Subtitle: A Tale of a Story 

Reading has always been a passion of mine. Even with my compromised vision, I’ve devoured countless books—and continue to do so. Thankfully, my sons fund my book-buying habits. They even gifted me a Kindle and, soon after, an iPad, sparing me from unnecessary expenses. 

Writing, too, is a passion. I didn’t seek much support from my sons here, except for their occasional patience in reading my so-called writings and indulging me with a polite “That was good.” Little did they know they were fueling my ambition to write more. 

Encouraged by a friend, my son introduced me to fanstory.com—a website where members critique and support each other’s writing. For about a year, I contributed poems, receiving mostly positive feedback. It felt like a mutual admiration club, with gentle pats on the back. 

But I did form some valuable friendships with talented writers—Melinda, Ami from Chicago, Nora with her book Web of Love, and Maya from Bulgaria, who affectionately calls me cousin. Their creativity inspired me. 

Once, I attempted a short story on the horrors of nuclear war. A non-fan gave me a brutally honest critique that left me stunned. I contributed only a handful of stories after that; the rest were poems. 

After leaving the group due to my worsening vision, I found myself drifting—doing little of consequence. But ideas for stories kept bubbling in my mind. I thought they were brilliant—until I tried writing one. 

Inspired by the concept of Stockholm Syndrome, I planned to begin the story with a kidnapping. But the moment my pen hit the paper, I hit a wall. What would the motive be? How would the kidnapping unfold? My mind was flooded with ideas, but none felt right. 

That’s when I realized how hard it is to write a story. It’s easy to criticize others, but when you try it yourself, you gain a whole new perspective. 

So, my story-writing career ended as abruptly as it began. But who knows? Maybe some film producer will stumble upon my ideas and bring them to life. 

After all, we live in hope, don’t we? 

Contd. 350. Tranquil Sea Roaring Waves