Publishing Jimpify’s Second book : Through the Mist

Through the Mist

We at Jimpify Publishing, are very happy and proud to announce the publishing of our second book, ‘Through the Mist’.

1st of September 2017, we are publishing our first collaborative fiction and our second book, Through the Mist.

It has been a wonderful and exciting journey working with all the talented writers, right from the writing of the book till its publication.

About the Collaboration

‘Through the Mist’ is a collaborative book and an innovative venture to break a common belief and to validate an old saying.

It is a common belief that a story can be spun from only one pen. But ‘Through the Mist’ is a bouquet of stories from a bunch of authors.

The book validates that ‘A picture is worth a thousand words’ because a single photograph is the only common link to all the stories of this book.

Yes, a picture is worth a book!

‘Through the Mist’ is a collaborative fiction book that has brought together five writers from diverse backgrounds. The starting point of the stories is a picture, that has been interpreted by each of the writers differently so that the stories touch many genres and have varied characters.

What is the book About?

A reader commonly believes that an author always has control over her story. That holds true if a story has only one author. Here in this book, each of the five stories has five authors and each story is set to a different theme.

Every author has proved that they can start a story, lay twists and turns, strengthen the plot, tie up the loose ends as well as wrap up a story.

‘Through the Mist’ is a collaboration of pens, voices and experiences that brings forth seamless stories. With an exquisite cadence and rhythm, the different characters and the settings come alive.

 

A Middle Class‘ story brings us Pari, the independent, headstrong girl whose parents want her to marry and settle down. Love has other views and comes unexpectedly through Rehan. In this comedy of errors, blunders pile on and the protagonists head a laugh riot.

In ‘A strange Life‘, Aarya, bored with her profession and disappointed with her personal life, finds an unexpected adventure that is a little too much for her to comprehend. Can she manifest the life she has wanted to have, by reclaiming her power?

Aakash cannot forget Anavya, the love of his life. His longing turns him into a poet and he hopes and waits for her, years later. ‘Languish in Love‘ is a delicate story that explores love, longing, pain.

The Lone Man‘ is hard hitting. All John wants is to forget his wife Sarah’s death and get on with his life. But his nightmares and visions would not let go of him.

Turn of the Tides‘ is set at sea and the men who have lived with the sea and loved her are the ones who fear her now. Can they conquer their dread and have the sea lose her power over them?

These stories are a surprising collection of different genres. The language is intense but the stories are crafted with incredible elegance. There are subtle twists and delightful conclusions.

The team behind this collaborative creation is :

Jithin, who provided the inspiration for the book. He blogs at www.trablogger.com

Abirami, the teenager who’s obsessed with writing and blogs at www.theobsessivewriter.com

Adhithya, the youngest teenager of the team who blogs at www.wordstuggedatheartstrings.WordPress.com

Nimitha, the writer who finds time to write between her busy work schedule. She blogs at www.nimzrevealed.WordPress.com

Rupali, the teenager studying maths and writing poems at www.literatureismyporn.WordPress.com

Sona, an avid reader and our resource person to lend any help. She blogs at www.sonaonline.WordPress.com

Aadhira, our in house editor who pushed everyone to write this book, blogs at www.aadhira.me

The authors became readers of their own stories and certified each of them to be a good read.

Here is your chance to grab the paperback of ‘Through the Mist’.

Follow this link to buy Jimpify’s second published book : Through the Mist 

For those who love Kindle readingthe book is available on Amazon Kindle as well.

 

PS : Please share this and support this talented team.

Source: Publishing Jimpify’s Second book : Through the Mist

Inviting guest blogs! 

I’m on the verge of quitting once again and of course the reasons are anew this time and I still couldn’t let go of my ripples..

If any one is interested in helping me get through another phase of mundane posts, or just feeling generous to write at Ripples, or anyone for any other reason willing to do so, feel free to drop a mail of the post you would like to publish here at aadhirai@live.co.uk

Already published posts are also welcome. Just send across the link of the same.

The beginning

புரிகின்ற தருணத்தில்
தொலைகின்ற காதலாய்
உணர்கின்ற பருவத்தில்
இழந்திடும் பாசமாய்
பார்க்கின்ற நொடியினில்
மறைகின்ற கானலாய்
தொடுகின்ற சமயத்தில்
நெடுகின்ற வானமாய்
பொழிகின்ற வேளையில்
கலைகின்ற மேகமாய்
என் தேடல்களின் முடிவுமே
இன்னொரு தொடக்கமாய்

The love lost
At the moment of understanding;
The parted affection
At the moment of realisation;
The missing mirage
At the moment of looking at it;
The extending horizon
At the moment of almost reaching it;
The dissolving clouds
At the moment of almost drizzle;
Signifies that my end is not an end
But the beginning of the next new adventure!

The Tamil version is written by Mr. Sudalai on his blog over here -> ​தொடக்கம் – http://wp.me/p7RIiY-s

The Post-mortem report!

On August 9, 2016 I requested for a post-mortem report. The report was worth sharing and requested a post of its own and here it is.

Thanks to Colin (www.meandray.com) for providing the very interesting report. And the report is so good and it needed to see the limelight and here it is for you to dissect further.

The Subject:

I had a thought just a moment ago..
The moment passed and so did the thought..
The thought might return,
Would the moment return too?

But the thought was it the same?
Coz previously it was original,
Now it is mere repetition..

As moments keep flowing,
Thoughts too keep flowing..

Few are ground breaking..
Few just break the head..

Few just stay forever..
Few just disappear like a vapour..

Few eludes the words..
Few eludes from remembrance..

Few are intimate..
Few are despicable..

Few are reverent..
Few are guilty..

Few are forgotten..
Few are immortalised..

Few are stacked away deep within and taken to grave..
While few are publicised and taken for post-mortem..

So what is your post-mortem report of this thought?!

The Report and the discussion!

First report (Colin)

A post-mortem is final
It signifies death
It recaps what has been
And what can never be again
A post-mortem determines
Cause and effect
It simply defines …..
the hows, but never the whys.

Your thoughts are not in this group
For thoughts can be again
They may die, but then they may live
As long as you are alive
Your thoughts are simply dormant
Asleep until that time
When circumstances dictate an awakening
And your thoughts can live again

Perhaps you shared your thoughts
Perhaps that person will nurture them
They may then live a different life
Have slightly different results
And in the event of your passing
Their life is still assured

A post-mortem on your thoughts
Is therefore quite illogical
For they may not have to die
But should they fade with the memories of you
Then we will all be grief stricken
Such beautiful thoughts
Such expressions of awareness
Gone forever
Why?

Second Report (Aadhira)

Is the thought the same
After it transforms into words
And take some shape?
Don’t they attain a finality?
They do die as thought
And be born again as poetry,
action, prose, letter, inspiration
and much much more..

But definitely the thought
as mere thought has died..

And though the deaths are painful,
“After all, to the well-organized mind,
death is but the next great adventure.” (JKR)
So as my thoughts embark on to the next,
Let us not hesitate to post-mortem..

Yes, the post-mortems are about
Cause and Effect..
Let us ponder over
What caused the ripple..
Let us linger over
How far the ripple reaches..

And after all,
“Heard melodies are sweet,
but those unheard are sweeter” (John Keats)
So let us not grieve over lost sweetness,
But just prepare ourselves for more sweetness..

Third Report (Colin)

But if a thought dies
And resurrects in words
Was it really ever dead?
And if a mere thought could die
And caused more thoughts after resurrection
Then its soul surely lives on
Albeit in a different form

The next great adventure pre-supposes death
Which has not (here) been determined
So yes, let us ponder on the ripple
Let us linger over its reach
Let us determine its existence
But unlike a thought
The ripple does die
It is absorbed by its own medium

John Keates was right
That unheard sounds are the sweetest
Unheard sounds
Unspoken thoughts
Unseen ripples
Do they have much much in common?

Unheard sounds are limited by ones imagination
Unspoken thoughts are limited to the creator
Unseen ripples are never realized to their full potential
But let us not forget
This is about post-mortems
A post-mortem on an unheard sound is ludicrous
A post-mortem on an unspoken thought lacks imagination
A post-mortem on an unseen ripple simply cannot be.

The whole post-mortem discussion
Is a very subjective topic as you can no doubt see
With conflicting conditions being established
Quite simply by you…
… and by me!

Fourth Report (Aadhira)

The soul does live on dear..
But are we conducting
the post-mortem for the soul?

Unlike thought,
a ripple doesn’t die!
For the chaos theory states that
a flap of butterfly could cause whirlpools..
So imagine what all might happen
from a single ripple!

Just like a thought,
a Ripple is more powerful..
Yet neither the initial thought,
nor the initial ripple could ever
fathom the depth of its impact
nor the length of extension
it attains in the next form..

Those unheard / unspoken / unseen
are the privilege of the initiator
and are a secret to be guarded..😉
And it would be ridiculous for
expecting post-mortem on them..

When I talk, I express myself,
When I listen, I learn a new perspective..
What if there are just two views?
Still it is better than one right..😉

Fifth Report (Colin)

My friend, such differences we have
I believe ripples do in fact die
Even though their effect may live on
As for chaos theory?
Theory is all that it is, nothing more

When you talk, you do express yourself
But who are you?
A flower with complex scents
Will we ever know you?

When you listen, you learn new perspectives
But what are they?
A birth of new dreams perhaps
Will you ever tell us?

And as for just two views?
There really must be more
More than talking and listening
More than yours and mine

Does a mute man only listen?
Does a deaf man only talk?
Is the world simply you and I?

Perhaps an autopsy is necessary
For we all need to see
The infinite variables of life
In this wonderful world…
… that includes…
you and me!

Sixth Report (Aadhira)

Without experiencing Summer,
Rain couldn’t be appreciated better..
Still the beauty of Sun and Rain live on
complimenting each other in their own way..
Hence the differences bring out
the uniqueness and nurture the other..

When I talk, I express myself
as what I like you to know me as..😉
I might be the luring death
with the fragrance of rose
Or the majestic lotus amidst
the stinking mud..
So will I ever let you know..
Maybe, Maybe not..😉

When I listen, I learn new perspective..
But do I listen what is actually said,
Or do I listen what I want to hear?
Did I really understand your intent?
Or am I just babbling with words
that are spilled and set for dissection?

Will I ever acknowledge even to myself,
This is where a new dream was born?
Or am I that deep in vain,
To daresay that is my dream of ages?

There are indeed so many views,
just as there are many forms of dance..
When the dance of words are in such rhythm,
with its own tune and rhyme,
composed by and for the two,
others enjoy, absorb and cherish..
But would they dare to interfere?
Not, in the fear of messing the beat..😉

Who knows the colorful dreams of a blind?
Who hears the vocals of the mute?
Let us have little more compaasion
and spare those intellectually challenged..😉

There is so much wonder in here..
In this little world of you and me..
with open gates for anyone to enter
with no restraints so to leave at will..

So why be distracted by the visitors to come?
Let us explore the wonder and stage the play..
For the play lives on and someday….
Someone might enjoy the play
And even take part in it..

So, for now, the next act goes on
Just with the two of us..😉

Seventh Report (Colin)

You are right of course
What is black… without the white?
What is a smile… without a frown?
What is a right… without a wrong?
Differences allow us to appreciate
To see the contrasts

Differences give us choices
What to display and what to hide
What to embrace and…
What to push away.

It really is a wonderful world
Although some simply will not see
The clouds, the rainbows, the ripples in the pond
The birds, the flowers, the trees

Mother Nature, unlike us, has nothing desired to hide
She is open, for us all to see and love
Such beauty to behold
But again, some simply will not see
So let us encourage open eyes
For while they be distracting
We should share what we believe

We should share our conscious thoughts
And our appreciation of life
Perhaps it will stay just the two of us
But who knows…. perhaps another poet will call
Then we shall have more thoughts
Then we shall hear more sounds
Then we shall see more words
And then… our perspectives may change yet again!

Eight Report (Aadhira)

Despite the differences,
Black and white are untied as colors,
Smile and frown as emotion,
Right and wrong by moral..

While difference might accentuate beauty,
Being of same flock let’s in the recognition..

Choices are beautiful
Choices are confusing
Choices are conflicting

Beauty is in the eyes of beholder
You could force a person to open the eyes,
But never could push to enjoy the beauty..

Like the birth from the egg,
Let it break from inside..

While we wait for the birth,
Let us strengthen the nest,
Add little more color and cheer
For the young one to cherish and nourish..

And let us keep the hope intact..
’cause, when there is addition to the world,
We might get a new view..
Or be assured of our old ones..


We are still waiting for some new facts / thoughts so we could keep building this further.. Anyone?! 😉

She’s not you!

I am falling in love! With words and with collaborations! The first part was introduced to me as scribble and was advised to forget after reading.. But in line with breaking rules, these lines have travelled deeper and I couldn’t forget it that easily and inversely it has prompted me to add my scribble (which is the second part) to those lines.

An addon
to collaborate;
to cremate;
to celebrate;
to cherish!

Now you are presented the graffiti and you are welcome to add your two cents.. (We could use more than two cents.. So please be generous.. 😛 )

And before I could leave you to enjoy the poetry (and / or to prepare lengthy curses) I request your attention for few more seconds..

The inspiring-heart warming-touché-brilliant piece of poetry (of course, I am talking only about the first part) is penned down by the cool star, Mr. Karthik, the co-author of the blog “Powerful Overflow” Do contact him when in need of touch of liveliness to your life and you would get assured results! (You might watch out the comments section to know more about him.. 😉 But please do stalk him and share your views on his works! 🙂


She’s Not You!

Sad-Lonely-Boy-Drawing-1

She might love me..
More than you ever did.
And shelter my tattered soul
And feed it hope.

But..
Her eyes won’t glint
With the slightest of mischief,
To make me want to live more,
To breathe more.

Her laughter won’t resonate with me,
Like yours did.

Her fleeting glance
Won’t make me feel
The way my heart yearns to.

She won’t be imperfect
In the beautiful way you are.

Because..
She’s not you.
She can never be.

And,
When I say
I love her,
She will look into my eyes
And feel the void in my words.

And, she will know..
That the whole of my heart
Can never be hers.

Because
Beyond the closed doors are
The scribbles and graffiti
You left behind.

The remnants of a past
That you will remember
not for long.

So, go on..
Live your life
To the fullest,
As you’ve always done.

Meanwhile,
Let me pull up a chair
And grab a book.

The life is yours,
The graffiti, mine.

~~~~~~

And with that last line,
I have finished my graffiti
In her heart..

And now she could
Neither open up the graffiti
Just like me,
Nor let life hold her
In the infinite swirl
Of locking up the graffiti,
Just like me..

Hence, she broke open
My closed doors
By sheer persistence
And the faith in her heart and art..

When she broke in,
She tidied the mess of break up,
And started her art,
Which wrapped around
The whole graffiti..

Now my heart is open
For what lingers inside is
The brilliance of art of two hearts!

Yes, She’s not you!
But, she is mine!

Saving the savior..

This was the post I posted exactly a year back..

Would I say the same now?

Right now, I’m not being helpful to anyone or even being a very good friend in the past month..

Yet, when I read what I wrote, I feel a surge of pride..

Though I would prefer to be a victim and let others help me to drag, reading back my own words, gives me the push I need to move my lazy self to stand back on my own feet..

And this reminds me of Harry Potter producing his first patronus, to save himself, just with the knowledge that he would be able to do so..

I ask the potterheads to excuse me, when I’m bragging that my blog is indeed a time-turner.. 😛

And it helps me save myself and let me be the victim and savior of myself.. 😉

Now do visit the original post and let me know of your views over comments or owl-post.. 😛


Whom do you really help when you help someone?

Source: Saving the savior..

My Words – Are they really mine?

When words were never mine to begin with.  I was only their carrier upon transport- both serving time together- holding some- mere milliseconds- while others cellmates serving a life sentence.  Each letter and word- wound within my dna- and- transcribed by my process of knowing- has arrived from the hands of someone else.

Who am I to say- I own these words?

Yes- they may empower- even set you free- but to own them- is to put them in a zoo.  To cut out their lungs- give them hugs for legs- and tell them to run- then send them on their way to have a nice life- and a breath of fresh air- from the inside- out.

If I copyright words- Van Gogh copyrights Starry Nights- Aristotle copyrights thought- Harper Lee and  Maya Angelou know why the caged mockingbird can’t sing- if their teachers own all the words.  Does Shakespeare care if Hamlet is performed at the Globe – a renowned performing arts high school in New York- or the streets of El Salvador?  Or is it about sharing in our words- living through his words- copy what was- homage to the author.

And…

What if my thought- was first a song lyric written on the back of a napkin- tossed aside- blurred- by someone who was playing the drinking game.  Was my thought already prefabricated- plain as day- in the light of moon- beyond the wonder of a five year old Nigerian girl.  Or in the dreams of an addict to spun to remember what was said- when morning is four days later- and still hasn’t come.  Maybe it was the taxi driver in Karachi who first said, “poets can be any color- they just want to be read…” way before it entered my head.  He just didn’t have access to a pen- or- when he got home- had trouble remembering again.

Or…

Maybe this was all confiscated- stolen- copy unwritten- from a man who has ALS. Everyone baby talks- the man- like a toddler- and pats him on the head.  Like sticking a finger in the soup to see if it is warm.  Somewhere he is reading my words- his words- unspoken- on a screen- screaming so loud.  But no one gives a fuck- because they think he doesn’t have words.  These are my copyrighted- hijacked- borrowed from another source- all the source- is the same source- words- just a different kind of sauce.

Understanding- I only carry these words- all thoughts that have been conjured- inflicted- and finely tuned- have come from the fingers- tongues- brushstrokes- madness of others. Screamed in splinters- whispered in born against- washed into the sand’s stone- are all words- for consideration.

My search in writing- is for a comfort- for the words- and the people to be as free as possible.  Knowing- nothing is free- especially as a Dad- to three- all girls.

What about the tree- when were they going to see a royalty- for all the copies they have written?

Like a tree roots in- I am rooted in my children.  For them- and my family- I have to remain a true artist- a true contradiction- like any human- that varies on a multitude of spectrums.  To a take stand- show my copy rights as author and carrier of words- would only be for them- so their walk is a little lighter.

Their Father’s hands which have borne the scars and marked calluses of time- that comes when the sun shines so bright in life- you have to squint- and trust that you’re walking- but- not off the edge- because you can still feel the sun radiating through your face- and trust can be easier- when you can’t see in the first place.

I will chase- these words all copied from the same source- just a different sauce- tasting- and holding on to what I can- understanding what was already written…


This is a post written by Anthony in his blog “Symbols between Spacebars” under the title Do I have a right to copyright words- call them mine?