I am paralysed. I am euphoric. I am on a different plane. I am still living in that ‘I still cannot believe moment’ after publishing my first book. It all seems unreal. I did it. Now, what next? This is not the question which everybody is asking me, but this is the question to myself. I still reminisce those disciplined routines of penning one short story every day. Churning out one post after another. But now, words are not coming out. I am trying hard for that one inspiration to come to me. I am forcing myself to weave that beautiful story. Huh. Damn the writer’s block!
It has stayed with me for more than three weeks now. I read about how all these famous authors spin tales after another. Do they have a different brain? Or do they eat some rich super food, indulge in fabulous morning routines, go out on a holiday to exotic places? Enough is enough. I have started waking up early, to receive those divine flashes. I take a walk and gaze at each inanimate object as if it is saying something. Forget it, no tree, no fence is speaking to me. They are standing there, still, just mocking at my foolishness. I am jealous of all these writers, bloggers. Is the rant over? Can we get back to work? I fear that Define 36 is my first and the last book.
I am feeling like that director, who got lucky once and now is watching all the Hollywood flicks to get the inspiration for that next super duper hit. Days have passed by, and I am forcing myself to create a character and entertain myself. But alas, I am in a brain dead situation. I am lethargic and deep down into a chasm with no sign of survival. My mind is creating situations where my friends, well-wisher, not so good friends, colleagues are posting that question, ‘Hey so what next?’ ‘Will your next book be a bestseller?’ And I am trying to hide my face and wishing that I go invisible. Why the hell did I write the book? I am feeling the pressure to perform.
Let’s get back to work, darling. So what should be the theme? A romantic novel, something like a shopaholic, about motherhood, or corporate culture or maybe something for children. A lot of Venn diagrams are drawn on the drawing board, and I stare at them meekly. Did the idea come? I stare harder. It’s coming, it is coming. I strain myself hard and what I get in the end. A HEADACHE and aching eyes. Mind you I have hypermetropia and my cylindrical power is greater than five. I will not tell you the exact power lest you will make fun of my soda water glasses. I sit with my eyes closed, and I am disappointed with myself. I feel dejected that this is it. Nothing is working.
It’s a dream come true for any budding writer to finish their first work. There are a lot of ifs and buts which go into the making of the first work. The apprehensions on how it will be received by the readers, will anybody will read it. And then the very next day, the question is looming –
‘Will I live up to the promise which I had made publicly? The promise was that this will not be my first and last book.’
Writer’s block is just a myth and an excuse to run away from writing. I slapped myself hard with a strict instruction to go back to the writing. Treat it like that beautiful dress which I am stitching for my daughter. And voila it works.
I finished a story, which can be classified as novelette! But yes on a serious note, any debut writer can relate to the described state of mind.