It is a scary thought to be wanting to write a story. Before you settle with that intention it gets clear to you that your characters are realer than you take them for. I feel they will be amused, happy, offended, hurt, sad, angry by what we think about them outside their story. Outside the two covers of the book. Characters become that loudly alive once you have brought them to life.
Now when you have to tell their tragedies, their endeavors and simply their tale, the biggest judge will always be on your shoulder looking at how you are weaving the story for others — the characters them-self. It sounds a little insensitive to even call them, or her, a character. Let’s call her Evi.
Dealing with her story is as bigger a responsibility as dealing with a real person’s story. A constant fear nags me that I will not be able to do justice with her story due to my poor writing skills. It makes you skip a heartbeat to imagine if she wished she was born in a more delicate storyteller’s mind. That will hurt, just like how it will hurt a parent who is incapable of fulfilling the desires of their ward. All Evi wishes is her story to be told as beautifully and memorably as it could be.
Once you start typing with your trembling fingers, with a constant sensation of her eyes on every word you scribe, you do not stop. I have come to realize that a story never really ends. It just comes to a point when you choose to stop writing. But once you have chosen to stop writing, the next is far tougher than actually writing it. The next step is to set it out for it to be read. Till now, however the story was, it stayed between you and Evi herself. Now there is a responsibility on your shoulders. How the readers receive the story will be what Evi will be left feeling, and conversely you. Her sorrow or joy will determine how great were you able to do justice to her, and her story.
That was why you never really want to set it out amongst the ocean of other books. You want to carve it as finely as you can, for as long as you can until every freckle of error has been rectified and turned into a perfect piece of art. It is, however, doubtful if a story can ever be carved into its best shape. There will always be at least one sentence that could have been crafted far more beautifully than it is now. It is a scary thought in itself to think of writers who pick up their books, and at one sentence they irk, realizing it could have been better some other way. The chance to rewrite it is gone.
Well, may we be able to do justice to words, and to stories.