So it’s been one year and about two months since I wrote the first few lines to my first book. Of course I've had the idea for it since I was much younger. Writing the first line has never been a problem with me. Nicole Kidman in her portrayal of Virginia Woolf always comes to my mind whenever I work out the first line to any poem or short story. Of course, the works of Woolf are far superior to mine but I guess it’s a ‘to each his own’ thing. Inspiration comes to people in different garbs and by different means. For me it’s always had a very close and strong connection to music and to my art. There have been times when a series of sketches or a playlist has acted as the first draft for a story as opposed to loose bound sheets from all sorts of notebooks (which is how I’d started off with Grey Skies).
It’s been 10 days since I last wrote (something NOT related to Jacques Derrida, William Wordsworth etc.) and my heart aches every time I think about my characters. Delhi University –famous for its whimsical antics –has not only eaten up my time with the ongoing examinations but thrown me off the track with Grey Skies.
Starting from the 10th of December (which is when the examinations end) I have 20 odd days not only to finish my book but also to start my hunt for a publisher. The Sisyphean darkness of my characters is a constant cloud over my head, the rains of which are getting to me now. It’s time to make way for the other clouds up there. I can’t go from studying six hours a day to feeling too lazy to write afterwards. Actually, I guess this something most people wouldn’t get about writing. Anyone can sit and write a page or two with a cup of coffee at your nearby CCD/Barista. Working on a full-length novel with well-defined characters each of who have their own moods and characteristics, it’s a taxing job. And your work isn't going to be effective unless you can feel what they’re feeling before putting it on paper, will it? Maybe that’s why writers –and I mean the good ones, not the Chetan Bhagats or the Kushwant Singhs of the world –are so different from other people.
To avoid coming off as a narcissist, I’m finishing off by reiterating my utter disdain for the concept of examinations and looking forward to The 20 Days of December.
