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Tag Archives: writing about writing

Closer Still: On Reading What I Could Not Understand by Isabella Wang

Some artists first learn to draw by tracing the work of others – sentence structure, tone, plot, word play, imagery. Until I found my own voice, I wrote in the voices of other writers that I read from and tried to mimic. If I were to name one most influential title in my early life,… Continue Reading Closer Still: On Reading What I Could Not Understand by Isabella Wang

Mistaken Longings: When I Write of Calcutta, I Don’t Write of “Home”

Victoria Memorial, Calcutta, India. Dec 25 2011.   “I have a question,” a middle aged man says, his bald pate shiny against the afternoon light filtering into the Lakeside Terrace room at Harbourfront Center. We are at “Safar: Journeys to South Asia” panel of Toronto International Festival of Authors. He addresses the authors, “Do you… Continue Reading Mistaken Longings: When I Write of Calcutta, I Don’t Write of “Home”

Collecting/Telling/Writing Stories by Bilan Hashi

I was in transit at Dubai. People watching and collecting stories. There were women in saris, men in dashikis, the pilgrims for Ummrah wrapped in their white cloths: traditional clothing a backdrop against the modern lines of the terminal. The airport’s status as an international hub was evident as conversations in different languages overpowered the… Continue Reading Collecting/Telling/Writing Stories by Bilan Hashi

On Pieces and My Pelvis by Jess Taylor

“The crack’s in me,” I said heroically. – F. Scott Fitzgerald, “The Crack-Up”. I drew a picture of myself once as a blue alien figure, without form or face, looking out of a window. From the chest, a rod ran up through the page and down through the ground, piercing the figure in two. I… Continue Reading On Pieces and My Pelvis by Jess Taylor

What Stupefaction can do for Fiction: On Photography and Writing

Jatra, Poush Mela, Shantiniketan, India. Dec 23 2013. This photo forms the basis of the opening scene of a short story I am currently working on. The story is also set in Shantiniketan.   It is dusk. Kishmish lies on a patch of grass and stares upwards, attracted to the dragonfly whizzing around his head,… Continue Reading What Stupefaction can do for Fiction: On Photography and Writing