ramblings, because it is a beautiful Sunday afternoon and we needed to talk, my thoughts and I

writings from very long ago ...

ramblings, because it is a beautiful Sunday afternoon and we needed to talk, my thoughts and I
Photo by Reuben Juarez on Unsplash

I never intended for this site to contain anything other than my picture-story pairs (I was about to say 'combo' but it reminded me of popcorn and coke, which also I love but not on an afternoon like this).

But it rained a good deal today. (There is a connection between the rains and this blog post, I promise.)

And the world I see from my window is still grey and cloudy as if it intends on remaining like this until the end of time. I don't mind it at all. In fact, I quite like it. I like the impression of permanence it gives, no dark fleeting clouds but a sombre, overcast sky. It also feels as if time has finally tired of progressing with monotonic precision and is stretching over the day, because it is only about two in the afternoon and a while ago I thought the day had almost come to an end, but to be honest I really couldn't tell what time it is without the aid of a clock.

Anyhoo, I spent most of the morning and early afternoon browsing through Facebook and twitter and tumblr and Pinterest, assaulting my senses with the multitude of social networking/bookmarking sites out there that could potentially be used as promotional tools for Dream Pedlar.

I do have accounts on all these sites but the only thing I do after posting a new tale is share a link to it on Facebook and if I remember to, on Twitter as well. I mainly use my Twitter account to follow and retweet interesting posts on writing and sundry other matters that other users share. A silent stalker, if you please. Off late I have spent hours debating whether or not to send tweets to my favourite authors on Twitter, I did send a couple of those in the past month, and both times I kept checking my feed every five minutes to see if they had responded (they never did), feeling dejected (in the manner of a schoolgirl nursing the woes of an unrequited crush), and wondering who the other people were to whom these authors responded and whose tweets these authors shared. Then back to silent stalker mode.

As for Tumblr and Pinterest, I strayed that way this morning after ages and was immediately lost.

No doubt, I think it is incredibly amazing how many artists and businesses use these sites to promote their works and to interact with their audience. But at the end of my hour or two of meandering on these sites, I snapped my laptop shut feeling overwhelmed.

I couldn't help but worry that were I to attempt building a meaningful online presence on all these sites, I probably would be left with little time for the very thing I set out to do in the first place.

I am a painstaking writer. I mull over story ideas almost all the time. When I cook, when I am out for a run, in the shower, when I wake up in the morning, before I drift sleepwards, even in my dreams, on my way to work, on my way back from work,. Even in office when I have some time to spare I start to scour the Internet for heart-stopping images.

But there are also moments when I take the time to stand and stare, to look around me, to take in the sights and sounds and smells and feelings. At the grocery store, on the sidewalk, en route to some place else, I often take a moment to pause living in my head and look, really look at all the people and things around me. In a cafe I strain my ears for the lyrics accompanying a catchy tune wafting from the speakers above the din of coffee and chatter and canoodling.

It is like living in two places at the same time, in the here and now and also in my head, transcending time and space. And I am beginning to feel as if the lines are blurring, the two worlds are coalescing, the thin film of aether that separates the two realms is fast disappearing, dreams and reality rushing towards each other in a frenzy, colliding in some sort of a mystical fusion, like the ecstatic dance of a whirling dervish.

And I feel and experience all of this, and I put all of my soul into each tale. And when I have penned the ending of each story, I am convinced that this is it, that I have no more to say, no more yarns to spin, no more dreams to peddle. Until the next tale comes along, and the dance begins all over again. A new tune, new steps, perhaps slow, perhaps fast, I have long stopped guessing what's in store.

And when I have finished, I wait for the applause. It gives me some kind of closure, and I can exit the stage with the certainty of having executed each performance to the best of my abilities at that point in time.

I wondered last week if I'd ever get even a hundred Likes on my Facebook page, several Likes and comments on each post there. I wondered this morning if I ought to promote Dream Pedlar more actively on different avenues.

But now I know I don't want to. (A solution that KrA arrived at for me, as always, shortly before I started to type this out.)

At least for another half a year or perhaps more, the only thing I want to do is tell my tales and work alongside on a longer piece of fantasy fiction that I intend to complete by the end of this year. These were the only two things I had in mind when I set up the site more than two years ago; these were the only two things I had in mind when I decided to post the picture-story pairs regularly; and it's only been two months now and I am in it for the long haul, so there is clearly no reason why I should deviate from this path, certainly not now for I have only just started on this route. And I want to savour every moment of the journey, from the start to the end.

As for the applause? I have already received it. The look on KrA's face each time he reads a new story of mine, anticipation suspended over his features, as if his world has come to a halt to make way for the Dream Pedlar's story to unfold. And you my dear friends, the one and two and three friends I have, you who said my stories made you feel happy or sad, you who permitted my tales to permeate your thoughts and dreams, you who allowed me to leave an impression on your lives, you who let me share a part of my soul with you. I thank you.