18 Ways to get rid of Writing Block: Find new Things to Write when Bored
Boredom is a reality that writers often have to face. It can be a writing gig that is taking too long or perhaps it is that story that you thought about for a long while but now you are at loggerheads with yourself in the middle of it.
The Rise of Bad Poetry: Why is Good Poetry So Rare Today?
The classics still have their audience, their aura of mystery and attraction but poetry as a living mode of expression for our cultural experience has died. Poetry is dead and we all have been its murderers in our own way.
Thoughts with meaning, thoughts without
Thoughts with meaning, thoughts without
Order, chaos, clarity, doubt
All whirling in a dream
A turning, twisting, rushing stream
How to Understand a Poem or a Painting
When we look at a piece of art, a poem or a book, different feelings flow into our hearts such as love, reverence, awe, irritation, disgust, or outright hatred. What causes these feelings are myriads of meanings, memories, associations, and similar things that we experience in our lives. They give the meaning of art its profundity and complexity.
Chapter 3: A Call of the Forest
"He was on a dear hunt in a grove near the forest. He caught sight of a beautiful doe with her child. The doe strangely left the grove and began running towards the forest. The King pursued it with his retainers behind him. The doe was fast — too fast."
Chapter 2: A Call of the Forest
The goon on the left held a sword. He swung it at Ghal. Ghal swiftly sidestepped and hit him in the arm with full force. The man cried and let go of the blade. Ghal was deft enough to catch it and chop off the offender's head. In a split second, he had it thrust into the stomach of the last attacker.
Chapter 1: A Call of the Forest
Sanidar gave the sword one last look before placing it on the rack between the massive broadsword and the chest plate. He was exhausted, but the sword was complete at last. It had taken him weeks to forge it — melting raw iron ore and pouring it into ingots. Then came the long, excruciating task of annealing and hammering it into shape.
Prologue: A Call of the Forest
Everybody was wet and cold — very cold which was strange in this temperate land. But the rain was relentless and it had been falling for weeks. So far it showed no signs of ceasing. Every hut in the village had become a stream now. Only the Chief's Hut had remained. The hut was built on an ancient tree...
