i had recently gone into the self introspecting mode and then i had this enormous relief after i was out of that mode.then i have been into reading,mostly blogs and i have come to a sort of conclusion.

it is often told that a good read offers one with a lot of insights and provides one with a lot of food for thought and therfore is very enlightning and productive.the more ,they say the more you read good stuff the more you connect to that elusive higher plane[whatever taht is!!]

i read good stuff coz i like reading.and i like watever connects with me,higher plane or otherwise.
but i do have a feeling no maater what kind of good stuff i read,and no matter how much i love it and no matter how much i relate to it,and appreciate it,somewhere i cannot excatly recreate the magic in my writings or come anywhere close to the "good" writing i so enjoy in the reads that i like.

the typical metaphorical descriptions,the exact pain,suffering or heartbreak articulated,the exact vulnerable feelings described,the most obvious train of thoughts at passage of some event..

when i read them it seems so easy.it seems im just there and it's so normal.and yet when it comes to writing them it eludes me so badly.

i wish i could ascribe this to "writer's block" only that this seems to persist unendingly.