Sunday, September 28, 2025

The Memory Palace technique of Storytelling

 The Memory Palace Method of Storytelling

 

If the mind was an abandoned palace, and the hero of the story was thrown away into that palace, what he would do? He would walk through the palace, explore it, investigate the details, and ultimately, find a way to escape and return to his original world. The technique of “Memory Palace” allows your characters to do just that.

 

“Memory palace,” also called as “Method of Loci,” is a creative writing technique used to remember vast amounts of information. In storytelling, the technique can help the writer craft a character or even the entire story by delving into the intricate structures and mechanisms of their mind.

 

The technique relies on putting the character in a tangible, imaginary landscape and then scanning different parts of that landscape, investigating what part mirrors which aspect of your character’s personality.

 

It could be a real or imaginary space, such as a library, a museum, a fantastical castle, a garden, a hilltop forest, a shop, a market, or anything. Consider this place as your “Memory Palace.” The next part is to walk through different parts of this “memory palace” and look deeply. Each part of this imaginary palace represents a different aspect of your character’s life or a major theme of your story.

 

A kitchen might serve one purpose while a bookshop the other. A garden might serve one purpose for the character while an airport might open up interesting possibilities for you to take your story forward.

 

If you are willing to delve deeper, you can also assign different imaginary objects in this imaginary landscape to represent or explore different attributes of your character or storyline. The object could be a simple as a blade of grass or a wall clock.

 

Consider this example: Lila’s Memory Palace

 

Lila sat at her desk, the blank pages of her new notebook yawning before her like an abandoned attic. She wanted to write a list of goals, tasks, and to-dos to organize, but what she really desired was to carve out a picture of her life’s universe. When swarms of thoughts buzzing and rumbling in her head became too noisy for her to actually jot down any words in the notebook, she closed her eyes and started an inner journey into the halls of her “Memory Palace.”

 

The Grand Hall

Sitting at her desk with closed eyes, in a meditative mode, Lila took a mental trip into the “Grand Hall” of her “Memory Palace.” A giant silk banner unrolling before her on a wall and an enormous wooden table in the center were some of the details she could see. On top of the table was a glowing orb. Taking a mental note, Lila placed her ambition on this orb: Write a novel. At this point, the character of the writer had set an intention to accomplish a goal.

 

The Conservatory

The next room in Lila’s Memory Palace turned out to be her “Conservatory,” a garden where she stored all her creative ideas and projects. While walking in this garden, she imagined a giant blank notebook in place of the soil. Suddenly, the blank pages began to sprout with colorful flowers, grasses, tiny bugs, and trees, that represented ideas, stories, and the projects she desired to work on.

 

The Library

The long corridor of “Library” in her “Memory Palace” was sprawling with shelves of books. These, however, were not typical books. In Lila’s inner world, each book represented a collection of memories, dreams, desires, thoughts, everything she liked or disliked, loved or hated, the chronicle of her individual self.

 

The Observatory

Finally, Lila stepped into the “Observatory” of her “Memory Palace” and started peering through the telescope to project her greatest and the best self in the stars and the galaxies. A famous writer with dozens of successful, published novels, a house filled with pieces of art, a mini library of her own, a garden of solace.

 

By the time Lila opened her eyes, she had navigated a landscape in the “Memory Palace” of her mind and now she was ready to jump into her notebook and scribble down all the details she saw in that dark, inner world, tell a story no one but only she could see. 



Saturday, September 27, 2025

Should I be happy yet? #Comics

 

Should I be happy yet?

Dialogue between Me and a Voice in my head

 

Me: Should I be happy yet?

 

Voice: No, you are not a billionaire yet. You are not even a millionaire yet.

 

Me: Should I be happy yet?

 

Voice: No, you haven’t achieved the desired weight in the gym yet.

 

Me: Should I be happy yet?

 

Voice: No, there are still all these problems in your life you need to solve (Problem 1 + Problem 2 + Problem 3 +.…..Problem n)

 

Me: Should I be happy yet?

 

Voice: No, there are still people in your life who won’t appreciate if you are happy too soon. (Person 1 + Person 2 + …. + Person n)

 

Me: Should I be happy yet?

 

Voice: No, you haven’t yet overcome all the barriers in your mind. You are not enlightened yet.

 

Me: Should I be happy yet?

 

Voice: No, you haven’t yet achieved all the goals in your list, you haven’t even reached halfway into your bucket list.

 

Me: Should I be happy yet?

 

Voice: No, you haven’t found that one person who will accept you for who you are.

Me: Should I be happy yet?

 

Voice: No, there are still a lot of traumas and griefs from the past you need to heal that are blocking you from being happy.

Me: [Scratching head]


Be Happy Now!


 

 

Thursday, September 18, 2025

Reach somewhere beyond which there's nothing...

Wherever you are, 
keep on going farther
until you reach somewhere
beyond which there is nothing.



Sunday, September 14, 2025

The best place to be...

 


The best place to be in…

 

The moment when you feel like you have nothing to write, is the very moment you should start writing, because this “nothing” is the gap where a treasure trove of words are awaiting for you to wake them up so they’ll tell you about their pains and stories, and like a diligent transcriber, you’ll take the dictation and copy their dialogues and monologues and whisperings and sweet nothings in your notebook.

 

This “nothing” is the best place to be in. Within the inky abyss of this nothing-ness lays asleep a colony of creepy little monsters, also known as “words.” Some of these monsters had been sleeping in this n-cave for, probably the past billion years. Nobody ever tried to wake them up, partly because they had no idea that they even existed. It wasn’t until these crazy person called “writers” finally slumped down on their desks with their notebooks or laptops perched in front of them.

 

For at least half-an-hour, the writer gazed at the blank page, rolling her sleeves, clenching her lips, tightening her belly, flitting her eyes from side to side in agitation, until, quite suddenly, some blurry images of these monsters starting materializing in her brain. And she was jolted in a shocking curiosity that caused her to become even more restless than she previously was. Who are they, she was left wondering.

 

Her attention kept on flipping between the blank page and the images of these monsters. Nothing seemed to work. Life was approaching an impending doom and her dream of surpassing the success of JK Rowling was already shattering in front of her eyes. So, the writer stood up from the desk, despondently walked to the kitchen, and made herself a glass of coffee. As molecules of dopamine rushed into her brain, she felt hopeful, again.

 

Nothing could be gained by abandoning hope. So, she kept sitting there, gazing at the blank page, her curiosity for knowing the monsters was dwindling away with each passing moment. By the time, the glass of coffee was slurped down till the last bubble, she stood up again. She slapped the notebook cover, shutting the blank page, vowing to never come across it again. The world was always right. Writing was not for everybody. And she was not one of the lucky ones.

 

After this horrifying encounter with life’s brutal hopelessness and a depressing realization, the writer resigns herself into exile. She steps out of the house to wander like a stray dog in the park and sit on the grass with closed eyes.

 

As she sat with eyes closed, all she could see was darkness. It was a place called “nothing.” The writer had already resigned to her hopeless fate, which helped her surrender much more easily to this n-zone. For the first few minutes, nothing remained nothing, nothing but the ever pervading, empty, silent darkness. But then, something happened. The sound of a bird. A bird flitted past her, likely flying towards the nest for the night.

 

In that moment, a word materialized in the n-space, in this boring, bizarre place called “nothing.” A spark flickered in the darkness, dimly lit. At first, there was one word. But as the writer kept sitting there, still hopeless, another word materialized. Then another, and another, and another….

 

Suddenly, the writer’s head was rumbling with an entire forest of words, desperate and agitated to tell their stories, their pains, their lost loves, their unfulfilled desires and terrors. As the words pulled the strings of the writer’s attention, she had no choice but to run, to run fast and reach her desk. So she ran and like a car suddenly pulling the brakes, she hurried to the desk and like someone who has been possessed by a ghost, she began tapping the keyboard keys, taking dictation from these word monsters and collecting their stories in the empty ocean basin of the blank white page. The blank page was no longer blank, thanks to that place that nobody likes to visit, that everyone is terrified to visit, a place called “nothing.”

 

For others, this place is of no particular significance whatsoever.

But for a writer, this is the best place to be.

 

Nothing. The best place to be. 

Friday, September 12, 2025

My struggles with sharing my writing with the world. No more hesocrastination!

Picture credit goes to Gemini pundit!

Whenever someone asks me what I do, I tell them I work as a creative writer. But when I am sitting alone in my room, my rolling gaze falls upon the heaps of papers and notebooks lying scattered, and I am forced to wonder whether I am really a writer. 

No matter how many paintings you have created, unless you put out an exhibition to showcase them, how the world is going to know that you are a painter. And I, unbelievingly, have been doing the same mistake, over and over again. Just cramming up my laptop folders with documents, stuffing my notebooks with jottings and notes that would probably never be read, unless I am dead and my greedy grandchildren sell my stuff to become billionaires. Am I dependent on my grandchildren to tell the world that I am a writer and I love words and my mind is constantly churning out weird, bizarre stories?

Maybe I am. I was.

I like to call it “hesocrastination,” a portmanteau of hesitation and procrastination I created from an online tool. Internet is an amazing place. So many tools and apps make you think that you’re Mister Bill Gates and you’re managing such a giant network of information. If you think about it, it sounds so juicy – all these facts and books and information and stories, so easily accessible to you. AI has made things even more exciting. Anything you want to know, internet is here for you.

But what it cannot teach you is how to get out of this trap of “hesocrastination.” So, this time, instead of just stuffing away my thoughts on scraps of papers and boring blue Microsoft folders, I decided to take a chance and just give myself away.

Often times, we read about famous people who left libraries of their diaries with interesting snippets, notes they made while standing beside a lake, emotions they felt after a lover left them, those deep-dark thoughts that kept on racing through their mind haunting them all the time, those bizarre sketches and diagrams they made that made even the great scientists scratch their heads – if people had read their diaries while they were still alive, maybe they would have connected to them from a much deeper level.

I am not someone who will judge anyone, because, in a way, I am one of them. It feels terrifying to share yourself, up-close, with the world. It feels daunting, shameful, anxious, fearful, to stand at the center of the world, with people staring at you, and still be able to affirm that, this is who I am and I am okay with it.

When it comes to being a good great writer, I still have a long way to go. The projected version of my resume has a lot of voids that need to be filled. But this is just to say, that my struggles with hesocrastination are finally dissolving into the space of my carefreeness. And maybe, maybe I am saying, after all these years I am finally beginning to stand at the center of the world and be comfortable with all those people staring at me, and still be able to affirm that, this is who I am and I am okay with it.

Yes, even with my disturbing hesocrastination tendencies.

The monster has been seen and now I am unstoppable. At least in this moment, and in this moment, this moment is all that, that matters to me. 

If you are struggling with hesocrastination disorder, I am here for you and I wish you the same. 


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