Photography is a visual art, and as with most art forms, there are no rigid rules or formulas that guarantee a captivating image. However, there are certain key elements that often contribute to an image’s impact and appeal.
Source - 7 Essential Elements to a Good Photo →
What do I call the entries that I write here? Notes? Posts? Thoughts? Or does that even matter? This is my blog, a space, as I noted earlier, for the “quick posts journaling whatever is at the top of my mind”.
I don’t call them quick posts because they are less formal. Instead, they are less formal because I want them to be. Because I write them as short, quick posts. They need not be correct. They need not be corrected.
Manu wrote recently about how he dislikes editing old blog content.
[A] personal blog can and should be a representation of who you are at different points in time. We change, we grow and our thoughts and ideas grow and change with us. And it’s important to have testament of that.
I, too, am firmly in Manu’s camp. If I were to improve my old posts, I would never write anything new. The ideas are shitty, and the way I wrote them is shittier. Nevertheless, I still stand by all of those posts. Sure, I may not endorse any of those views today. But they are the views of my younger self.
The world around me has changed over the years. So has the world within me. It is only natural then that how I look at and understand the world has evolved too.
I recently observed my writing may have gained correctness at the cost of courage. Colin had an interesting thought responding to the post.
I’m not sure about it being a lack of courage, rather an increased reticence stemming from a low-level, underlying fear that now pervades the web.
Is it the fear of being wrong that has made me change what and how I write? Sure, that too. Whatever the reason, I am not the same self I was a few years ago. Why, then, should I ever correct what he thought and wrote? It helps neither the reader nor me.
Get to the point. I remember those words every time I write anything.
Another way to look at it is to focus on how I begin my posts. Matthew Dicks reminded me about the importance of this today.
Focus on the first thing you write, say, or sing. Spend time making the absolute best decision about those first few things you are going to express. Never forget their importance to everything that will come after.
I was (and still am) bad at this aspect for years. I circle what I want to say before I say what I want to say. Over years of writing, I got better at this. I come to the point quicker now.
I feel frustrated when I see some of the most personal stuff with an interesting premise get lost in need of setting context. Many writings need context setting. Research papers need context. Thesis. How-to Manuals. And on and on.
But a personal blog does not. Sure, some stories need a build-up; take the reader along the ride. But most don’t.
On the other hand, does there even need for an “effective way” of writing anything personal? It’s personal, after all. Individual. There’s no correct way of doing it. It’s a matter of style.
But what counts is not to lose the reader before I arrive at the point. So begin strong.
I watched Kuttey yesterday – what a terrible letdown. Given the list of artists as part of the cast and crew, I had such high expectations. But the skill of being a competent storyteller cannot be faked. It tried too hard to be cool, “new age”. Every frame screamed that it was inspired by the style of Guy Ritchie or Tarantino. Or even Bharadwaj’s own Kaminey.
What the Jr. forgot is it isn’t the style that made these directors what they are.
Everybody was trying too hard – even the seasoned actors looked uncomfortable playing the part. A short run-time of 90 minutes felt too long, even though the screenplay was fast-paced. I kept moving ahead scene after scene because I knew exactly how it would play out.
Barring the last 15 minutes, hardly any part catches your attention. Sigh! Such sheer waste of talent.
Sky flies! #stories
I read a post today that I had written around 15 years ago. Reading my words from yesteryears, especially from my early days of blogging, reminds me every time how fearless I was in expressing what I had in mind. Not everything I wrote made sense. But it wasn’t bogged down by a fear of correctness.
Correctness of idea. Of language. Of grammar. Of words.
Is my #writing susceptible to that fear now? I hope not because, to me, it needs to be free-flowing. Sure, I am more alert to the mistakes in my use of the language. Or of words. But that’s bound to happen naturally over years of reading and writing.
This reminds me of a nice quote from an Indian actor I respect, Pankaj Tripathi. He was talking about how fame and money have changed the artist in him. An artist, he said, is much more courageous and adventurous when they are new and lack money. Their experience, popularity and earnings make them powerful but timid.
I believe the same applies to one’s experience with writing words. What I gained in correctness, I likely lost in courage.
So, which version of the self do I enjoy reading more? I like to believe that my writing has improved over these years. I am no master, but I am not an amateur either. Even though I am not the same fearless blogger from the past, I don’t mind this slightly mindful version of myself.
One productivity hack I have read the most often is just to get started. Not to wait for inspiration or motivation. Not to procrastinate. Even with writing, or any art form, many often allude to the importance of blank canvas.
Stare at the page; one’s mind will soon start filling it up with colours. Or words, in my case.
It has worked for me, too, for the last few weeks. The posts eventually happen when I make myself available in front of the laptop. With me travelling and visiting my cousins for the last few days, no surprise they didn’t.
It was a welcome and much-needed break. I visited Mumbai, a place that I have a love-hate relationship with.
On the one hand, I love spending time with my cousins. The togetherness lends me a reset when I can forget all the stress and burdens of daily #life. Over the food we love and the memories that we chatter about. As time passes, the animated environment gives way to moments of real connection. As individuals find corners where they catch up on others’ lives, I get surrounded by mumbles. But soon, as someone invariably gets hungry, everyone regroups, and the surroundings get filled with laughter again. This cycle continues throughout the day and late into the night.
Nothing’s more comforting than spending time with people you bond with.
But then I hate Mumbai when I need to visit the city. It’s too lively for my liking. Everyone’s moving too fast. Every place is too crowded. No one has time to pause. And if I do, I face a lot of glares from the Mumbaikars. This includes my cousins too. Why the hell will you do that - stop?
Some cities want you to pause and absorb their essence. Mumbai is not that city. It wants, needs you to match up with its speed. I struggle to do that. And I struggled this time, too. I returned home exhausted, drenched with the pressure of meeting the city’s high lifestyle standards.
As I lay tired in bed, there was a moment when I attempted to push myself to publish something. Anything. But I have already conceded that this place won’t follow a schedule. This place isn’t a journal that I need to update daily. This place isn’t a newsletter that needs to stick to a schedule. This place is my blank canvas.
I attempted to watch Netflix’s new docuseries “MH370: The Plane That Disappeared” - and it’s absolutely terrible. It gives focus to too many characters, goes all over the places and never returns back.
I don’t even know what’s the story they want to tell. It’s not what happened to the plane or who is responsible or even how it affected the people related to the passengers on-board. It tries to do all of it and does half-assed job at each.
I would recommend listening to the podcast episode on this topic by Stuff You Should Know. They do a far better job at explaining the mystery than this supposed to be well-produced documentary by Netflix.
I had heard a folktale as a child that I still love. The morale it narrates is loosely translated as “an entire tub full cannot retrieve what the drop took away”. But the real takeaway from the tale was to be wary of one’s instinctive reactions.
The spontaneous reactions taken in anger are as instinctive as instinctive can get. In that sense, anger is destructive. Rebounding from the aftermath that an angry reaction leaves behind is no painless task. It doesn’t matter how much one attempts to recover what was lost; the scarred mind cannot be easily healed.
Because anger scars both people, even the one who gets angry.
Hence I have moulded myself to not give in to the instinct when angry. I remind myself that my brain is muddled, and the best action I can take is to walk away and take a few deep breaths. It avoids ruining the remaining day for the other person and me.
Don’t recover. Resist.
I love USB C standard for charging - one cable at a fixed places charges everything throughout the day. My work and personal laptop, iPad, earphones, headphones, speaker. And my phone. Thank god i don’t use iPhone.