The Interview Panel

I ajusted my cheap, red tie which seemed to be too loud for the understated five star hotel-the venue of the interview. My suit, I felt was a shade crumbled and short and out of sync with the neatly pressed attires of a dignified interview panel. There was a Charlie Chaplin complex within. I was at a disadvantage; one of uneasiness as I started off.

I did not know the answers to the first five questions. That perhaps made me diffident.I picked up confidence out of that diffidence. That prodded me to draw them to what I knew rather than their asking me things I did not know. The Chair of the Panel, a very dignified old man seemed particularly patient. He said he appreciated my efforts to put things in a proper perspective. There was a lady member who seemed soft towards me. Or was it sympathy… One member seemed downright hostile if not contemptuous of my dearth of knowledge.

When I left the room, I was not sure if I would get the job… I did not care…All that mattered to me was that I had been honest.I had not bambozzled them with b***sh** even if I had not baffled them with my brilliance. I had recovered lost ground. I thought it was fifty fifty.
You win some… you lose some…
Would I get selected?

Author’s fears- of non completion.

I have not visited you for quite some time.
No apologies.
Cannot visit.
Am up aginst a wall.
Unjust Berliner Mauer.
Formidable, daunting, bleak cliff.
Between me and creativity.
Cannot climb.
Can see no stairs.
Can see no ladder.
Every attempt, I slip back, falter, tired.
Every page I type, stares back at me in derision.
Every word I draft, seems already writ.
Every effort I agonize, seems a futile bit.
Yet I shall chip the Wall, brick by brick.
To run and reach the freedom of creativity.

An Author’s nagging doubts…

Can I deliver excellence?
Can I manage the change I need to imbibe, to absorb?
Is there a unique value proposition in what I write?
Am I focussed in what I scribble?
Is there credibility in my writings?
Am I congruent with my readers?
Am I intellectually a stimulant
Have I updated my competencies?
Can I just engage my reader?

Author’s anxieties …

Where are the dots to connect?
Can I exit the unwritten past and live in my fairy tales now writ?

Is this garbage in?
How could I concentrate more?
Let my thoughts flow from my recesses?
Then scribe them on the walls of my history?
Will the reader read?