Nillu Nasser's Blog, page 12

You will Soar

Photo by Leanne Surfleet

A thousands suns can’t melt
the ivy veneer of your heart
No child’s smile can chase the shadows
from the caves of your mind

You dive into wells of loneliness
swim amongst sewer rats
convinced it’s where you belong
your body a mummified corpse, sinking

Come, let my words gush
over you, seal the holes in your being
till you need no validation but your own
and you are sated by love

Let your broken heart be fortified
but stay soft, and when you search for light
may it no...

A Sense of an Ending

Photo by Namtaf

Over the last few weeks comments from my novel beta-readers have been trickling in. It’s the first time I’ve been through this process for a long project. Common wisdom says I should collect the responses and read them all at once. This way, it’s easier to get an overarching view of the novel’s reception and hone in on the common areas of work needed. I would be less likely to focus on individual outlier points.

Instead, I found myself opening each critique as they came in, be...

Rejecting Perfection: On the Ideal of Motherhood

Photo by Jeffrey

Yesterday was Mother’s Day for many people. While in the UK it is celebrated in March, such is the reach of Facebook, that I twitched at the thought my mum might think I had forgotten to make a fuss of her. I’m ambivalent about commercial days like Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and Valentine’s Day. Even Christmas seems to me to be over the top nowadays. We constantly seek to rein in the exuberance of family when buying gifts for the children. I crave the simplicity of a small to...

On Difference, Compassion and the Right to Speak

Photo by elFranzo

I’m Muslim, did you know? You might have guessed, from how I look I suppose. I once was interviewed by a woman, who after I got the job, confided in me that she could almost always tell someone’s religion after speaking to them for five minutes. I wonder if she could tell also that I’d had a convent school upbringing. You see, labels are only so useful. We are more simple, and more complex than any label can foretell.

Being Muslim is only a small part of my identity, along w...

Crumbled Stones and Hammocks of Sky

Photo by Joe Parks

I lie against the pillows
in the half-light
listening to bricks shifting
mortar crumbling
in our silent home
because you have flown
far away, briefcase in hand

Often the world grows dark
All I see are angry men
and despairing mothers,
fields of upside down flowers,
skies of shredded crimson,
a march to our graves
But you are there

You open the corners of the map
show me beauty in
where you have been
what you have seen
I drown in your eyes and
the warmth of your spirit
and k...

On the Distance between Art and its Creators

Photo by Nick Kenrick

Last week my novel went out to beta-readers. Small sections of it have been seen by my critique group, but this is the first time it will be read consecutively, from beginning to end. I’m fiercely proud of the story, and simultaneously fearful about letting it travel out into the world, for now, beyond my control.

It makes me think about the intensely private nature of creating. Art is not made in a vacuum; it is the product of our interactions with the world. Even so, t...

Motifs in Literature, and a Poem: The Hell Hound at the Tree of Life

Photo by Mitsuko Tonouchi

This week I’ve been thinking about motifs in literature: recurrent images, symbols or ideas an author employs to paint a picture in the reader’s mind. Motifs are woven through the books we read, used by authors to add depth and convey meaning. They might be colours (red for passion or victimhood, for example), the elements (water for cleansing, fire for destruction), weather (rainbows for hope, or the storm in The Tempest) or random objects the author repeatedly inse...

On the Writing Process, and Letting Go

Photo by Bethan Phillips

One of the mysteries of writing is how our processes evolve. We try our hand at different techniques until we find one that fits best. Distilled down to simple binary choices: plotting or pantsing, laptop or notebook, cafe or home, desk or lap, pant or pantless.

Starting a blog was central to toughening up my mindset. In the early days, I thought more about writing than I actually wrote. I wrestled with doubt. I fussed more over my environment than the words on the pa...

A Meditation on Place and Roots

Photo by Moyan Brenn

I’ve fallen in love with many places in my time. The shadows underneath the dining table, where I used to hide by my grandfather’s feet. The house where I grew up in Streatham, opposite the pebble-dashing business. Charles Bridge in Prague in the early hours of the morning before the tourists arrive. The Arts Centre at university and its adjacent library. The park where I walked our first dog, before I was allowed to go on the bus alone. The old pubs stinking of beer agai...

Creative on Demand: On Time and Tricks to Get your Mojo

Photo by Nick Kenrick

A friend of mine recently asked me how I manage to find the time to write. She has young children, younger than mine, as well as a start up business, and it seemed to her that she’ll never be able to steal a moment for her writer self. She’s wonderful, this friend, passionate and committed to her craft but life is getting in the way.

What I wanted to say to her, was creativity ebbs and flows, and sometimes, committed though we are, life gets in the way, and the best we c...