The leaves turn grey In a world of colour, I walk in blacks and whites. The vibrance hurts my eyes, The lights are too bright, Or pitch dark... There's peace within darkness, There's comfort within the void. When nothing exists, There's nothing to care for, Nothing to feel, Nothing to think, No worries, no pain, No love, no hate, Only blankness, an ending... And perhaps, if you're willing, A new beginning.
Some things I’ve dabbled in that got published:
Once upon a time, tales were few. They were controlled, manipulated and served out on elite platters for the literate people across the world to read. Tales were otherwise spoken or filmed or even enacted and sung. Factual news and fictional stories made it to as many doorsteps as they possibly could. Then there was the word of mouth and the collectiveness of community. The former, though a messy medium, was an easy source to spread gossip while the latter encouraged that certain tales stayed and were repeated for every individual to hear and understand.
It is doubtless to say that things have changed over the many eras spread across time. We read tales of a time where people did not have as many choices as the children of today. Today we are so spoilt for choice, we have so many doors open, that it is impossible to make one decision and stick to one path.
Thereby, hangs our tale. For writers of today, we are not only subject to the endless brigade of information showered on us like a torrential rainstorm, our words themselves have to battle across the floods of spam just to reach out in a single style, in a singular manner, our tales to our readers. And readers know (believe me they do) when they have read your words, because no one can truly mimic another’s work without someone knowing. Your voice is your own, despite the tide of voices you are made to wade through just to be heard.
Here, we come to talk about writing. That initial fear of putting pen to paper, keys to the screen, is a common one. Sometimes you make sense, sometimes you don’t. All you can do is let your heart melt onto the page and hope that someone out there understands what it is that you are trying to say. All you can do is try, so try the best that you can.
So, focus on what it is that you want to be said, heard, understood. Research on the matter, put pen to paper and let it pour out like a hurricane against a storm. Be true to yourself and towards what needs to be said. Your words will be seen, read and comprehended.
Then we move on. For starting to write is merely that– a beginning. Tales need a beginning, middle and ending. So you either pick something new to write about, or you go back and find out something new about the same topic. Write the same story in a million different ways. Write million different stories in the same manner. Experiment, fail, try again, fail and fail countless times before somethings clicks. If you’re lucky, the click will arrive immediately, else it will take time and effort, but it requires your dedication. Do not give up. Keep working on what you love. Hope for the best and expect the worst.
It is all a writer (or anyone with a goal) can do. Grab every opportunity and give it your best shot.
For every writer who hasn’t written, there is one thing that sets our hearts beating at that crazy pace. Yes. You thought right. It is something we all personally specialize in.
It is the beginning.
We all pick up that pen in different ways. For some it begins with an idea while watching some strangers play at a park. For others, it begins with words, the smell of ink and paper or the sound of keyboard. In every
case, a beginning is just that.
Does the wagon move forward? Do we put these words on paper ourselves or do we wait for the plan to form?
These questions are one the biggest hindrances in any writer’s life.
When J K Rowling created the fictional world of wizards within the muggle realm, little did she know what power she would hold upon a whole generation of readers. For all the children around the world, the 90s and early 21st century was an era of magic and thought provoking fiction.
The characters within the series of Harry Potter started their adventures as children, much like the audience of the series, and grew up with each book, again, much like its readers. Among the three main personalities in the book, there was one girl- Hermione Granger. A brunette girl with a thirst for knowledge and a love for book. She was quite often referred to as “the brightest witch of her age”.
Hermione is Harry and Ron’s closest female friend. Many a times, she is the reason for their survival in life-threatening circumstances. Her character is relatable for many girls around the world who love books and prefer to be seen as powerful rather than ‘beautiful damsels in distress’.
This lady is a class apart from every other character within the series. She is loyal to those she values and does not judge others for their flaws, knowing that she is flawed herself.
She is the only one of the main trio who breaks away once in a while to interact with and understand other characters within the novels. She is the one who encourages Ginny Weasley to stop obsessing over Harry and to concentrate on her own self. She is also the only one of the trio to immediately understand weaker side characters and go out of her way to help them, like when Neville Longbottom lost his toad and understanding Cho Chang’s emotional state.
With no specification of Hermione’s skin tone within the books, a large part of the fandom fell in love with the idea of Hermione having different ethnicities, especially that of ‘Black Hermione’. In the Cursed Child, Hermione even crosses the boundaries of white-washed tales and is played by Noma Dumezweni (of course, we will always love Emma Watson for all the justice she did to the character in the movies).
{Now I haven’t watched the play, but I’m certain the actress did a brilliant job as Hermione Granger. Comment below of your experience if you’ve watched or read the play.}
On September 19, Hermione Granger (the character) turned 37 and the world-wide fandom is out to celebrate the event. She shall forever remain one of the most iconic female fictional characters of the 21st century.
Happy Birthday, Hermione!
We all love you! ❤
Warning: creepy violent content.
In more elaborate words:
Belle believed that she was not a nice person. The Beast loved her anyway. Whenever she mentioned this, he would divert the blame of monstrosity onto his own physical characteristics. This kept them happy.
Until the day, like in the stories, the townsfolk came to rescue Belle. Unlike the happily ever after, they find Belle at the gates of the castle. She is trembling? In fear? No. And her hands are red. From the rose? No. From the blood after manipulating and killing the poor Beast.
She had warned him that she was not a nice person.
Now she offers the expensive organs and fur as a compensation for her freedom. But the townsfolk believe she is a witch. It is the middle ages.
And they burn Belle at stake.
Foreword:
This is my own dark interpretation of the tale. In no way the characters here resemble the old fairy tale.
If you liked this tale, do let me know and more such stories will be published on the site.
India’s capital opened its doors to the 22nd Delhi Book Fair on August 27, bringing in a rush of excitement among the Delhiites. With stalls piled with layers of books at the cheapest rates, bookworms could be found declaring this experience a paradise. For Paper Prancer, it was a dream finally lived.
Trudging about the Fair with a group of loved ones, Paper Prancer managed to procure more that 40 books. Here’s a list of some of the best treasures in the loot {in no particular order}:
Each book is a beauty in its own and together they make a magical collection. Paper Prancer will be reviewing each book separately over the weeks to come. Be sure to check it out! (Each title will be linked through this page)
The Book Fair in Delhi will be held from 27 August till September 4. A must-visit destination for all Delhi-NCR based bookworms. Comment below on your thoughts on the book fair.
Mischief Managed! 😉
It was a summer day, twelve years ago, when I’d picked up my first book of Harry Potter. It was a world that I’d grown up with. The characters aided me throughout my teenage years, pushing me in the right direction, showing me the way to where I am today.
Of all the characters in the series, Severus Snape was the one who seemed to grow the most. From the most hated teacher at Hogwarts, he subtly walked back into the shadows, always keeping a watchful eye, an angry eye, on everything going on at Hogwarts. He was a confidant to Dumbledore, a spy among the Death Eaters, a man who worked the hardest to disrupt the deeds of his past and change the course of a larger story.
Any Potterhead would agree that his point-of-view throughout the series would have made a more grueling, compelling story-line. Yet we see him through Potter’s eyes as the bravest man he’d ever known.
When I first saw Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone film, I was amazed at how well the actors could manage to bring our favourite characters to life. Especially in the case of Alan Rickman. His characterisation of Severus Snape- a hated character who grows to be the hero of the series- is the best. As the series progressed, we see many of the actor side-tracking and moving away from how the book actually described them.
But not Alan! Oh no! He made sure to be the sassiest Snape throughout the muggle and the magical world.
So, wands raised to you, Sir Rickman! You truly are one of the best Headmasters at Hogwarts and the “bravest man I ever knew.”
Dear smile,
Why do you shy so?
Dear tears,
Can you never be easily repressed?
Does smiling through tears
Entertain beauty?
Does bravery through fears
Inculcate strength?
Do thoughts on an empty mind
Muster passion?
Do thankfully forgotten memories
Ever fade?
The soul burns, rips and douses,
A silence assembles its little noises,
The biased preacher and the naïve listener
Reject rationality, reject mankind.
It is a comfort to believe in
One truth,
It is a luxury when they
Believe the same.
And there you stand among
Multitudes and tides
Waiting for that one moment where you
Ought to shine…
It isn’t today, nor is it tomorrow,
Yesterdays are gone, lost to the shadow
Of time and space,
And all that is left is
A numb, biased, improvised fact,
Rebellion,
And you.
A tickle in the stomach
Lets out a strange sound
In a foreign tongue
Queer to normality.
A breath-capturing step
In a green green world
An impossibility of an experience
Lands you in a wonder-world.
Your fall was frightening.
Your fall was everlasting.
Now the cold hard ground
Glares down at you furiously.
With trembling limbs,
And cheeks stained with tears
And a throat dry of screaming,
You stand and turn the world around.
Not good enough. Never good enough.
Too big or too small.
How do you fit through that door.
Why must you fit through that door?
It is a door
And you need some air.
Is there air behind that door?
You peek. It is not
What you were looking for.
Clueless fat men, a hyper-active mouse,
You’re late for tea!
What tea?
This was never meant to be.
Yet, here you are…
Here you are.
In that world you dreamed of…
A wonder-world,
Distant from home,
No Oz, just your wits,
Do you really wish to get back home?
Stand tall, my friend.
Time stretches, but it won’t be long.
Another door awaits.
Train your heart to be strong.
Paper Prancer 