I have always felt that one needs the story sorted out in one’s head before it can be committed to the paper.
The neat figuring out of how it all started and the way it would end. Like cooking, I need to know the end result, the ingredients could be varied, the method could be spiced up, the wok and the oven could be different or not; but the end needs to be clear.
The jumping of characters while the story is being drafted, proof read, edited… is not something that happens, with me. Maybe I am not like those, who have the surreal talk to them. Maybe I am not a story teller.
No wonder then, that most of these yarns I spin in my head or on paper; remain the unfinished saga. Almost always! And, those that I do finish sound lame. And, there lies the reason that the book, that one book, which is inside, never comes out. Never gets told. Trapped!
Everything is gunmetal grey and the moonlight goes right through the hollow bones.
Dusted off the old chest, forgotten in the attic! Why, oh why? Now, I would have to take out those jars of broken promises and broken dreams and set it on table. Those are the rules. Also, tucked in a corner pocket was a phial of mermaid tears. Tears of loss and tears of happiness; washed out of the sea.
The sea is cleaning out, you see, and soon the mermaids themselves would be around. Soon!
Copyright © Neerja Yadav