Like many other writers, I cringe when I read posts or stories that I wrote in the past. No matter what it is, even if it’s won a contest or been published, I am seldom happy or satisfied with the piece. I can spot a hundred things so wrong with it, and I wonder why I was so bold and foolish to think that it was worth anything!
I’ve found an easy solution to this. I just let my babies go. I am not a hard-working writer. I don’t labour over every sentence, every comma, every turn of phrase. To me, to be steeped in the flavour of my idea is most important when I write. I get an idea, it festers or ferments in my brain as the case may be for a few days, sentences crop up every now and then, and so, when I actually sit down to write, it just types itself out (yeah, right!). I hate editing, so I edit as I go along. I re-write sentences, shuffle portions of text, and generally, when I am done, I prefer to be done! I always get DH to read my stuff (not my blog posts, but practically everything else), and his approval is the green signal for me (so he can share the blame too! :D). At most, I might read it a couple of days later, and then, I send it off wherever I intend sending it.
I know this is contrary to every Bible of writing I’ve ever read. I’ve beaten myself up enough about it. But I guess this is how it goes with me.
So, I try my very best not to read the stuff later. OK, I do read the published piece (and wish the earth would open up and swallow me), just for the thrill of seeing my name out there, but just once! Other than that, I studiously avoid reading my finished stories. Why torture myself unnecessarily when there are so many other, more pleasant things to do with my time? After all, my babies might never be perfect, but they have every right to go out and make their own place in the world, no? Or so I console myself.
The unfinished stories though — ah! they are in another league altogether. Drama hain, action hain, comedy hain, tragedy hain… I am always intrigued by what (the hell) I was thinking when I started the piece. Some look so promising, but end abruptly, indicating a premature demise of the idea in my head.
Life ain’t easy, so I’ll let sleeping dogs lie
Let the living ones live and the dying ones die