ended up knowing I was still alone, outcasted

for the reason, that I don’t know.

I remember I have always been an outcast-

a distinct personality, a leader in himself

with neither followers nor supporters,

the person who always stood alone, that is me

Is it good for me or not to be like this,

that I don’t know but what I know is that

I won’t mind standing alone in the crowd

but I would never lose self-respect,

never will I become your tail-

I will always stand for what I find right-

friends or not, even if the courtesy of

acknowledgment you take away

from me, I won’t mind

standing alone because that is who I am-

the outcasted one, the one who stands alone.