Hello, dear Readers,
How have you been?
Did you miss me?
Want to know about the crazy last few weeks I have spent?
I haven’t written a single word in the last 10-12 days. Guess what I have been up to, lately?
I have started playing The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, again, for the third time.
My novel wasn’t going anywhere. No readers, this writing hiatus wasn’t a result of a writer’s block, I assure you, but an overflow of ideas. I didn’t know where to let my characters go. There were simply too many options.
My husband kept bugging me, why I wasn’t writing anymore, and I told him about my ‘creative problem’.
He suggested that I ‘take a walk and get some fresh air.’
I did take that walk, from Helgen to Riverwood, and loved the fresh air. Some may think Skyrim has a harsh environment; I find it exhilarating (imagine a winking emoji here).
The walk filled my head with ideas. However, unfortunately, I blowing my brains out of my nose due to a horrible cold, courtesy to my little love bug (my daughter, need I mention?). I wish it were a pretend-cold, like every other ‘pretend stuff’ we pretend to enjoy.
Now you understand why I haven’t written a word in the last few days?
I want to, believe me, write my novel more than anything else in the world. I want to hold a complete manuscript in my arms just like I wanted to hold my wriggling, squirming, newborn baby in my arms after nine months of labor. Some authors have told me it does take nine months to write a book. It’s good that my daughter didn’t come in drafts (wink, a sigh of relief, hands folded upwards, pointing to someone who may or may not be there pulling strings).
Umm, what was I saying? Oh right, I was explaining my writing hiatus. Ah, I hate cold. Can’t sleep, don’t want to read, constant headache, throat too sore from coughing, so can’t scream my frustration at anybody, how miserable am I?
It was one of those moments when I found my inner peace (yes, I love Kungfu Panda and totally believe in everything the ‘crazy old turtle’ Master Oogway says/said, can’t think him dead, just can’t) though I did not suffer from great pain as Shifu did.
Hmm. So, as I was saying, I found my inner peace. Want to know how?
Remember those times, when you are sick, and your child thinks it’s the right time to leave the water filter tap on? And walk around the house leaving dirty, muddy footprints after playing barefoot in the dusty balcony you couldn’t clean because you are sick?
It was one of those days. My husband had been away for office work; there were riots and strikes in our usually peaceful city. My daughter had no school due to the unrest. She missed her dad, was bored of a sick mother who wasn’t strong enough to give her piggy-back rides or make ‘nummy-nummies’ (she couldn’t say yummy when she was one-n-half) whenever she screamed, “cake,” “soup,” “aloo bhaja”(potato fries). Poor child, couldn’t even see her friends for a few days. Moreover, she missed her grandparents and found out that her father was visiting them during his tour. How could he leave her here and see her Dadu, Thamma?
So, when he was back, her naughtiness increased tenfolds. My poor husband had caught a cold we lovingly offered, and all three of us were sick and tired of each other. She recovered first.
My Skyrim was gone, gone were my husband’s dreams of having a peaceful, cozy evening at home, flying planes (flight simulator, dummy). Instead, we had to wrestle with a screaming, angry and tired three-year-old, over the television remotes, computers, snacks, and yes, the mugs of warm milk with palm candies.
Last evening, my sore throat and my husband’s violent coughs didn’t let us act like strict parents at all, and my daughter took it as our consent to spill food on the sofa, floor, and bed. I had started weighing all my past decisions, as you do in such situations when you can’t scream, or spank or punish people, and are still too weak to leave your sick bed and start looking for your broom and dustpan.
I wondered if I was getting too old. Did my husband love me anymore? Did my child think I was a horrible mother? Was leaving work, not going back to it, trying to become a writer, etcetera, etcetera, mistakes? What if all I left in this world for my daughter were a chain of bad decisions?
When my husband interrupted my introspection, I was about to whisper something particularly nasty (a sore throat, remember?). But I restrained myself at the last minute as he started another bout of a cough. He had lost weight, and he was ill, I decided he couldn’t be my punching bag just this once.
Right then, it happened. My husband looked at me and made the most loving gesture at that unexpected moment. He leaned forward, patted my back and said, “Don’t worry, I will clean it up.” At that moment, I knew I did one right thing (I always knew, but pretended otherwise from time to time). I chose the perfect person to grow old with, in sickness and health (you can imagine a smiling emoji in tears if they have one of those).
I am going to break this writing hiatus, my friends, and I am going to write a great book. Not because I want a book with my name on it (of course, it will have my name on it!) but because I want to see his face when he holds it in his hands. I want to say, “I did it.” Or rather, he did it, by not letting me give up like I gave up so many things, so many other times.
My dear readers, as you understand by now, I am back. And I will be writing about my book soon, but not before I post the reviews of books I have read in the past two weeks. I have pending reviews piled up. Some are ARC, some I have come across in Kindle store, and some have been suggested by friends.
See you soon.