six Styles of Writing, and Me

Dear reader,

1) When is comes to writing - a thing that I do a lot of - the easiest form for me is, believe it or not, poetry and verse. Subhanallah, sometimes I find that even my thoughts are following some sort of rhyme scheme or meter, trochiac pentameter (with a lot of causurae) seem to be my subconcious' favoured style. (Aside: if you didn't understand anything from the last sentence, click on the links or over here.) When I confessed this to my mother the other day, she gave me such an odd look, as if I was a person she didn't recognise. Kind of heart breaking, given that she is the person I love second most in the world. But, in order to show you, dear reader, how natural poetry is to me, I present to you a poem that I wrote about Writing Poetry: 

Sometimes the most beautiful things

Are those with no inherent cause

Are spontaneously inspired

A single thought that brings

Words upon words without a pause.

So that is when these poems

Emerge and grow out of my brain

They take on life and flutter around

And align like gems upon a chain

But in my mind they cannot remain,

So I cease and caress the words

Nurture those seeds into a stem

Then my pen begins to caper

As I coax the words onto paper

That was bland and lifeless without them... 

2) The next style of writing, that I suppose I'm modestly good at, is description, in particular scenic description.I believe that description forms the majority of a piece of fictional writing. Without it, the piece would be only half-imagined and only half-conveyed. I know a lot of people who struggle with writing description. I often struggle with it myself. For some people, it's difficult to take exactly what they see in their minds and put words to it. For that, I recommend reading a dictionary and thesaurus, keep one close when writing or try thefreedictionary.com. For me, where the problem mainly lies is that my descriptions become far too long and wordy. Trust me, this is a BIG problem, because then the reader either loses interest or gets lost in the convoluted sentences. Which is the last thing any writer wants. And also, it diminshes the power and meaning of what we're trying to say. Here is a piece from Life in Conversations that, ironically, I struggled to get just right.    

She sat there,in her comfy corner seat, gazing out through the right-angled French windows; the precarious ones that over-looked the front of the house. Today she was looking out onto a silent Saturday-morning street. The summer sun causing everything to radiate with a warm glow. As she watched, a strident gust of wind swept through the yawning trees, pulling petals away from blossoms and across the sapphire sky, so that they resembled snow falling upwards. It was a perfectly inspirational moment.

Yet Nabiha’s normally spry pen hung over the page, stalled mid-sentence.

So she just sat there, her face serene, her skin soaking up the sun, her hair swathed over her neck like a blanket of silky scarlet-brown flames. Her shinny new note book lay open in her lap, with only the first page and a half filled with stunted-but-serpentine scribbles. The shaky tapping of her foot was the only indication of the frustration pent up inside her. Her brain sprinted and scrambled through hundreds of possible solutions but none of them fitted comfortably, seamlessly into the dilemma she had created. She was stuck. 

3) Then comes dialogue. I love to read dialogue. I love writing dialogue even more. Probably because it allows  the writer to reveal a person/character's personality without saying banal things like 'she liked to read the news' or 'he was witty'. Also, dialogue is one of those places where, as a writer, I can explore and develop characters and their relationships. Most of the time, when I'm in the flow of a conversation, I find that it can lead me and my characters to places I had not realised/planned, Alhumdulillah. I'm actually, at the moment, experimenting with dialogue within poetry, since I've finally begun working of my epic ballad(which I talk about here). It's called The Legend of Sirene and is the fourth "book" in fantasy quartet Chronicles by Anamika. Here's a sample from the first chapter: 

“I am one of the Sultan’s elite guards.

What you’re doing could be seen as treason.

Meddling in my mission will leave you scarred.

So it’s time for you to find your reason.”

That’s when Conla felt a prick on his chest,

And saw the knife she had pulled on him.

He had to admit, he was quite impressed,

And his language she had spoken to him!

He faced her fully, her arm he held tight

So that she could not try to escape him,

Though, he had not the will or strength to fight.

Asking how she knew his tongue, on a whim.

“How and what I know, is my own business,

Now please, will you kindly let go of me.”

“I cannot, for that I ask forgiveness.

But I must take you to MannCarh, you see.”

At his words, her round eyes were all ignite,

She suddenly stopped struggling to be freed.

Overcome by an idea so very bright,

Those pretty eyes, shone with something like greed.  
...

Please, please, dear reader, let me know what you think. I really need feedback on this to see if my experiment is working well or not.            

4) I suppose the next style of writing for me, has to be informal, non-fictional writing, like this blog or e-mails/comments to friends. I really enjoy this sort of thing because here I can just be simple-old  me, just someone who is speaking thier thoughts, if not out loud, then in at least in virtual ink. I hope you enjoy reading my blog as much as I enjoy writing it. And even if you don't, it okay because your opinion on this probably won't stop me from writing, though I might try harder to improve.
  

5) Truth  be told, I'm pretty bad at writing action pieces where there is alot of movement and snap decision making. I think that this maybe because actions are not a verbal/wordy thing, and are much better seen than read. Take comic books, for example. They are well known for their superheroes and action-packed story lines mainly because they are so visual. In a comic book, you don't expect to find a long debate on the purpose of life and love, using metaphorical examples that hold little true meaning. But you can get action in novel form and, more often than not, it's vital to the story line. As I'm just beginning to realise, myself. Before, most of my novel ideas avoided action, preferring dialogue and conversation as a means to an end. But the fantasy quartet that I just spoke about, requires a lot of action. There's wars, spies, demons, pirates, chase scenes, flying dragons and hand-to-hand combat involved! So, yeh, I'm attempting to write action, but taking slowly, one step at a time. As an example, I give you the opening paragraph of the first novel in the quartet, called The Legend of Sharon: 

That regal buck had no idea what was coming to him, as he sipped away at the stream, his branching antlers skimming the water. Out here in the foothills of the CahnineCarh, a tall mountain range in the southern lands of MannCarh, the green woodland rang with its own music, oblivious to all that went on in the world at large. And as Sharon nocked an arrow in her long bow, she too was oblivious to everything but the buck. She held her breath, took aim, and let it go as the arrow flew from her fingers, and straight into the throat of the animal. A quick and painless death was her preferred style... 

6) Yet the style of writing that I am the worst at, is the one I have to do most of all: non-fictional, scientific/medical writing. It is the antithesis of poetry. And I absolutely hate it. My words don't flow out easily like they do with all the other styles. It just does not come naturally to me, for some reason. I have plenty of friends who can write fantastic scientific treaties and earn the best marks, whereas I'm always struggling to scrape out the right words from my mind. And I've been told by my professors an unaccountable number of times, that my writing is just too "flowery" or "unscientific" or "round-about".   

And really long essays are the even worse, because I quickly lose focus and my mind ends up wondering towards my next poem-in-the-making or an idea for a blog post (in fact, this is exactly what I'm doing at the moment). I think this might be because, scientific writing is just so bland and clinical; you have write very to-the-point sentences, bound in rigid structure, with no space for creativity. I'm not saying that scietific writing itself is bad. It is very important in this modern world of constant innervation. And I greatly admire those who can write scientifically and do it well. Probably because it is something that I can't manage to do. It's something that just does not sit well with my vibarent and flowing personality.

I truly have know idea how I've managed to get through medical university and to have done well! To have almost completed an MSc!! Sometimes I can't help thinking that maybe there are two different Nidas existing in this one body. One that is calm, studious, religious and shy; who wants nothing more than to curl up with a good book. She's the 'Nida' that most people meet on a daily basis. The other seems to be quite crazy and cheeky and loud and creative; who wears bright colours on dull days and wants to run around in green fields and empty beaches. But most of all, loves to paint, sketch and write about the made-up things she sees in her mind.

How they two seem to co-exist so harmoniously, is a mystery to me.

Nida 

P.S. - Please don't forget to tell me what you think about my experiment. You can do this by clicking on the comments bottom below. Thank you. 

Sonnets

Dear Reader,

A few weeks ago, in an attempt at procrastination, I decided to reorganise all my bookshelves. If you have been following this blog for some time, you'll understand what an immense task this was. For your interest, dear curious reader I will, once again, map out the arrangements of my books with photographs, but not today. 

Today, I want to write about something I found under a pile of books from my bygone days, when I used to study English Literature. It was my old copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets:

I don't know why this book in particular piqued my interest. I had devoured the entire thing when I was 14 and just beginning to dive into marvellous but murky waters of metaphors and imagery. Those poems had fuelled my imagination greatly and inspired me to write, even though, I have to admit, I did not understand most of the meanings behind what he had written. My love for the poems was based almost entirely on their literary value. 

There was something about finding those poems now, that felt providential. As if, Allah (swt) knowing my current dismayed attitude towards poetry and creativity, wanted to encourage me to carry on writing. By once again providing me with something that had once so inspired me, Allah (swt) in all His guiding wisdom, wanted to remind me of my love for poetry. And so in the time I usually leave for fictional reading (i.e. just before I go to bed), I have been re-analysing each sonnet individually now, with a much more aged and, hopefully, wizened mind. Here is an example:

I thinking that, at least the first 10 or so sonnets, are written from the perspective of a once-beautiful man. And now he is also looking through the eyes of age and wisdom, warning his young and extremely handsome son/protégée about the follies of vanity, of how physical beauty is superficial and will fade with time. And underlying that, there seems to be a plea, for the beautiful youth to pass on this beauty that once belonged to his mother; pass it on to his own children if, like the poet, he wants this beauty to persist after his eventual but inevitable death.        

I know, I know! There's a big whole in my interpretation. The actor who went by the name William Shakespeare didn't have any sons. But then again, I never really believed that he was the true author of these magnificent poems and plays anyway. There are just too many obvious pieces that don't add up. Alas, but this is a debate for another time. I've added here Sonnet 2 for your perusal, dear reader. Let me know what you think of it and my interpretation.     

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, 
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a totter'd weed, of small worth held:
Then being asked where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty use?
If thou could answer, "This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,"
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
           This were to be new made when thou art old,
           And see thy blood warm when thou feels it cold. 

I've also added here some quotes from some of the other sonnets that I thought were just too amazing to keep to myself:

Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, ~ Sonnet 5


Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. ~ Sonnet 1

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
...Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time. ~ Sonnet 3


That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And die as fast as they see others grow; ~ Sonnet 12



Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?

Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. ~ Sonnet 8


However, since we are speaking of sonnets and age and maturity, I thought I'd present you, dear reader, first one of my very first sonnets (that I wrote when I was about 15) and then, of course, my latest one.  

Flight

To lift my wings, and to fly,

To see all these cities bare,

To watch people boldly lie,

To feel the rush of the air.

To see things born, see them die,

To glimpse beauty and despair,

To reach the top, touch the sky,

To race along with a mare.

To witness those, in pain, cry.

To sight tender love and care,

To view people steel and buy,

To sense scenic freedom so near.

To lift my wings and to gloriously fly,

No day could be more fair.

***

Thoughts on a Plane (7th February, 2012)

The soft white landscape in the sky,

I look on to as I hover by,

And remark on the hills the clouds form,

Or the black mountains created by a storm,

Or wispy ones that are a steamy stream

Lit asunder by sun-light’s full gleam.

They travel the world, these fluffy Bedouins.  

With all their hidden precipitous denizens.

So as I journey above, this city of pearl cotton

I watch as the light around me, slowly softens.

Until nought but an orange-red ribbon is left,

Gracing this perpetual horizon, right to left.

Now awe and breathless is how I feel,

            As before my Creator I prostrate and kneel.  

I just realised that, despite the fact that these two sonnets were written 7 years apart, and that I have written many other sonnets concerning all sorts of topics in between, these two in particular seem to share a theme: gazing out over the world, from above.

And with that thought, I shall say goodbye.   

Nida    

By Time

Dear Reader,

Seeing as I spoke quite a bit about time near the end of my last post, and as a reminder first to myself before anyone else, I thought I'd continue with that theme and share with you one of my favourite chapters from the Noble Qur'an, Surah 103 - Al-Asr [click on the link to hear what it sounds like]:

"By time (throughout the ages),

Indeed, mankind is lost.

Except those who believe and do righteous good deeds and advise each other of the truth and advise each other of patience."   

It's title, "Al-Asr", translates to "The Time" and it is the most smallest chapter in The Book. But through these simple but deep words God, in His infinite wisdom, sums up quite well the basis of Islamic life and reminds us of all the things that we, as humans, are most prone to forgetting. The first and foremost of this is time itself. Allah (swt) swears by time; that which has past, the time that is now and the time to come, encompassing all of this in two words. Time is one of our greatest blessings but it is also one that is least appreciated. We as humans are always complaining that we either have to little of it or that it is too slow, but we never thank God for having any at all.  

The next ayah (sentence) talks about loss. In Arabic, there are quite a few different words for loss/lost, all with different connotations. The word used in this Surah, khusr, stands for the loss of an essential asset by all of humanity, i.e. it's a big loss. This is not to be confused with the ultimate loss, which is the loss of Heaven, or a loss upon a loss, like criminal activities on top of disbelief. However, this loss is a consequence of mankind's misbehaviours.  

But do not despair, gentle Reader, the last ayah talks about the 4 requisites of life, with which we can escape this loss:

1. Belief: in God, in His prophets and His Noble Words
2. Good deeds: this not only includes prayer and Hajj (pilgrimage), but also charity and being a good and productive member of society. 
3. The truth: there is no god but the One God. Though we must also tell and remind others of this truth. 
4. Patience: in this modern, hectic, high-speed time, when the world is no further than one click away, patience is a virtue most of us, myself included, unfortunately and grievously lack. Yet it has been specifically mentioned here by Allah (swt), because He not only knows how important it is, but also knows the we constantly need to be reminded to be patient.    

Furthermore, the word "and" is repeatedly used in last ayah, meaning that we should to be doing all four of these things. They are the basic requirements; the bare minimum needed to be a Muslim, to be able to escape the Hellfire.

Dear Reader, if you find this post interesting and wish to learn more about this Surah, I suggest you watch this video by Nouman Ali Khan. MashAllah, he has a great amount of knowledge about Qur'anic Arabic and applies what the Surah's say to modern life, in a witty and understandable way. Nouman Ali Khan as also given many khutbas (speeches/lessons/lectures) that I have found really enlightening, thought-provoking and helpful. 

Al-Asr wallpaper by Productive Muslim Team

Nida

flags and Fate

Dear Reader, 

On the occasion of the Queen's Jubilee, as I stood staring at the streets strewn with red-white-blue bunting and Union Jacks, it occurred to me that flags are a brilliant source of analogies. For example, I've always had difficulty in explaining how both free will and fate can coexist in the same universe. This is where flags come in. Or more specifically, a flag pole.

Say you have a flag that represents you, dear reader. You can choose it's colour, material, design, shape, how far up on the flag pole you can pull it, which direction it faces. You're free to choose all those details to your liking. But fate, let's say fate is like the wind, an uncontrollable force of nature. It buffets you in one direction or another. And yet it's the flag's material, shape, design etc. that are important, i.e. how you willingly choose to face your fate is what individualises us and is what we're judged on. 

And I suppose, in the end, there is only one fate that awaits us all: death. Because death is the only true certainty in life. I find that in this busy modern world, many people seem to forget this, or choose to ignore it. But this doesn't have to be a morbid thought, just a practical one. We need to realize that our time on this world is limited, and thus we should spend it wisely. Time is an often-overlooked  limited resource and we should be using it to make provisions for the Afterlife inshallah, which is in itself eternal and ever lasting. And if you, dear reader, do not believe in an afterlife, then we can also make provisions for future generations to come. It doesn't have to be something grand, like inventing a feasible nuclear fusion reactor. But simpler, smaller, everyday things, like recycling paper or teaching children to respect each other and the environment, these little things that will help to make a safer and cleaner future...

Okay, I did not intend for this post to turn so serious and lecture-like. It's just I've often found my thoughts lately drifting towards the highly maternal topic of babies/children and their future. My biological-clock is not only ticking but ring with alarm bells! *Blush* And with that embarrassing confession, I believe I will end this post. 

Nida   

flower Photography

Dear Reader,

This absolutely excellent weather we had last week was like a testament from God, that summer was finally setting it's foot in the UK. As if in celebration of this wondrous feat, gardens all over England burst to life in a spectrum of greens and a rainbow of flowers. My own garden was no exception to this. So in between writing up assignments and preparing presentations, I was spending as much time as I could in my garden, absorbing England's limited supply of natural vitamin D. 

While I was doing this, my multi-talented mother, who happens to be quite handy with a camera, took photos aplenty of our garden, over which her love's labours are not lost. She has given my permission to post those amazing pictures on my blog, so that I can give you, dear reader, a tour of our garden through my mother's eyes.      

This is the view you will see when you step out the kitchen door:

Ever since we got rid of our two plum trees 2 years ago, me and mum have focused our efforts on growing a whole range of berries.

The first thing you see, the Gooseberries - they still have to ripen and become red. 

Strawberries in flower

The strawberries have already begun to grow on this one. You can even see that one has already begun to blush, hidden beneath the leaves. 

The grapes and red currents are currently small green dots at the moment and not very visible in all the foliage. They'll probably ripen in August most likely, so I'll add pictures of them then. Neither I nor my mum have taken any pictures of my herb pots (oregano, tarragon, sage and mint) or my cherry tomatoes because, honestly, they're not very impressive at the moment. But here are some things that are much more pretty and impressive:

Such pretty snapdragons. There are more in different colours but I  don't have  pictures of those.

This rose we gave to my mother quite a few years ago for her birthday. Since then we've called it "the Birthday rose"

And even more flowers!

But this one is my favourite:

You, dear reader, can't tell how wonderful and strong it's scent is from the pictures, but believe me when I tell you, it's really really really strong and intoxicatingly sweet.   

As you can probably tell by now, my mother and I are unreasonably fond of roses. There are, in fact, a lot more in our front garden:

Again, you won't believe this, but these actually smell like an odd combination of rose and lemon blossom.

When the buds of this one are just open, they look like little fists of snow balls.  

Okay, so these aren't roses but geraniums. But they're pretty and smelly all the same.

And this is what I found in my bedroom this morning.

I know this has little to do with gardens but, honestly, that is the biggest moth I've ever seen. It's half the size of my palm!!! I suppose I should have seen this coming, what with leaving my windows fully open over night.  Not that I have a problem with this. It's a rather graceful moth and fits in with the flowery theme of my bedroom. I wonder if it mistook my wall boarder for real flowers?

Nida