Scared

I am scared. Reason why despite having a few story drafts with me I am still not able to finish them.

Why am I scared? I don't think I can compete with today's popular fiction. Yes, they are trashy, can't even call them chick lit. Some of them are nothing but soft porn. And I don't think my book can stand any chance with the current mindset of readers. Blame Chetan Bhagat for all you want to.

It's just so so crappy. 

I know I am giving excuses. I know I will write and finish the book. I know I just need that manic energy to grip me and I will not stop even if I burn myself to do it. That's how I write anything in any case. 

But then my deliverables are always impeccable. I hardly get edits. Just after reading my first draft, my clients have mostly been left speechless. Most usually tell me how I have been able to capture their emotions and thoughts in my words precisely. I leave them in awe. I am a hard taskmaster when it comes to myself. I need my work to be perfect. I hold myself at high standards. 

And this book is a big deal. My writing is very different. It is almost literary. Who reads literature these day? No one. So who will read my book? This is not going to appeal to the masses. They are used to the trash. 

I remember my ex telling me that I should write a book that the masses will like. I hated that advice. That was partly the reason I never finished any of the drafts I had started in the first place. All were just hinting towards crappy stories. 

I don't want to tell third-grade stories. 

I want to tell stories of love, loss, pain, hurt, nostalgia, happiness, joy, sorrow, laughter, and all such myriad emotions that we feel each day, but are scared of expressing it to the world. I want my stories to bare the soul. I want them to have a vulnerability that will invite the readers to associate with them. They need to be their stories, simple yet powerful. 

But will people read them? Will anyone really understand my writing? Will an editor take a note of my writing or a publishing house take a bet on me? 

So, basically this is my existential crisis in my journey as a writer. 

I know something will trigger and I will eventually get over it and move forward with the book. But right now, I am mighty scared.