To be honest, I’d never thought of writing a novel. I never thought I had it in me to write it. I started with short stories. I wrote about three short stories before White Noise happened to me. Sounds a bit strange right? “White Noise happened to me.” Let me explain. When I was writing the short stories I had to think of my characters, develop them in my mind before developing them on paper, think of the ending as and when the story progressed, think of alternate endings etc.
But that’s not how I wrote White Noise. White Noise literally just happened to me. It came to me.
One fine day, I remember, I was on a flight when I suddenly wrote a paragraph describing ‘him’. I didn’t know who he was, I still don’t. I don’t know anyone like him but he exists in my head. But for ‘her’, he was real. His existence took over her entire life just like the two of them had taken over mine.
And immediately after I wrote the first paragraph of my novel, I also wrote the last paragraph. I knew how I would end my story. It was really strange because at that point, I didn’t know anything else. I didn’t even know there was a story to begin with.
But I’ll tell you something- the moment I wrote these two paragraphs I knew I had started something big, I knew I was on to something. What exactly, only time could tell.
And thus began the most beautiful yet scary journey of my life- The Making of White Noise.
If you’ve read my short stories you’ll know that White Noise is nothing like them. I was attempting to write something I hadn’t experienced even in the smallest way and yet I felt so close to it, so familiar with everything.
When I wrote my first chapter, I understood this was going to be a thriller, a dark romance; and for that I needed to find my dark place. Yes, all of us have a dark place- each one of us. It’s ultimately about that one thing that is capable of bringing it out from within us and White Noise brought it out in me like never before. I’ve written in the most bizarre ways. I’ve woken up suddenly in the middle of the night to write a chapter. I’ve been inspired by the strangest of things- real and imaginary. I think it’s safe to say that this book consumed me. I’ve lived with my characters; I am familiar with their pulse, their heartbeat. I know them, inside out.
And the day I wrote my last chapter, I cried. I cried because I wasn’t going to write about them anymore. It became very difficult for me to disengage. I started to feel like my characters, I started to behave like them too. Saying goodbye has been the most difficult aspect of the artistic process.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not insane. I know these characters are only in my head and now on the pages of my book; But for me, because I created them, they are my babies and all I have to do is shut my eyes to hear them all over again. I hope they never stop talking to me 🙂
This post was originally published on the storytellers paradise
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