What do you do when you fear losing something that you never had?
It’s going to sound complicated, but that’s just the phase that I’m stuck in. I’m regretting the steps that I never took, the luck that never was mine and the things that I never had. What’s more, rolls of irrational fear of losing the things that I never had are starting to take over.
When you commit to something and get yourself invested in it, heart and soul, it’s only human nature to start dreaming about the future you’d have as a result of that commitment.
No, I’m not in love. I’m just a struggling author trying to get published.
But being in a complicated relationship sounds so much better and a lot less painful than the struggle to live a dream I’ve been dreaming ever since I was nine years old.
This commitment has made me dream beautiful things. The kind of fantasies that my mind is able to conjure for myself is far more pleasing than the fantasies that I conjure for my novel.
When I started working on my first book, my mind IMMEDIATELY started planning the future that I was working towards.
A finished book, a publishing contract, a modest writing cottage in Kodaikanal in the middle of the forests, and the power to make a living out of my pen.
That’s the future that I had in mind.
But then, reality is such a heartless wretch. She takes sadistic pleasure in setting the castles that her host built over the years, on fire. Her target of choice: Dreamers.
And hence, it’s only obvious that she pays me a visit.
With her visit, I now realized that the real deal was not finishing the book. In fact, finishing the book was only 0.1% of all the work. Even though my job here is over, it that does not mean I get to enjoy the results of my actions already. There are other people involved now, and my hopes for the future now depends on the progress of an industry that works at snail pace.
All that I have to do now, is wait. I have to wait, for years, until a publisher decides to take up the manuscript. Waiting isn’t my area of expertise, to be honest. I’m the kind of girl that throws tantrums when my mother takes more than two minutes to get Maggi done. And the very idea of having to wait for YEARS, seems like God’s own way to teach me a lesson.
I guess the one good thing is that, over the years, I’d have mastered the art of patience.
I’m not going to lie, I am a little gloomy and a lot less fun to be around these days. My friends and family tell me that I am taking this way too seriously, and giving it much more importance than I ought to.
But they don’t know. They just don’t know.
Nobody knows the intensity of feelings I had while writing this book. They don’t know how hard I worked into getting a tiny idea that I had in my mind into a 220 page long manuscript. They don’t know all that went into the transformation. They don’t know how much I loved each character that I created, and how much I had started to believe in all the goodness that future had for them. They don’t know the beautiful relationship I had with my novel, because all that they see are a stack of papers, with ink strewn over it.
Nobody knows the relationship I had with the novel, like I do. Only I know the infinite amounts of sacrifices, the bounds of pain, the tides of stress and the phases of self doubt that went into it.
It’s MY baby, after all. It was a very painful process, like all child births usually are.
It took me a lot of courage, and a lot of sacrifices to get it done. For the past few months, these ‘stacks of papers’ were my life. My day would begin and end with me working on this novel. I shut myself out, I stopped seeing my friends, I cancelled plans with my family, and I just typed my way through.
I started living a whole new life with this book, that was very close to the dream that I had for myself, and for the short while that I was having that dream, I started believing that it could be reality.
However, last night, I was talking to one of my best friends, and they said something that knocked me back into my senses. A very important realization, dawned upon me.
It’s not one of those things that you realize, think it’s cool, tweet about it and then move on.
This was a realization that hit me like a typhoon. And when it hit me, it knocked me down. It was a reality check, manifested in the form of a WMD.
It finally dawned upon me that, over the years, I’ve changed. I had engrossed myself into the project, and invested all of my spirit into it, that I lost the reality of the life that I was currently living somewhere in the middle of it all. I’ve let the business part of the process, take its toll on me.
And now that I’m back to my senses, I’m going to go make myself a cup of coffee, read a good Jane Austen novel, and wait in a graceful and calm manner.
There’s no point in worrying myself with things that are out of my control. Writing a novel, and finishing it was my part of the job. I’ve given my best to it, and where it goes from now, is entirely up to the people involved with th next stages of the process.
Dreaming is such a wonderful thing to do. It’s also such a natural thing to do.
But to believe that your dreams would magically change your life?
That’s a stupid thing to do.
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