It was a very happy morning yesterday. I had just finished the first draft of my novel. It was quite something that made me proud of my commitment and lack of laziness. Now, though I had blocked WhatsApp from network it started showing up with messages, it must have been a miracle or dumb sheer luck because I had a couple of college work to be submitted. Slow anxious music starts.
But as ever, my life always works in the opposite direction to me. Had run into a major issue with my HOD and I had. To face the same thing that happened every semester. I irritated the fuck out of my mother, got a huge prep talk from my friends and finally called her. Now, the first 10 minutes we're total roasts and by the end of it I had nothing to say. But then as it happens, we ended up talking for an hour about random stuff from George Floyd to the supposed 'woke culture' and the need to be progressive that makes people hypocritical. Hell, we even talked about my ex, who was my classmate (yeah I was shocked and my friends were too but it was too damn funny). Then a conversation about farming came, and then she compared me to dark series. (she said she was reminded of me when she saw that because I was the most complicated person she knew). We even ended up discussing my writing and the novel.
Okay this, brings us to the complicated nature and the novel. Two things I realized was perception and capacity. I don't think iam that complicated as she made out me to be. Maybe that was all she had seen. But when I read through my draft, I realized how multidimensional I had written the character of 'me' in it. That was simply percieved as complicated in real life. Now, when we read through bland characters, they are two dimensional and flat. Does that mean that they are so in real life?. One more problem that comes with writing ourselves into something, it is quite affecting.
Had finally used the analysis software to map out the structure of the tale. And guess what, that is how even life looks like. But after everything is over and I have packed it up (at least for sometime before I have to edit) I have been wondering about the title. The only, I repeat, only title that really suited it was something my ex had already used. Tragic, it wouldn't be moral to use it without permission, but yeah Iam not dece . Other dilemmas come in soon too. The fear about it's future, I have tried to keep it away but the fear about it revealing me has slowly started to manifest. Having proofread it, have sent it to the editor type friend for opinion. Somehow, validation and opinion seems to matter a lot even if I try hard to not let it to. The reason why comes in. The reason to spend months to write and edit and continue this exhausting process should be something huge. But it could also be as simple as validation and recognition. Shitty thoughts, should lock these in the mental virtual box.
After locking these up, the best thoughts come out and I had been able to cook awesome dinners for everyone. Pesama pasta kada potra vendiyadhu dhan pola (if nothing else works out). Made creamy white sauce pasta yesterday and making garlic and cheese stuffed kulcha with panneer Butter masala. Idhu na dhana.
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