The story of the N-O-V-E-L

I can’t remember just when I got the idea that I’d write a book. I can’t stretch my memory back to any incident of realization. It’s amazing just how often these lazy, cotton candy daydreams return to me and turn me on. I got more serious about writing during School.

I fell in love with the story I finally created for my novel. But when I went to write it, no words came out. I diligently spent about three months working hours a day—I was only able to write two pages. So I quit. It wouldn't be until five years later in Graduation; when I was reading about a research problem; suddenly something click in my mind; I just shut my laptop off, and waited for something (I can't figure it out about what I was waiting for).

I believed (still do) that the most normal people can accomplish the most extraordinary things (like writing great books and I'm a perfectly normal person). So... it would come... eventually. With my urging of course; to see it with a different angle.

I'm really... really curious to know, how long it really takes for a writer to write a page. Do they simply let their minds wander from one edge to other, from word to word, shifting through the landscape of the desirable situations... the words freely flowing in and out, unconscious, down through the mind, etched in living colors (or black actually on the white page). Or do they slowly knock the words out, painfully, one by one by one...

One day (July) I had a simple idea. I wondered how many words I could write if I were completely untouched from whatever I was writing. And what would it sound like? So I gave myself 15 minutes to sit down at my laptop and grind out as much rubbish as all ten fingers and a bit of my brain would allow...

Guess what... where before I had been able to write only may be 1200 words in 2 frigging months, in 15 minutes I wrote 640. What did it sound like?? Well, it wasn't brilliant, but also... it wasn't bad...

Looking for miles in all four directions, there was nothing to see. No cities. No houses. No people. Availability of affordable land. It was cheap land, but in the middle of nowhere. My pain increase with each passing second, it is perspicuous; the cause of pain is not my wounded leg but may be... may be my heart. I eyed again in all the direction, unable to decide my way... not a single soul there except the bushes boundary, along with the road sides... which covered the ground till the end...

By the time September rolled around I’d easily reached 76 pages. It just kept coming and coming. I finally overcame my fear (to a point) that someone would close the tap or turn off the machine. It just keeps coming...

Looking back... The beginning of the book, started out awfully. But then something happened...

Slowly you figure out how to fit the words to the story, how to balance story elements and raise the pace. After slogging out some ugliness, I found my way...