A start

The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. The train rounded a corner. Harry’s hand was still raised in farewell.

“He’ll be all right,’ murmured Ginny.

As Harry looked at her, he lowered his hand absent-mindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead.

‘I know he will.’

The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.

I shut the book and let it fall on the desk noisily as I surveyed my surroundings. It wasn’t much, just a small mauve coloured room with a big desk and a red laundry bag stuffed with books. My room.

A heavenly abode that turned not so heavenly at times when claustrophobia took over. It was in this room that I sat one night, pondering over the plight of my literary skills as the likes of J.K. Rowling, Dan Brown, C.S. Lewis and R.K Narayan sneered from the shelves strutting their genius.

Yes, you guessed it right. I want to write a story, a book. Probably a novel. I want a story that will make hearts thrum, tears fall and lightning bolts strike to the magic of my words. I want the celestial orbs to sway to the melody of my lines. I want the angels to shower rose petals from the azure skies in glory of my creations. I want the maidens to swoon as the hero emerges triumphant, riding through the victory arch with the enemy at his chariot wheels.

I want to write a story that will reach to the innermost of the reader’s insides and shake him up. I want to write a story that celebrates excruciating pain and unfettered joy. I want the reader to laugh and cry with every little celebration and sorrow of mine. I want the reader to toss and turn every night in anticipation of the character’s fate as the next chapter arrives. I want the reader to say as he turns over the last page,” That was one hell of a book.”

I want my story to come to life on a 70mm screen. I want the Oscar and the Golden Globe. I want to be featured in the Forbe’s list. I want the fame. I want the praise. I want the name.

I don’t know what I am going to be writing about. I don’t know who my characters are going to be. I don’t know whether it can move the reader, let anyone myself. I don’t even the story.

Yet, here I sit, pencil in hand, leaning over a book as I muse over another one of my random ideas. This idea is neither earth-shattering, nor is it deeply moving. It is neither a million dollar one nor is it worth being Freshly pressed. Nonetheless, it is a start.

20 thoughts on “A start

  1. you should write with a better pencil i am not particularly fond of that one in the picture.i find it blotched after a little while and the point stays sharp for a time interval which happens to be too small both for my need and my greed:) well this this was just to piss u off which at times gives me immense pleasure to see u flustered and irritated and stupidly annoyed at the same time.but since this is your blog i dont think u would be in any position to get annoyed since this is your face which the world sees(quite literally too:p) i think thats enough of annoyance for the moment sooo yeahhh dudee start writing man if u write from your heart im sure it will touch millions plus also when u receive your education in english your skills will automatically match those of your bookshelf masterpieces:p.u want it im sure ull get it ur quite stubborn and smart and determined a powerful combination so the next time post yipeeeeeeeeeee ive started on my dream project:) and when u doo u will feel like an angel has truly blessed your cause my midget friend(the last clause was again in a last moment attempt to annoy the heck out of you in case u didnt understand:P)

    • Thank you for taking time off to write this 🙂
      and yes, i hope my writing improves after i study english 🙂
      P.S. i was not annoyed by your comments at all 😛

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