Fifteen Minutes?! More like fifteen years!

If that's what most of you think when you arrive at my blog, you wouldn't be wrong. Procrastination is the root cause of all bubble-wrap sales spiking the world over.

But I digress.

Writing non-fiction is not something I've attempted on a large scale before. The notion of keeping my writing voice intact while attempting an endeavor that calls out for being semi-pedantic as far as exploring the intricacies of a medium (cinema in this case) are concerned, creates an aura of self-doubt and an equal toll on how it might affect my alter writing which till date was a pleasurable and rewarding experience.

Then writer's bloc happened!

Borne by a career shaping series of events the whole of last year, I eventually had the proverbial rug pulled out from under my feet, was rolled up in it, and then stuffed in a trunk that trundled away on a horse-buggy without a driver.

I got my first taste of what it takes to write a bona-fide, feature-length for a studio.

(If I didn't suffer from writer's bloc that example above would've read so much better.)

I haven't attempted any screenplay writing since November. Characters stroll into the bar in my brain and coax me to have fun with them, tell their stories, request me to be their designated  driver as they've had a bit too much to drink...I tell them it's closing time.

None of my earlier remedies for getting out of a creative rut work. Short trips, time-off from script reads, video-games, wood-work, cooking, video editing and photography haven't cleared this venomous cobweb yet.

The only prescription I hadn't tried arrived in the form of an e-mail reminding me that my website domain was up for renewal. My blog, which would let me savor passionate discussions with fellow lovers of cinema had a layer of empty promise molding away like the leotard of a talented ballerina who discovered the cake shop for the first time in her life.

Some writers have a way with words in non-fiction that makes the reader wish that they'd have that same minty fresh breath after having digested a garlic pizza. Other writers can make an insipid real tale into an intrepid event you are certainly convinced to have lived through yourself.

Me? I chew up my fact-fiction like bubble-gum. I stretch it and string it and finally blow it up into a bubble that pops loudly and evokes laughter in people most of the time.

I'll write this blog to figure out if I can elicit other emotions from readers via non-fiction.

I have friends. Lovely, amazing friends! Friends who support my talent and who are talented beyond belief in their respective niche of choice. They would love for me to get back to writing, so I do this for them.

I also know there's a horse-buggy trundling to nowhere, carrying a trunk with a rolled up carpet inside.

I shall do this for that guy inside that rolled up carpet to pop out of that trunk and rein that horse.

Today I let my fear speak, from tomorrow it's passion's turn.