Like most aspiring writers, I’ve also tried writing a novel and gloriously failed at it.
It was during my 10th standard. Board exams waited for us at the end of March (the end of our academic year) when I was banned from reading anything other than my school books. It was one miserable year.
But I’ll let you in a little secret: I didn’t NOT read throughout the whole year.
To start writing any book, one needs to prepare beforehand. A lot. I spent weeks deciding the names for my characters, their personalities, their clothing, the setting, their dialogues, everything. They lived with me like my imaginary friends for a while, and my main character, a 13-year-old girl named Preksha, has become a part of me.
It was called: No One Else Is Glamorously Lonely, Except Me
I got the title off of a BSB song called Song For The Unloved
The book started out with a dream. It was a dream that I had, but I wanted everyone else to know. It was not remarkable or swoon-worthy, but it was so damn cute. It was about Preksha dancing with this guy she had a crush on. That’s it. But It was too cute not to put it in.
I have no clue what the book is about. None. Even though I had planned out so many things, including Zodiac signs for my characters, I had no idea about how the story went on. I thought that anything BUT the story was important. I knew it would have plenty of elements of art in it, but otherwise, whatever I’d written, (and I’d written about 5 chapters) was just what I’ve always wanted to do.
Preksha was someone who I’ve always wanted to be. Now that I know my mistakes, I think I could’ve given Preksha a bit more personality. Maybe more, since she had none, apart from the fact that she was an artist. A brilliant one at that. And I could’ve given her an adventure.
But it was a wonderful experience though. I wrote almost everyday, editing the previously written stuff, adding a few more paragraphs, and imagining what they’d be doing now.
I threw the book away a few months ago. I kinda regret it. I kinda don’t.