It was on the first of July that I wrote this post.
The first of July, was some eleven days in the past.
Now, at that point in time, I was at some ninety-four days from my intended deadline for this project. Also I was on the eighth chapter in the book. Something, or rather, some place I was at, since the past couple of months, or something of that order. I say that, because it really was inconsequential. See, when I marked a date in the calendar, saying I’m going to ship this book on the date, then, by that action alone, I had made sure that anything I did before this did not matter; in a way.
I mean, the couple of months I was stuck on the eighth chapter did not matter, what mattered was the eventual thirty-six days on this calendar. From 118 to 83, which is today.
Yes, I finished the eighth chapter today. And yes, I am happy about that.
The moment I finished it, the first thing I thought about was writing about it. Weird, ain’t it?
Makes you wonder, who am I really writing for?
And does it really matter?
Shouldn’t the end product matter; the fact that I finish the book?
But then again, that is not how I look at life. The journey has always been more important than the apparent destinations. Somehow, I had this idea that this was going to be utterly incoherent.
I am not sure if I wrote about this earlier, but I had to scrap what I had wrote earlier, and enter this dark, foggy place, where I had no certainty, no idea about what the future held for me, or my characters. As I stand here, looking back at the finished chapter, I realize that, finishing the chapter has snapped the very last strand of connection I had with the earlier me; the me who had written the previous seven, and a half chapters.
I am different. I am changed. And I am not sure how the change in state, is going to reflect in what I write. And boy, is it scary!
This is, kind of like what life is; isn’t it?
I mean, you stumble through it, most of the times. You think you have something figured, mapped to the ‘t’ and then one fine day, it all tumbles down. And you’re left wondering,
What was I doing?
What am I doing?
What will I be doing?
I am at that point in life, and though it’s not unique to my life, it still feels novel. My life, and my story, both.
I guess, I’ll need to stumble through. Again.
Again, being the keyword. Let me underline that for you! Done!