Mind-tree

DH Lawrence stared at the countryside and wrote for hours. JK Rowling scribbled her notes in a small, lonely cafe. They just stared at things and looked for inspirations around. there were no inspirations. There were people, there were moments. They looked and observed. They found things that other people never saw. they thought of things, that others laughed. They loved the things that were forgotten by people.


then why was I looking for inspirations outside, when it did not exist anywhere. I had to find a staring spot and get all imagination under one roof. I had to find the pen and the ink had to flow on its own. i had to create the canvas and the paints would create something. I had to trust my instincts and smile at life around me.

Artists were always misread and misunderstood. Somehow everyone wanted to understand them . there is always this desire to know, what exactly were they thinking, what inspired them, why did they write that, why did anyone feel that ?

every time Dostoevsky made a character feel lonely, I wanted to know the surroundings in which he sat, while writing that paragraph. I always portrayed it in my mind as a dingy place with no sunshine and dearth of hope. I wanted to know that he was sad . I wanted to know that his mind was disturbed and his characters did live their lives once, somewhere, in some part of the world.

when i write a story, i feel something and that instance that is the best possible outcome, if someone later asks me why exactly did i write that, i would not have anything romantic to offer.

was it the same for these great authors, was there no romantic tragic story behind the great characters of the world. was world as simple as it was portrayed! was all the romantic stuff just in our minds.

will it actually fizzle away if I ever touch them ........