It was an early Sunday evening, and it wasn’t time for dinner yet. But my body clock hadn’t adjusted itself to the timezone yet. It was lunchtime at my place home, and my body wanted food. Local time be damned. But Sydney didn't welcome me.
When I published the first issue of this newsletter, I had no clue I would do that 20 times over the last fifteen months. I had started writing it with the hope that each issue would bring some value to a few writers. The journey ends today.
All self-help books follow a pattern - they pique our interest in the initial chapters. Then comes a phase when all books read the same. Why is that? And is there a parallel, a lesson to be learnt in real life from this?
Over the years, I have realized that my mind is a pool of copious ideas from varied fields. It is like an open pond, extremely prone to ripples from externalities, big and small. There was a time when I picked every idea up and started working on it. I do that no more.
