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Location: Dublin, Republic of, Ireland

Sunday, 27 August 2006


Today, my head is in a spin. I regale in the heartstrings of my soul that hum a serenade and won't stay still.

To my worldwide friends who stood steadfastly by my writing of a recent comedy this last week, just wanted you all to know that I shall contact a literary agent (or maybe 2) today, both of whom I think may like this kind of thing. I have to prepare a proposal very carefully. That's what I'll be doing .

This while my voice is still fresh and before, I lose the plot.

Though this was the last thing on my agenda, I will humbly put myelf out of the equation, follow your advice and try to bring these stories out in a far greater funny context to the book-buying world. It's pretty clear that you all know my writing better than I know myself. And so I say thank-you from the depths of my heart.

The thing is I used to really love being a writer before. With children's/adult radio plays and especially - I enjoyed contemporary poetry - and also the years I worked as a fashion- magazine journalist.

But then in spite of all those wonderful years of travelling and discovering new things, some dark incidents intervened and travelling was often a solace for me. I couldn't write creatively for myself at all for about five years, including last year. My art was often strangulated and my energies bent on survival, stayed exhausted to the self.

Still, the last few months have seen me writing industriously again. I presently have a children' s picture book manuscript being read by a publisher in England - It had passed the query stage and now, I really don't know what waits. My planned-novella that contains acute sad emotions was what I had intended to write next but now this high-flying comedy steps out from nowhere.

It's like a tumble-dryer in my head. At this point, I can write but cannot judge my work. So I literally don't know the feel of what I'm writing. Now I need once more to taste the exhilaration of a printed byline, which I couldn't experience after coming out of my difficult times.

At present, I don't see myself as a particularly good writer. Even if I wanted to, I cannot. It takes a long time to heal.

But just the other day, I laughed aloud at my own comedy and it was the plight of the clumsy mosquito that sorely tickled me. How many times did I stop writing my post to just laugh merrily... So maybe somewhere in my destiny, there is hope after all.

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