This is a new word I learned. Merriam-Webster says “a stream of water or ice particles created in the sky by an airplane or rocket”. I say a starry trail, a silver lining. An incredibly poetic way of explaining something scientific. It’s magic. Pixie Dust. Whatever.
It’s been a while since I’ve been trying to write. I can rant, I can comment but I can’t create. I can not conjure stories. I lack imagination (there, I said it). Fiction is essentially borrowing something from reality but then maybe, I’m far too wound up in the real world to open up that third eye and peep into the land of dreams. I read buck loads of fiction, not only because it gives me an iexplicable release from the mundane, but also in the unwavering hope that I might pick up some tricks. Maybe Harry Clifton’s latest escapade would teach me how to mould a tale. Maybe the mistress of Manderley would let me in to her secret of how to best describe the obnoxious housekeeper. Maybe Luna would help me overcome my inhibitions and show me how to catch wrakspurts. I know, I’m giving some random references but all I wanna figure out is why on earth am I not able to create my own fictions world? My best friends churn out stories on monthly basis. The Internet is full of people writing stuff every other day. Whatever they all write might not always be my cup of tea, but then who am I to judge? I am envious of the skill they have to bake those stories. Will I ever be able to write one? I don’t know. Will I ever stop cribbing? Hell, no! Will I ever start imagining? Maybe, let’s try!
That brings us back to contrails. It struck me metaphorically because in this word, I can imagine my journey. I am way to focused on the nuances and the technicalities and not really trying to read out the pattern. Rather than flying the engine, I should be thinking about the whirlwind of a pattern I’m gonna leave behind. The story I’ll write – my contrail.