On an endless night a couple of years back, my friends T, J and I sat in a flat in Adyar (Chennai) and discussed our writing projects. On J's shelf, amidst his books collected from the city's second hand book shops and discount stores, were a set of notebooks that he told me were his screenplays, short stories and various other jottings. He was reluctant to show them to me, so I had to leave it at that. T was writing a horror play. A few people meet over dinner at a house and one by one, they are killed. He told me that story, it was quite frightening. Since then, they have gone on to other projects. Last year, I bought a very expensive notebook to begin my own story. It was to be a set of stories on a friendship between two eight year olds, a girl and a boy. I wrote about five pages and it didn't seem to work. So I stopped. I never wrote again.
Then I began this blog, essentially to write non-fiction, in Jan this year. After hours of labour, the blog seems to be finally taking off. And the links from here, Urban Hymns and Sarpvinash are indeed T's and J's. Keep it up chaps.