09/18/2024

I was walking in my garden yesterday and noticed that one of my drip lines has somehow become detached from the mainline and water was gushing out from it. Water was scattering everywhere and getting wasted. When the dripline was connected, it was providing lifeline to my flowers, and they were blooming. Now, deprived of their lifeline, they were beginning to wither. 

A thought suddenly sprung in my head, that writing is also somewhat similar to this. Ideas and thoughts keep bubbling in our head all the time. But most of the time, they don’t get used and wither away. But when directed to writing, they become like seeds, paper or devices their ground, ink their blood flow, and words their flowers. Done properly and with passion, beautiful words bloom. 

Also, as with anything worthwhile, practice builds perfection. Even if not a bestseller, if I enjoy reading my own words, it is reward enough and gives a sense of accomplishment.

I attended a writers group meeting today at a Senior Center in Milton, WI.  It is appropriately called, The Gathering Place.  It was my visit there.  It is a beautiful place and has over 700 members.  

Our writing group was attended by about 20 people.  Most were in their 70’s, a few years older than me.  They came from various backgrounds.  Four of them stepped up to the podium and read from their memoirs.  One gentleman narrated from his writing, When Farm Got Electrified.  It was in the early 50’s.  He vividly narrated farm life in those days.  Another lady remembered a one room school and how boys bullied and played pranks.  Somethings never change.  It was all very fascinating.  I couldn’t help but think how much more primitive the life was in India in those days, where I come from.  But we didn’t know or think that it was primitive.  To me, I still have beautiful memories from those days.