Preeti Shenoy's Blog, page 25

Why being harsh on yourself harms you.

Here's my drawing/portrait for the day. Today I drew it from Sktchy which is a fabulous app (currently only for iphone users). It's a supportive community of artists and art lovers where people share their images--thousands and thousands of photos--which you can use as reference images.

I made this waterolour portrait from a reference image on sktchy.





Initially, I  was quite pleased with it, as I thought it was a good likeness. Then I began to compare and analyse with the reference image. You can swipe right on my instagram art account to see it fully.

The more I compared it, the unhappier I felt!

It made me think about how harsh we are on ourselves, sometimes. If a friend of mine had made the above image, I would have congratulated him/her and praised him/her for the great work done. I would have said it's a superb likeness (which it is). I wouldn't have pointed out the flaws, unless I was specifically asked for it.

Why then was I being harsh on myself?

I think we harm ourselves by trying for 'perfection'. Just to be clear: This is not to say, you should not try to better yourself. You definitely should. That is the only way to grow.

However, if we have done out best about something, and the results are not exactly what we had in mind, we should learn to accept and let go. By beating up yourself about it, you feed the  N in our head, who is the critic. (I have written more about Y and N in a chapter in my book Love A Little Stronger)

By all means, strive to excel.
But also remember to pat yourself on the back for working hard and trying.
It is okay to be a little less than perfect!
_____________________________________
ps: See you tomorrow, with a new picture and a new post! This is a part of May Drawing Challenge where I post a picture I made every single day :)  Hit subscribe to get my posts in your inbox.

Buy Love a Little Stronger HERE
Grab It's All In The Planets: http:/preeti.io/3
http://preetishenoy.com/

May drawing challenge! A story of two portraits.

Hi all,

I have been working non-stop for many many years now. My first book was published in 2008, and I have had one book release every year, since then. This year, I am having TWO book releases. I typically work for about 10-12 hours a day! Sometimes, even more.

If you have been following my updates regularly, you will know that have just had a book release.. Love A Little Stronger, and the first reviews have been great! Please do click on the link and read the reviews!

I traveled to Singapore, earlier this month, to spend time with my children, who both go to college there. But just before I left, I sent off the entire manuscript of my NEXT book, which will be out in September, this year! I was working for about 16 hours a day, just before I left. All I could think of was the book. I was lost in that world.

So now, I am taking a massive break. I am doing a lot of art. I am taking some amazing courses (on Skillshare). I am also teaching creative writing. I am enjoying the assignments that my students submit. I have more than a hundred students on Udemy, and more than 220 students on Skillshare.
If you want to know about my creative writing course please read this post which has FAQs.

Since I have decided  to focus on my art, I wanted to make a commitment to it. Hence I have now taken up a May Drawing challenge! I will post a picture which I sketch every single day. (The best way to commit to something, is through social media!  make an announcement, so that you are forced to stick to your resolution!) I will post the picture that I paint on my Instagram Art Handle 
as well as here.



Here's what I made today:






For both the above, I drew directly with pen. There was no eraser used at all! It's very hard to draw with pen, as you cannot hide your mistakes. But it's a great way to draw. In all the courses that I have taken, all my teachers says this.


So, here you have it--a blog marathon of a different kind!

You will see a new post from me, starting today, every day for the next 30 days!  Please do leave me comments! I enjoy reading your comments, and will try my best to respond to each one :)











That's all for now
love,
Preeti 



Grab It's All In The Planets: http:/preeti.io/3
http://preetishenoy.com/

What happened when an annonymous person sent me flowers.

This morning when I returned from my walk, a pleasant surprise awaited me. It was a gorgeous bouquet of pink flowers, the very same ones you see in the picture above.

'Who has sent these?' I asked my husband.
He shrugged, ' It was there when I came back after walking the dog,' he said.

I looked for a card, and there was none. It was an anonymous mystery sender.

'I am sure you sent it, as a surprise! And you are pretending that you haven't,' I told my husband.
'No, I actually wanted to get you flowers, but I didn't get around to it. I didn't send it. Must be one of your friends,' he said.
I was puzzled. It had to be someone who knew my residential address, and  I wondered who it could be.
'Perhaps it was wrongly delivered, and it was meant for someone else,' I said.
'No chance. How can anyone wrongly deliver these flowers? It's someone who has sent it for you,' said  my husband.
I asked one of my closest friends if he had sent me flowers (as he has done so in the past),but he said it wasn't him.

I put the flowers in a vase. I wanted to thank the person who sent it. The flowers at least had to be acknowledged!  So I put up a post on my facebook and on my twitter, asking the person who sent it to get in touch with me.
All I wanted to do was to thank the person.

But it led to a volley of comments on Facebook.  My friend and fellow author PG Bhaskar  asked if it could be Satish, my husband. 'Of course not, I checked with him before posting this here,' I replied.
Satish commented that flowers are passe, and he expresses his love every day. PG Bhaskar agreed, and sent me a link to a beautiful article he wrote on Khaleej times.

Someone  else commented saying that it might be my secret admirer. I replied 'A secret admirer who knows my address? Creepy!'
It led to further comments.

Many people commented asking me why I couldn't just enjoy the flowers without getting into who had sent it. They said, if they were in my place, they wouldn't have bothered, and would have been content with the flowers.

I thought about it The flowers were very beautiful. One part of me, wanted to keep them. Whoever delivered it should have checked before delivering it. It was not my job to find the anonymous sender. They should have included a card or a message. But another part of me said 'What if the flowers were meant for someone else?' My conscience did not allow me to let it slide. Also, if it was for me, I did want to express my thanks. A tiny voice inside me also wanted to unearth this secret admirer. How could I just keep the flowers and do nothing about it?

I called up the security personnel of my apartment complex. He checked the register, and sure enough there was an entry for a visitor to my apartment, and there was a phone number. The security guard told me that he had tried the number a few times, but there was no response. I asked him to pass on the number to me, and I wrote it down.

I tried the number, and a person speaking Kannada, picked it up. Fortunately I speak Kannada fluently. I asked him if he had left flowers on my door-step and he confessed he had. I asked who the flowers were for and who the sender was. He said 'It is for Bhavya.The flowers were from Shiva.'
I told him there was no-one here by that name, and he had got the wrong house. He then checked the door number. It was an entirely different building that he had to deliver the flowers to! My apartment complex has many buildings and it is easy to get lost, and get confused.
'Why didn't you wait for someone to answer the door, instead of just ringing my doorbell, leaving the flowers there and vanishing?' I asked.
'Sorry M'am, I will come and collect it,' he said.

With some sadness, I removed the flowers from the vase and repacked it in the box that it came in.

My door bell rang in  about half an hour. It was the flower-delivery man who was there to collect the misdelivered flowers. He was an old man wearing some sort of a uniform, looking bewildered.
'What if I had not bothered to track you down and return the flowers? You should always check, before you deliver, right?' I asked him.

He said 'M'am, I am so grateful to you and I thank you very much for it. This is my first day on the job, and it is the first time, I am doing such a job. I would have got into trouble, if you had not called me. These apartment buildings are so confusing, ' he said.

The joy and relief on his face, as he took the flowers back, had to be seen to be believed.

I can't tell you how happy I feel now. I have probably saved a needy person's job.

Not to mention, I am happy I did not keep the flowers meant for Bhavya!


Sometimes in life, it is worth going that extra mile  and taking  the trouble to go into details. You never know what impact our small actions can have on others.

________________________________________________________________________
ps: If you enjoyed this post, there is a whole collection of TRUE stories like this one in my next book Love A Little Stronger which releases on 27th April. It's a new version of my first book '34 bubblegums and candies'. Many of the stories from that are there, and there are new stories as well.





 You can order it HERE








Grab It's All In The Planets: http:/preeti.io/3
http://preetishenoy.com/

Love a Little stronger. Preeti Shenoy's next book releases on April 27th!

Hey!


This is the cover of my next book! It will be releasing on April 27th of this month. The cover was unveiled today in a live session on facebook

For those of you who have read 34 bubblegums and candies, this is a new version of that book. The most popular stories from that are there is this. But there are also a lot of new stories. It has five sections-- each section has stories about a certain theme. These are all TRUE stories from my life.

It's a book very close to my heart!

Here's what the back blurb says:





You can pre-order the book here: http://preeti.io/lals





  Tell me in comments, what you think about this!
   Super excited about it and waiting to hear from you.
     

      Love
      Preeti



 
Grab It's All In The Planets: http:/preeti.io/3
http://preetishenoy.com/

FAQs about my writing course and a writing sample from one of my students.

As many of you who follow me on my various social media handles  know, I have started a writing course  called Fundamentals of Creative Writing: A project based course to strengthen your writing skills.

Since a lot of people are  asking me the same questions over and over, I thought I would do a FAQ (Frequently Asked Questions), so that the next time someone asks me about it, I can point them here.


1. What is this course about?

 The course is a writing course, consisting of on-demand video lectures. It is divided into several sections. At the end of each section, there is an assignment for you to do and submit.
See in detail, what you will be learning HERE.

2. What is the duration of the course?

The duration depends entirely on you, as you can do the course at your own pace.
 Here's what you will get:

 


3. Is it just a one-hour long video?

No! Researchers have found that information is best retained when given out in short chunks and then you put to use what you just learn. So as per the best-practice guidelines, each video lesson or 'lecture' is between 1 and 6 minutes. There are many such lessons. The total duration of it is an hour.
You can do these lessons over many weeks.
There is no point just listening to it all at one go, and not doing anything. You will learn best if you put into practice what you learn!

4. You have the same course on Udemy and Skillshare. How should I choose? Is there any difference between the courses?

The content offered on both Udemy and Skillshare is exactly the same. Skillshare works on a subscription model.You pay a certain sum each year and you have access to thousands of courses. (not just my course)
In Udemy, you buy the course. You have a lifetime access and you do not have to pay anything after you make the payment once. It is for you to decide.

5. Will you be reading our assignments?

Yes! I love to read what my students have done, and for me that is an important part of the course.

6. What will be able to do after I take your course?

You will know how to keep a writer's note book, where to find ideas, where I find my ideas, how to create characters, how to develop a plot, how to write dialogues and finally how all of it comes together in a story.

7. If I take your course, will you offer feedback on a book I have written?

I will be able to offer feedback only on the assignments that I have given in my course. I will not be able to read your book or other work that you have produced.
Here is why I cannot read the other  stuff you send me: http://blog.preetishenoy.com/2013/03/why-i-cannot-read-stuff-that-you-send.html

8. Do you have any samples of assignments that we can expect?

Yes! Please see this LOVELY work by one of my students Subrata Naskar. I really liked what he wrote.

Create three characters of your choice. Flesh them out with details in the lecture you just watched. Submit them here.

First character

Death of a loved one leaves behind a desert of loneliness and an ocean of grieving memories.  But for Sujan, Diya left behind a mountain, too steep for him to get over.
It has been three years since Diya left him.  Still, for him it feels like it happened just the day before.  Memory of her is still fresh in his heart like a festering wound which times does little to heal.
Sitting in his couch he looks at the setting sun.  His slight, portly figure looks protuberant as it silhouettes against the wall in the setting sun.  Away on the horizon the sun looks like a giant bruise from which dark arteries spread themselves over a poisoned sky.  The wound seems eternal, everlasting like his.  He takes off his glasses and places them over the glass-topped wicker table beside him.  A heavy sigh escapes him.  He runs his long, slim fingers across his long, scruffy hairs before resuming his journey down memory lane.
Three years ago he was a happily married man.  He was 32 back then in perfectly good health who loved to remain active.  Now when he looks back to those days, his previous self seems to him a well known stranger, like his co-passenger in the train on his way to work, so close yet so distant.  He got his father’s job in the Indian Railways where his father used to work before a massive heart attack cut his life short.  He was 55 at that time, five years before his retirement.  His father being an engineer was regular in the officer circles.  So it was easy for him to slip into his father’s shoes and thanks to his degree in Mechanical Engineering from BESU he climbed up the ladder of success pretty fast.
His mother died when he was in college.  After his father’s death he began to feel forsaken.  Although he kept himself busy in his work, but at night when he came home he suddenly began to feel the weight of loneliness, ready to crush him under its massive burden.
His uncle prodded him to get hitched thinking Sujan needed love in his life.  The bride was the daughter of his wife’s aunt.
Sujan stretches his legs forward before resting one knee on another.  He can perfectly remember the day of his marriage.  The reception took place on a Sunday.  It being a holiday all of his relatives and friends joined the party.  Joy and happiness was palpable in the air.
Diya won him over on the first day with her winsome smile.  She was the love of his life.  They were the perfect couple.  Hailed from a middle class family she knew that it is small things that make a house a home.  Every evening, on his way back from work, he would find her standing on the porch waiting for him.  Her big black eyes had a sense of longing in them.  As he threw open the gate and stepped on the courtyard she would run and pick up his bag.  She asked endless questions about how his days passed over a cup of piping hot tea.  Her big eyes widened in childlike innocence when he described how the massive railway engines huffed and puffed before chugging out of the carshed.  At night she would run her fingers in his hairs and hummed a song.  Sujan would be soon transported to a dreamland before the warble trailed off.  He would fall asleep.
Sujan slowly rises from his chair when the twilight has coagulated into the dark.  He looks at the luminous disk that has risen up in the blue-black bruised sky.  On such an evening he got a call that changed his life forever.
Diya was pregnant with their first child.  Their happiness was boundless.  Endless discussion on how to usher in the baby ensued.  Diya looked more beautiful than ever.  When she trudged along the verandah with her hands carefully placed over baby bump, it seemed an inseparable part of her.
Into 35 weeks of her pregnancy, she water broke.  It happened on a Sunday morning.  Sujan rushed her to the Railway Hospital.  There doctor immediately admitted her.  They gave her medicine to induce labour.  Sujan waited in the lounge with bated breath.  Excited, he went out in the open air and started to pace up and down the road that wound around the hospital premises.
He went home only in the late afternoon when doctor assured him that Diya was doing well.  At home he had a quick shower and a hurried lunch.  He was in the bedroom getting dressed when the phone rang.  It was a phone call from the hospital.  A cold female voice told him to present at the hospital immediately.  Sujan froze in fear.  He dashed to the hospital.  By then it was over.
The medical report stated that Diya died from obstructed labour.  It was as if a part of him died that evening.  It had turned his world upside down.  He seemed like a creature made by an early whim of nature, which on second thought took everything away from him before chucking him to struggle and extermination.  They could not even save the baby.
Sujan slowly let himself slide over the chair.  He looks vacantly at the moon as it starts to spread over everything a thin layer of silver.  Slowly his vision blurs.  He feels two fat teardrops well up in his eyes before spilling onto his shirt.  Nothing can dispel the eternal darkness that pervades his soul.  Nothing.
They say time heals the greatest wound.  Maybe it does.  But when memory picks at it, it can never heal.
The night deepens.  Sujan lifts himself from the chair and ambles into the room.  He needs something to drown his memories with.  He heads to the bedside rack lined with bottles of different shapes and sizes.  He trails his finger along each of them before stopping at a small one at the end.  He takes out five pills and after a moment’s hesitation chucks them into his mouth.  He then goes to the kitchen, flicks the tap to pour water in a glass placed at the side and empties the glass at one go.
Outside, the moon separates itself from the shadows of the eucalyptus tree in his courtyard.  Inside Sujan struggles to separate his mind from the memories of his wife.  Slowly the moon frees itself from the clutches of the leaves and rises up higher.  As a delicious slumber takes over his senses, Sujan feels his mind rise high up into the night sky till it can reach no more.  There he finds Diya waiting for her, her thin lips parting into a bright smile with her eyes sparkling with the glow of love and tenderness.
The next morning Sujan is found dead in his bed.  The doctors at the hospital say he has overdosed on sleeping pills.
But nobody knows that Sujan was long dead, only his limbs were alive.  And that night he felt alive in the arms of his beloved when he slipped into eternal sleep.

Second and third character:


I first met Rehman when I was looking for a mason to do some repair work of my house.  Constructed in 1948, by my father, the house was devoid of repair since then.  Gradually it was falling into decay; becoming a source of bitter spat in the family and a snigger among relatives.  It was when I bumped into Rehman.
He came to me the next morning.  I was watering the plants in my garden when the doorbell shrieked.  When I opened the door my eyes met with a man standing at the porch.  He introduced himself as Rehman.  I waved him in and showed him a chair.
He was big man, with very bright brown eyes, set deep in a wrinkled and weather-beaten face.  Like a construction site, he was a mess-up.  He wore a full-sleeve shirt that had dull patina of grime along its shoulder blades that spoke of the kind of work he was involved in.  His skullcap was mud-stained, perched atop a mop of tousled hair, with streaks of white still visible at the round corners.  He wore a dirty lungi that had different hues all over it save its own, was raised high up revealing his hairy legs and tied into a knot under the bellybutton.  His beard was unruly flowing over his chin and almost touching his chest.
“Are you looking for a mason?” he spoke in a heavy Bengali accent coming directly to the subject, brushing aside pleasantries.
“Yes.” I replied still gazing at him.  His sun-ravaged face spoke of the long hours he spent under its glare.  Though in his 30s, he seemed much older.
“Let’s go and see what you to do.”  He said raising himself from the chair.
I showed him around where the roof was leaking, which part of the wall developed a crack and the corners where the plasters peeled off.  He surveyed each and every corner of the house and spoke to me at length on what needed to be done and what materials to be bought.  There was certain vibe around him, a constant flow of energy, the way he arched his shoulders, in the clarity of his eyes and the way he fidgeted constantly.  It was plain that he was a vigorous and restive kind of person.
He started work the very next day.  All that week my house was a source of frenzied activity.  Rehman rushed about laying cement, hammering down damp parts of the wall.  His workers trudged up and down the stairs with stacks of bricks balanced precariously on their heads.  Sometimes they plodded upstairs with sacks of cement on their backs, the fine mixture plastering their faces white.
After precisely one week Rehman declared the job was done.  All of us heaved a sigh of relief.  But it was short-lived.  The next challenge was to clean up the mesh they had left the house in.
From then on whenever I came across Rehman on the street or in the market he always greeted me with a courteous smile.  No matter how busy he was he always made it a point to get down from his bike and ask after my family.  His tender eyes glistened with delight whenever I asked him over for a cup of tea.
It was over a cup of tea that one day he declared he was getting married.  I burst into wonderstruck laughter.  I never expected him to be unmarried till then since people in their community get married quite early in life.  He reasoned that after his father’s untimely death the yoke of the family fell on his shoulders and marriage was something he could ill afford back then.
However we were happy at his decision and happier still that he decided to invite us.  We felt glad that he was at least immune to the virus of religious bigotry.
The marriage took place at his ancestral home in Singa village of Murshidabad district, a hamlet of about 800 people, indicated on the district survey map with a microscopic dot.  It was an agonizing four-hour drive from Kolkata.  But our torment soon went away when we were greeted with a motley crowd of overjoyed villagers, eager to usher in “Kolkatar babu” to their hamlet, a maze of low mud huts huddled together like confectionary on a tray, each topped with a billowing tousled head of straw.
It was an amazing experience to have witnessed Rehman’s marriage.  Unlike ours, theirs take place in daytime.  Bride and groom were seated separately, screened from each with a silk curtain drawn in the middle.  The moulavi from the village mosque presided over the ceremony.  He personally went to the bride and the groom to ask for their consent.  It was only after their mutual consent witnessed by at least three persons that their marriage was solemnized.
A grand feast awaited us under a canopy that looked like a giant umbrella unfurled just outside the village.  Rehman’s arrangement was like his work, left nothing to grouse.  After we had our fill we went to meet the bride.
Seated in a separate hut, she looked pretty in her wedding dress.  She had bright deep eyes set in a calm face and a stretched forehead.  She had thin lips and a determined chin.  She looked a bit frail but it was compensated by her radiant smile.  Her voice had a tinkling sound like soft chiming of bells though her tongue began to trip a bit when she spoke under the pressure of so many prying eyes.
Rehman was back in the city next week with his wife.  Once back, he remained mostly buried in work as was I.  Once or twice we met on the way and exchanged pleasantries.  He looked happy so was I knowing that Rehman had found the love of his life at last.
Two weeks after his return to the city, Rehman had an accident.  He was working on a rooftop of a building while talking to his wife on the phone.  He was about to get down when he stumbled upon a set of planks stacked near the staircase and tumbled down 12 feet on the concrete surface below.  He was rushed to the hospital with three fractured ribs, broken right hand and leg and an injured spine.
I rushed to the hospital where I found Rehman lying at a corner covered in bandage from head to toe with IV drips on.  His wife was sitting near his bed caressing his forehead.  One his eyes fell on me, Rehman tried to get up but could not.  His chapped lips parted into a dry smile that lingered on till I left him.  I sat at his bed and clasped his right hand in a show of sympathy and support.  He joked wryly that love for his wife must have weakened him a bit otherwise he would not have ended up in hospital.  I looked away knowing that my eyes were stinging with tears.
Rehman’s wife was silent all along.  She kept on caressing his forehead.  Time had been cruel to her.  But she looked unbelievably calm and poised.  Her visage never betrayed an emotion.  She seemed to age in the span of a few days, not in years but in experience.  She sat there still, silent, unruffled like the centre of a deep lake that small waves of suffering could never reach.
Three days into his hospitalization Rehman died.  His fall resulted in a hemorrhage in his brain that bled internally snuffing his life out.  I got the news the next morning.  As I was about to go to office one of his workers came and delivered the news.  I could not go to the office that day.  I plonked on the sofa in my drawing room with my head held in my arms.  My eyes were moist with tears.  His joke continued to play at the back of my mind like the tangled part of a tape recorder.  Love must have weakened him a bit.
One week later I heard from my wife at dinner that Rehman’s wife killed herself by consuming poison.  That was the first time I heard her name.  Her name was Nayeema, which means blessing in Arabic.  I chuckled and carried on with my meal.

I liked his work so much that I asked him if I can publish it on my blog. Subrata Naskar was kind enough to share his picture as well.



 9. But I cannot write as well as Subrata! Is this course for me?

This course is for a complete beginner. You will learn  everything from scratch. We all have to begin somewhere! This course is a safe place, where you can give each other constructive feedback.

10. Can I see a preview of the course?

Of course. Please click on the Udemy link below and it gives you about four lectures free for you to decide if the course is for you. Also check out the reviews that I have been getting.

11.  Okay, I am in! Where do I enroll?

Here are the links:

Udemy

Skillshare 
 The course is priced at 99.99 dollars on Udemy for a lifetime access. But if you use the coupon code PREETINEW  then you get a 75% off ! (I am making it  VERY affordable so that many people who want to write can make use of it. You can feel free to share the coupon code)

See you in class! :)




Grab It's All In The Planets: http:/preeti.io/3
http://preetishenoy.com/

Project M --Singapore's hunt for the next super model. Please cast your vote!

Hey there.

Some exciting news from my end that I want to share with you.

 My son Atul Shenoy is one of the 20 finalists (10 boys and 10 girls)  in Project M,  Singapore's search for the next supermodel,




He is the only Indian to have made it to the finals. (rest of the finalists are all from other countries).
You can see all the finalists here:  http://www.sphmagxbugis.sg/vote/

Atul will appear in the centrespread of  Her World  and NuYou magazines in the June issues. He was chosen from over 2000 applicants.

One of the segments of this is Mr.Popularity where the candidate with maximum vote wins. Your vote can help him win!

May I please request you to take a few minutes out and vote for Atul? And please tell  people on your list who will vote for Atul? You can vote multiple times (3 a day and many days too)


You can vote here: http://www.sphmagxbugis.sg/atul-shenoy/

Always wanted to write? Here's your chance!

Over the last few weeks, I have been working really hard to put together a comprehensive course on Creative Writing. Please see the video above to know the course content. Whenever I have done Instagram and Facebook live, there are several questions I get asked over and over again. I list these (In no particular order of importance)

1. Where do you get your ideas from?

2. What inspires you to write?

3. How can we improve our writing?

4. What do we do to get published?

5. I am afraid to send my manuscript to the publisher. What if the publisher steals my ideas?

6. How do you craft such believable, realistic characters?

7. Whenever we read your books, we can see the whole thing happening in front of our eyes. How do we write like that?

8. I don't get any ideas but I want to write.

9. Is it essential to keep a writer's notebook?

10. if we keep a writer's notebook, what should we write in it?

11. Is dialogue really essential in a story?

12. How do we develop a plot?


So I put together a course that addresses ALL of the above! It is a project based course which means that there is an assignment at the end of each section. There are about 17 lectures in about an hour of video lessons, which you have LIFETIME Access to.

I have shared everything I have learnt in more than a decade of my writing career.

Here's what one of my students said:


If you wish to enroll in the course, here is the link:

https://www.udemy.com/preetishenoy-creativewriting/?couponCode=PREETINEW

 I am giving a 75 percent discount to the first 100 people who join :) Just use the coupon code PREETINEW
(You will then get the course at Rs.1650/-  instead of full price)

You can also watch the first four lectures FREE using the above link.

(I do believe the course is worth much much more than the discounted price, as it is packed with tips, and ideas and inspiration..However, I do want to thank my blog readers and other readers, hence an inaugural discount)

Here's what you get! (screenshot from Udemy)

So  will I see you in class? :)

Join me for The Fundamentals of Creative Writing: A project based course to strengthen your writing skills

_________________________________

buy my books: http://preeti.io/amazon








Grab It's All In The Planets: http:/preeti.io/3
http://preetishenoy.com/

Last post for Feb!

This is the last post of the blog marathon!  I have been  blogging every single day,  the whole of this month :) Look at the picture above. That's how I feel right now :)

All of you readers have been really supportive--and big thanks to all of you for that!

A special mention to

Thought is Free

Shally

Femina

and

Dave Thakur

 for leaving comments on almost ALL the posts!






I shall blog again very soon! There's something I have been working hard on. (related to writing but not a book..Guess what it is?) Watch this space!
Grab It's All In The Planets: http:/preeti.io/3
http://preetishenoy.com/

A nameless relationship--a short story by Preeti Shenoy.

Today---just a photo for you.

This picture was clicked a little while ago. I posted it on my Instagram  with the caption:

Hang on to everything that makes you feel good ! Hold tight and do not let go. Especially true friendships. <3

I am blessed to have some great friends in my life, and that reflects in all my books, all my writing. My novels are mostly heart-warming and always look at the bright side of life.

But what a lot of people do not know is that I write very dark short stories.


One of my short stories has just released.
You can get it here:  http://amzn.to/2osqRam

(It's not an e-book..It is a short story and it is available only on Kindle. You can download the Kindle app if you do not own a Kindle)

That's all for today.
New post tomorrow.
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 Buy my books: http://preeti.io/amazon


Grab It's All In The Planets: http:/preeti.io/3
http://preetishenoy.com/

Why then did you leave? A poem.

This is a poem I wrote many years back. I wanted to share it today.



Why did you leave?

The last song is yet to be sung,
The last bell is yet to be rung.
The last book is yet to be read,
The last word is yet to be said.

The last bow is yet to be taken.
The last Martini is yet to be shaken.
The last note is yet to be played,
The last etching is yet to fade.

Why then did you leave?
Why did you choose to walk away?
Leaving me to waltz the last dance
And face the music alone.
 Couldn’t you stay?

© Preeti Shenoy
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© 2018 Preeti Shenoy

For more poems click here. Some poems have already appeared in print. Kindly do not reproduce without permission. Buy my books: http://preeti.io/amazon  © 2018 Preeti Shenoy
  Photo by Nitish Meena on Unsplash  
Grab It's All In The Planets: http:/preeti.io/3
http://preetishenoy.com/