9/9
This has been happening for sometime now. I am unable to read books. Whenever I find something really well-written I feel this urge to go and write something myself. I feel a Darwinistic repulsion from the stuff I am reading. Right now I have got this wonderful book by Somerset Maugham called The Summing Up, where he writes about his career as an author and his life in general.

Here's a not so representative extract.

'I learnt (his experiences in medical school) that men were moved by a savage egoism, that love was only the dirty trick nature played on us to achieve the continuation of the species, and I decided that, whatever aims mens set themselves, they were deluded, for it was impossible for them to aim at anything but their own selfish pleasures.'

I have only read some random sections of the book and I am having serious suspicions whether the jealous writer in me will let me complete it. But probably I will, for the book promises to help clear some of the confusions regarding life ( what is the purpose of life etc.) that have been bugging me in recent times.