The Literature Aficionados

 "A problem is only as big as we make it" Why You Need To Read It NOW In a world where everyone including you has began stressing about every little thing, this book gives you the much needed light and proves to be extremely helpful for the current generation. Flipping through the nine chapters of this self-help novel, the most important lesson you take back is to figure out the things that REALLY matter and to not waste your time or energy about things that hardly make a difference.  How It Is Written The book is an easy read and written on a sophisticated level (barring the title). It will make you laugh, teary-eyed and make you go, 'Oh, I never thought about this that way before.' The content of this book may feel repetitive after a point, because the moral of the story is the same as any other self-help book you might have read. However, the writer makes apt use of storytelling and robust, lucid language with a pinch of humour and some harsh, familiar realities of...

Descriptives are hard work. Tedious, and monotonous also, yes. Why would someone wanna even read it, right? Maybe because of the plethora of emotions they kindle in you when you read them, be it utopian happiness or the unsettling feeling of panic and fear; Or maybe because of the mesmerizing, ethereal images they paint in your mind; or maybe because of their uncanny ability to tap into your deepest fears and feelings without the magic of audio-visual effects, desriptives are otherworldly. Descriptives are magical and beautiful to their core. They are an art even narratives need, to feel whole and compelling. So here are a few tips I have penned down to help you hone your descriptions and have a better impact on readers! Sensorial party! t he grass gently tickles your bare feet with its silken, slightly wet touch. The morning dew has  settled on the grass, and they glint as the sun draws an open wound across the sky. In the  distance, a mockingjay launches a glissando of notes...

Ray tiptoed up the grated stairway, its grey metallic plates screeching in falsetto screams. Ever so slowly, he opened the door a bit. A tiny gust of wind blew in and again, he shut the opening. He exhaled loudly, preparing himself for the arduous job ahead. Today was the perfect day. Now was the perfect time. The job had to be done. Foraying into the terrace, he clung onto his guitar case tightly, his knuckles whitened and his countenance wrinkled with anxiety. His Master’s words echoed in his head, “Emotions cloud your judgement. Stay clear; stay focussed.” Killing was an art – just like painting – and it required patience and precision. The tiled floor was as dry as the desert, with multi-coloured mosaics dotting the wide expanse. On the knee-height, alabaster walls, graffiti was plastered with stray sprays refusing to vanish. He crouched low at the precipice, his Master’s mantra booming in his mind. Just as the Master had prophesised, it was snowing ...