I remember how my unyielding desire to create something gave birth to “Lost and Found”, my first ever attempt at writing a novel. It wasn’t much of a surprise when I found myself struggling to divert the story to its end.
The more I wrote, the more I lost touch with my story.
What followed was 13 more unsuccessful attempts at creating 13 more novels over the span of 4 years. Each brimming with worlds of potential—the only thing missing was the touch of a skillful executioner.
They don’t exist anymore. I’ve erased them and moved on.
“The worst thing you can do is stop”
Don’t know who said that. But I find myself nodding to that statement everytime I stumble upon it.
And yes, I haven’t stopped.
Sleep eludes me as I keep cooking new stories every night. My thoughts keep me running on an endless treadmill, churning out more and more words on every step I take.
Running ain’t that bad. Maybe I can do this forever. Maybe my novels can finally reach a meaningful end.
It gets better, eventually.