who do you write about? - shradha
As writers, we play a delicate game of hide-and-seek with our own hearts. We sit at our desks, fingers poised over keyboards, and convince ourselves that our pieces are works of pure imagination. When asked about our muse, we demur, we deflect, we deny. But oh, how paper-thin that lie can be. I tell people I don't know who my muse is. I speak of the creative process as if it were a mystical journey through uncharted territories of the mind. The truth? Most of the time, I hardly know who I am writing about. But every so often, I realize whose smile I'm describing. I can see the curve of those lips, the slight crinkle at the corner of the eyes, the way the cheeks rise to create little valleys of happiness. It's a smile I've studied a thousand times, memorized in all its variations—from the soft one shared in secret to the wide, unrestrained laugh that never fails to make my heart skip a beat. Every so often, I realize that the eyes my protagonist gets lost in, the ones that hold depths o
As writers, we play a delicate game of hide-and-seek with our own hearts. We sit at our desks, fingers poised over keyboards, and convince ourselves that our pieces are works of pure imagination. When asked about our muse, we demur, we deflect, we deny. But oh, how paper-thin that lie can be. I tell people I don't know who my muse is. I speak of the creative process as if it were a mystical journey through uncharted territories of the mind. The truth? Most of the time, I hardly know who I am writing about. But every so often, I realize whose smile I'm describing. I can see the curve of those l
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