Читать книгу Accepting My Place - K. B. - Страница 3

And, so, I decide to self-publish again a collection of early writings, knowing that next to no one will read it, that the handful of people who would pick it up would probably label it as self-absorbed, and what for? Well, I enjoy reading the journals of writers, and I think that, here or there, I said something of value in my little scribbles that didn’t make it into any of my other writings. Of course, since most of my early writing falls into the realm of the precocious, you might have to look around for it.

I started blogging because one of my good friends also wanted to start a blog, and so we decided to do it together. This was towards the end of my time at New York University, after I had finished off a year abroad studying at La Universidad Autonoma in Madrid. This year was absolutely fundamental to my understanding of the type of writer I wanted to be and my theories that would come later. However, I started blogging fresh off the time when I had finished my year abroad, a time which convinced me I wanted to spend the rest of my life traveling and working on my novels; nothing more, and nothing less. I was figuring out how to assort my fledgling thoughts into the Narrative of Literature, which meant I was trying to actively place myself into the writing of Critical Theory. Of course, with age, I realized that theory means little, and it is the art that matters. However, most of my writing for 2011 falls into my theories of literature and novels.

I decided it was thematically interesting to insert some of my earlier writings into this journal, and so I have inserted a section called, A Walk Down Memory Lane, in between the years 2011 and 2012. This collection includes personal essays, experimental fiction that didn’t end up developing, and theories of philosophy and art that coincide with my thinking from my college days, but also did not progress.

2012, particularly around March, marks the point where I started to reach my own voice as a diarist. Having finished college, and having started traveling around the world once more, I found myself interested in the emotionality of my thoughts, and the greater depth of what they meant. This style more or less marks the rest of the blog. I added another intermission to the novel between the years 2014 and 2015, a set of failed personal essays on some of the lands I have lived called Home (I still aspire to develop a set of essays or stories inspired by the cities all around the globe that give me that feeling of home, but at the moment, that project has yet to actualize). After 2013, I lost a lot of interest in blogging, and only wrote sporadically I did start to experiment with writing in my other languages here or there in 2014 and 2015, and I wrote prolifically at the end of 2015. Ironically, since that time, I completely lost interest in blogging. I ended that year with another failed story that I got inspired to write during a visit to Santa Fe, New Mexico, which I named Notes to the Creator.

After two years of not blogging, I decided to close my blog, but keep my writings alive, in this book form. I chose do so under the hope that, in the same way Flaubert or Woolf’s random thoughts have inspired me, the thoughts in my journals, whether they be densely emotional or intellectually abstract, are of use to any one who happens to glance at them. As always, I thank my parents, Subrahmanya and Annapurna Bhat, for being the only two constant people to shower me with love and attention. Despite the problems we have encountered, assuredly which you will read about here or there in this collection, they are the only two humans who assure me that I have someone to live for.