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Let us leave the single woman alone…

HOW I landed here? Last year, this time, I was in the throes of writing a story, which I thought was taking good direction. It was a story that had a girl, another person, and may be a few more. The cast was good, the plot riveting and had me completely invested. Then, something happened, and I lost control of this tale. Within a few hours, the ice that I held in the palm of my hand melted, and the water began to trickle out, swiftly. I tried locking my fingers into a fist, hoping that something would stay, may be a drop or two. But, nothing, nada.

woman

It’s been nearly a year, and I don’t have the courage to look back at what I have written. Right now, there is only me. The other characters are a distant memory. How I landed here, I don’t know. But, here’s what happened. Here’s how it probably went wrong.

My protagonist is a woman. She’s confident, intelligent and gorgeous to the eyes that don’t stereotype. She’s not copiously talented, but is a Jack of all trades – always accomplishing in order to keep busy. She could have been a decent musician, but never pursued it with zealous passion. She loves long walks, and secretly, thrives on day dreaming. She is mostly indulgent: she loves coffee, books and chocolate. She is single (somehow, has always been). She is also a writer, like me.

To me, my lady was perfect, well-rounded, sharp and non-malleable.

But, I made an egregious mistake. Even before I could complete creating my beautiful character, I introduced a few men to this story. They were all rough around the edges. For some reason, I hadn’t bothered giving them the kind of traits I had gifted my lead character. For instance, one of them was cute, and that was where it ended. The other was a liberated soul, even my pen couldn’t tame. The third one was well turned-out, but I forgot how to define this person beyond that.

When my protagonist meets them at different points in her life, she believes she is in love. Each time, she thinks, FINALLY. But, with each finally, comes another one, and then another one. And, suddenly, she realises there is no ‘finality’ to this. She is falling in, she is falling out. She is meeting men, she is seeing them out. Nobody stayed. Nobody was meant to.

Around her, life was moving, fast, faster, fastest. Someone suggested that she see a doctor. Someone told her she needed to get married. Someone asked her why she showed zero interest in men. Someone advised her to quit her job, and go travel. She tried little of everything, but met with no success. Then, one day, a sense of hopelessness overcame her and she broke down.

And, this is when my ink ran dry and my plot deflated.

This evening, I went back to this story. It was hidden for nearly a year in a personal folder on my D drive. What a terrible plot. What a lovely woman. What was she doing, when she was so complete? Why was she searching, when there was nothing to be found? Who was she appeasing? What was she craving?

I looked at my character one more time and on an impulse, handed over my pen to her. She is a writer, like me. Somehow, I trust, she will do a good job.

Here’s a bestseller you should be awaiting.

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