& çâÌæÚUæð´ ·¤è ¥ôÚU Îð¹Ùæ ÁæÚUè ÚU¹ð´ ¥ÍæüÌ ¥ÂÙð ÜÿØ ÂÚU ŠØæÙ ÚU¹ð´Ð ãæÚU Ù ×æÙð´, €UØô´ç·¤ ·¤æ× ·¤ÚUÙð âð ¥æÂ·¤ô ©gðàØ ·¤è Âýæç# ãôÌè ãñ ¥õÚU ÁèßÙ ·¤æ ¹æÜèÂÙ ÎêÚU ãôÌæ ãñÐ ÖÜð ãè ÁèßÙ ×ð´ ç·¤ÌÙè Öè ·¤çÆÙæ§ü €UØô´ Ù ¥æ°, çÁ™ææâæ ¥õÚU ©ˆâæã ÕÙæ° ÚU¹ð´Ð ŠØæÙ ÚU¹ð´, ÜÿØ ã×ðàææ ¥æÂ·Ô¤ Âæâ ãôÌð ãñ´ çÁ‹ãð´ ÂæÙð ·Ô¤ çÜ° ÂýØæâ ¥æÂ ·¤Öè Öè àæéM¤ ·¤ÚU â·¤Ìð ãñ´Ð

The Other Side ofThe Sea

In her monthly column, Nupu Press shares her personal path of writing a first novel:

Nupu Press
Having completed the first draft of my novel. I forced myself to put the manuscript away in a drawer for two months. 1 was enthusiastic when 1 finally pulled it out - until I read it through.
In my head I believed I had written a complex but charming novel that peeled away layers to reach an operatic climax. What I had actually put on paper was, to pul it charitably, a misshapen lump lacking any sort of fun or fizz.
In my head was a perfectly formed world, but I hadn't been able to capture it It was as if 1 was standing at the seashore, trying to get to the other side Only 1 couldn't even see past the horizon.
1 had been too ambitious with such a multi-stranded, multi-layered narrative. 1 thought. I should stop now, take a breather, then start over with another, simpler tale
At the same time however, I didn't feel like a novice taking baby steps. I wasn't a classical music fan who expected to pick up a violin for the first time and play flawlessly. 1 had been writing fiction faithfully for more than a decade if primarily for my own pleasure and eyes. 1 had even completed a full-length novel at age fifteen (one that will definitely stay permanently in that drawer). This was technically the third novel I had completed.
Yet the sea stretched before me because I recognised good writing, being, naturally, a reader and lover of books. My photography professor at university told us that when he started out, he would lay his images next to his favourite photographers' work to compare them side by side, t didn't have to scrutinise my writing the same way to know that mine did not hold up.
Finally, I untangled the strands that in my emotional state 1 had confused into one jumbled mass. I felt awestruck and inadequate by the great writers I admired. This, I now know, is something that will stay with me forever. Reading perfectly chosen words crafted in the right sequence to conjure up another world is something to be inspired by and to aspire to.
The goal was not to emulate them, but to focus instead on honing my craft in order to be my best writing self. There was no shortcut here. The best route - perltaps the only route - was continuous, unrelenting practice. 1 had to tear apart the book and build it up again and again until what was on the page matched what was in my heart.
Because despite the deficiencies I saw on paper, inside me was a story I knew I wanted to tell. And I would rather aim high and fail, rather than play it close to the ground for fear of disappointing everyone.
I wasn't sure how to make it to the other side of the sea, but t decided to start swimming. From here on, I will write about the practical tips 1 learnt along the way.
Nupu Press is a writer and film producer. Her blog is at www.nupupress.com