Poornima Manco

Author

author

My Cup Runneth Over…

by

I started my Guest Blog month in the hope that at least 50% of the people I had contacted for articles (people whose thoughts, lives and words I admired) would get back to me with some material. In actual fact, nearly 80% did! Yes I did pester and harangue them quite a bit (SORRY!) but my goodness, the response! I am humbled, grateful and overwhelmed beyond description.

My month overran, once again, like last time. But I didn’t mind and nor did my readers. It’s refreshing to come to a blog and read something new and unexpected. And boy, were the articles different and the topics varied!

André chronicled his unusual life and path in My unlikely journey to fatherhood. It was honest, heartfelt and emotionally uplifting. The response to his article was phenomenal. People reached out to tell him (and me) how much they admired him for his choices. His love for his children and their mothers shone like a beacon, and I hope it allowed other seemingly unlikely candidates to believe that they too can be mothers and fathers. After all, families come in all shapes and guises. It is love that holds them together.

The ghost in the office was Shantanu’s retelling of a mysterious series of events that occurred in one of his early offices. Does the supernatural exist? For a practical and rational person like Shantanu, nothing can explain away the incident he mentions. Spooky and eerie, sometimes there are things that are beyond the realm of our understanding, and maybe it’s best to leave them as is. What did you make of it?

Diya had a cushy existence till she decided to take the plunge and start teaching a group of underprivileged children in My rendezvous with God’s angels. What she found there was more rewarding than she could have ever expected. Their innocence, their eagerness to learn, their love for their teacher transformed her life. She learned to let go of the petty annoyances that plagued her, and immerse herself in giving back. To this day, it enriches her life in ways big and small.

Making mosaics became more than a hobby for Jyoti. It was an unconventional choice of craft and she encountered more than her fair share of problems, from the paucity of tools to the reluctance of other practitioners to share their skills. As a result, she started her own blog with the aim of helping other beginners and amateurs to source materials, tools and provide guidance in the process as well. Not only does she create the most beautiful mosaics, but also believes in the adage – ‘Gaining knowledge, is the first step to wisdom. Sharing it, is the first step to humanity.’ In Why do I make mosaics? Jyoti’s passion, humanity and humility shine through. She is an incredibly inspirational lady.

The Call of a Siren was an article sent to me by someone who wished to remain anonymous. If you’ve read the article, you will know why. The beauty of it is that this man has turned his life around from that lapse of judgement he details, and today he is an incredibly successful entrepreneur. He is also an avid reader and dabbles in the occasional bit of writing. It was my exhorting him to put pen to paper that created this thrilling recounting of an incident from his 20’s. I’m sure you’d agree that it reads like an episode from an exciting television series. My own heart was thumping as I read it for the first time! My friend, if you’re reading this, write more. You do have a gift.

HeartonWheels is Jeanne’s raison d’etre. She spends half her life in these refugee camps in Greece helping children overcome the trauma of escaping from war torn countries and being separated from their families. In extremely difficult conditions, she tries to fill their lives with laughter and with joy. This is not just a part time job for her, it is a calling. She is invested physically, mentally and emotionally in the well being of her charges. Her dream is to provide free education to all children in such conditions and through her mobile bus, which she is raising funds for, she hopes to realise this dream. Do have a read and contribute to her justgiving page if you can.

To say that Mohana has had an interesting life would be an understatement. A straight A student, who, for many years let her academic qualifications dictate the course of her life, then suddenly, on what seemed like a whim, let her art and talent take her on an entirely different journey. Yet, in her article, Life’s Nudges to Eke an Untrodden Path, Mohana explains how the seeds of this journey had been planted many years ago. The daughter of a renowned dancer, Mohana herself was an exceptionally talented danseuse. But it took many years, and many tiny hints from the Universe for her to realise where her true path lay. Unapologetically spiritual, she incorporates elements of her faith in her dance. There is an unalloyed joy that she transmits to her students through her teaching, that elevates her dance from the ordinary to the extraordinary.

Bharat is a writer I admire immensely. His grasp on the English language is breathtaking. He can bend, twist, transmogrify and transmute words into astonishing combinations of sentences, transporting the reader into worlds where these words dance and twirl around one like whirling dervishes. A man whose imagination is so fertile, so fecund that he can trot out poem after poem without breaking a sweat. Yet, a self confessed procrastinator, it took me close to a year to get him to write about his Vipassana experience. For a man of words, how strange it must have been to have none for ten days. A retreat that is a true test of one’s mettle, but also a retreat that helps one to delve deeper into the self. Bharat’s take on it is part humorous, but there is an underlying awe and a deep love and respect for humanity that comes through. A tale of two beards is more than just about beards, it is about man’s search for meaning and silence in a world that grows louder and more chaotic each day.

Finally, the poignant and heart wrenching The Bus Stop was Joan’s tribute to her mother who suffered from Alzheimers for several years before succumbing to it. Disease of any kind strips the body of its well being and dignity, but Alzheimers strips the mind of everything. To not know oneself, one’s own life forgotten, one’s family becoming strangers, must be a horribly scary and isolating experience. Joan’s poem gives words to the wordless. It is an insight into a lost and wandering mind, trying to find its bearings, trying to grasp fruitlessly at memories that are slipping away. ‘Am I a lost article?’ is what her mother asked her once. Maybe we all are, lost in one way or another. But to be lost to oneself… what could be worse than that?

My Guest Blog month hasn’t quite ended. A colleague, the extremely intelligent, erudite, politically astute, deep thinking Joke Brunt is working on a series of articles on Brexit for me. The month of May will be devoted to her take on what Brexit stands for, and what the ramifications will be, to those of us on both sides of the fence. Do keep reading, keep commenting and stay engaged!

A very BIG thank you to all of my contributors once again.

Guest blog month

by

I find people endlessly fascinating. Perhaps, that is why my stories centre around people, their motivations and compulsions. However, one does not always need fiction to experience alternate realities. Another person’s life: his journey, her passion, his hobbies, her escape, are all equally intriguing and provide enough fodder for the imagination.

In the spirit of that sentiment, I once again give my blog over to some very engaging people and their stories. The next few weeks will hopefully bring you some interesting insights into what constitutes an alternate lifestyle, being true to oneself and one’s passions, and how sometimes, the only journey one needs to undertake is the one that reconnects you to yourself.

As a blogger, I am always happy to be approached to showcase another person’s work. If you are a blogger who would like a slightly different audience for a change, or if you just like penning random musings, or if you feel strongly about something and need a platform to voice those thoughts, feel free to reach out to me with a sample of your writing, and maybe I could include you in future guest blog months. Comment below with your details and I will get back to you.

I truly believe that the writing community needs to be supportive and nurturing of one another. Our stories may be universal, but our experiences are deeply personal. In sharing them with our readers we attempt to create a bridge of understanding. However, in sharing them amongst ourselves and on our multiple and varied platforms, we start to understand the nuances and subtleties of that which is removed from our own actuality. In our myriad life realities, there is above all, a desire to understand and be understood.

I hope that the stories and articles that follow will take you on their unique journeys and you will come away with a renewed understanding and empathy for your fellow being.

 

Why reviews matter & what’s stopping you?

by

Ok, hands up… this is the first time I’m blogging from the WordPress app on my phone and from a sick bed. I am, currently, feeling extremely sorry for myself. I have been sick for five days and the luxury of lying in bed and binge watching ‘Homeland’ has lost its allure. So, I’ve taken to trawling through reviews of my second book… except there aren’t that many to trawl through.

Is it the law of diminishing returns? Or, can most readers simply not be arsed to put in a review? I’ll come to the third possibility later.

Firstly, please understand, to an Indie writer your reviews are IMPORTANT. You know why? Because, even if you say, “hey, I didn’t really care for this book”, it’s showing that YOU, a real, live person picked up the book and read it. It’s life affirming stuff for someone who has beavered over it for the better part of a year!

Secondly, no one is judging your review. No one is checking your grammar, syntax and flow. You’re not writing the novel, you’re just reviewing it. So, if it’s fear of your own command over the language that’s putting you off, don’t let it. You are helping multiple other readers see what they may or may not like about a particular book.

The third possibility is that you have really, REALLY hated the book. You’ve read a story or two and decided that this book really isn’t for you. In that case, there isn’t much point appealing to you. We are clearly a mismatch in terms of writer and reader, and I wish you well in your reading journey with other, more compatible writers. 😊

Finally, an important lesson I’ve learnt in my Indie journey is that Amazon really doesn’t want friends and family reviewing books. So, my apologies to those of you who took the time to read and review the book, only to find it taken down by the great Zon. Please don’t forget, you can still post that review on Goodreads with no such repercussions.

For the people who have written to me or told me in person how much they loved the second book, please do pass the word on. AND get others to review the book. People who I don’t know and people who will not give me a favourable review because of my extremely charming personality.😉

Right, that’s it for now folks! The sick bed blogging has its benefits but I don’t think I’ll be making it a regular feature anytime soon.

For your copy visit:

getbook.at/Damage

Writer’s Block

by

There it is. I’ve come up against it once more. This feeling of ennui, a sense of “is any of it worth it”, questions like “who wants to read me anyway?” and there you have it. Writer’s Block. The inability to proceed with any kind of worthwhile writing.

You could ask me “you are writing this blog, aren’t you?” I would have to answer honestly and say yes. Equally honestly, I’d have to own up and say that this isn’t my true métier. Blogging, to me, is like having a conversation with my readers. It’s sometimes topical, sometimes thought provoking and nearly always stream of consciousness. It’s also fairly easy. I have a thought and I try and pin it down on screen.

Writing fiction is a whole other ball game. To write the stories I write, I have to reach inside of me and pull my innards out. As you can imagine, that is not an easy process.

So, why this debilitating pause in the proceedings?

I have ascribed various reasons to it. Firstly, it’s been an unusually hectic time. Christmas, New Year, work, vacations and multiple social do’s. Secondly, I’ve got the dreaded flu, so naturally, I am unable to concentrate with the fever, hacking and general listlessness. But really, underneath it all, lies another, more corrosive thought. The joy has gone out of my writing.

Why would such a thing happen? For an inveterate story teller, there is no greater pleasure than spinning a yarn that is swallowed whole by avid readers. Yet, doubts about marketability, about readership, about my own abilities, are swamping whatever amount of happiness I derived from my writing.

The easy thing to do would be to carry on writing as I did before. For myself. For my need to tell the stories that I needed to. Yet, having become aware that there is another side to this ‘business’ of writing, I am unable to ignore it altogether. Every word has to be weighed, every outcome analysed and suddenly, I feel I am back to studying accountancy and my balance sheet is refusing to balance.

It is said that true writers show up to the table and write. If that is the case, then I am a fraudulent one because the mere act of showing up at the table exhausts me.

Will I be able to punch a hole through that block? Only time will tell.

 

Why Book Clubs matter

by

Ask any writer why they started to write, and I can guarantee you that they will confess to a love of reading. A love that first led them through that enchanted doorway into other people’s stories; of faraway lands and mythical creatures, or common place situations and every day folk, to finally feeling an urge to tell their own stories in their own ways.

I was introduced to reading at a very early age. From Fairy Tales to Enid Blyton to Agatha Christie to the classics, I devoured all kinds of books. I had a fine example in my mother whose nightly winding down routine consisted of reading a chapter of whichever book she was currently immersed in. My father, who was never much of a fiction reader, nevertheless took his Materia medica to bed in a similar fashion. My uncles and aunts were all readers, and I was often advised to always have a book at hand while waiting in long queues, for all sorts of journeys and any other boring interludes. It is no wonder that I developed a passion for reading.

Like all passions however, when life decided to overload me, reading had to be relegated to the background. I still read, but intermittently and haltingly. Often losing track of the story or the characters themselves. From reading a book a week, it became a book every few months, and then a book a year, if that. Social media, the Internet, Television, Netflix and other seemingly more urgent activities and pastimes took over.

During that time, I still kept writing. Some of the stuff I produced was pretty good. Imagination and language skills kept me afloat. But a lot of it was uninspiring and devoid of spark. After all, if life and experiences are grist to the mill of writing, then reading surely is the flavour and seasoning.

Two things rekindled my love of reading. Both, strangely, belonged to the virtual world.

The first was a simple application called Goodreads. A place where books were listed and reviewed, not just by literary critics but by the ordinary Joe or Jane. You could befriend or follow people, or you could roam its virtual shelves solitary yet surrounded by innumerable book lovers. You could add to your own list of books that you had read or books that you wanted to read, and you could rate and review a book as soon as you had finished it.

The second was my induction into a reading group on Facebook. Like many other groups that I had either joined or been added to unwittingly, I chose to ignore the posts in the beginning. Then one day someone’s post piqued my curiosity. It was a beautifully written review on a book I hadn’t heard of. I immediately cross checked the reviews on Goodreads, and suitably satisfied, downloaded this book on to my Kindle. From that moment on, my respect for the members of this group grew. From lurking on the sidelines, I became an active participant, posting reviews or chiming in on discussions. I discovered new writers and newer books, and kindred spirits along the way.

In a very 21st Century way, I had become a part of a Book Club.

You see, wherever book lovers congregate, whether in the real world or in the virtual world, certain preliminaries are already taken care of. The major one being an unwavering love of literature. Your tastes may differ, you may prefer one genre over another, one kind of writing over another, but there is always a love for reading that will unite you.

I was lucky enough to be invited to a proper Book Club this week. I was the visiting author, there to talk about my book: Parvathy’s Well & other stories. Whilst it was an odd experience analysing my stories and my creative process, I was thrilled that this group of women had invested their time in my book, and were now willing to invest time in me too. Once my segment was over, I sat back and watched them discuss another book. What emerged was a desire to understand other lives and experiences through discussion, analysis and swapping of their own stories.

Reading is a portal into other worlds, but the reader has to be receptive to the messages that the book is imparting, and be willing to undertake that journey with the author. Along the way, some readers turn into writers themselves. And so, the tradition of story telling, that began with the caveman’s crude drawings depicting life as he saw it, continues in progressively sophisticated formats.

So also with Book Clubs. In increasingly frenetic lives, it is not always possible to commit to meeting x number of times at a venue, desirable though it may be. Virtual book clubs step in here. Like minded individuals can meet and swap ideas, notes and reviews on books they like or don’t, virtually.

Naysayers had once decried the use of e readers, saying that they could never replace the look, smell and feel of real books. That is true. However, e readers have survived because they are portable, and books can be downloaded with a tap. Ease and convenience are not to be overlooked.

Ultimately, words- whether on paper or on screen- are what set our imaginations alight, and Book Clubs- real or virtual- bring us bibliophiles together.

That is no bad thing.