This is a continuation of this post.

“What good is it to continue working on something that is doomed by its essence.”, Lekhchand thought as he decided to cut short the progress of his novel by writing its final chapter.

“It is still not that bad. I have done so many things that are exactly right. Portrayed truth (in an interesting manner, hopefully) in every paragraph. Explored such a variegated range of experiences. Surely, if I read this book I wouldn’t be disappointed. Yet, now I know what I did not know before- this novel has nothing that makes it greater than the sum of its parts.”, he thought.

Lekhchand turned back the pages of his notebook to gauge his understanding at the time he began writing the novel. If his intention had been to learn more about the form then he’d succeeded. How ignorant he was about plot? How his world had been so full of himself? How incapable he was creating a work that as a whole would be greater than the sum of its parts?

In order to humor himself, he decided to make a flowchart of the novel’s pattern. It was certainly hilarious.

I am a writer writing a semi autobiographical novel with a character called Lekhchand> In the first chapter, he discovers his writing abilities for the first time>  In the second chapter, he decides to write a novel looking into his future> Some tragedy related to marriage happens after so much buildup to the future Lekhchand> Halfway through the book, even that character looks into his past by writing a few stories> In the end, the original author loses interest and decides to call it off.

This awareness made Lekhchand both sad and happy for a moment, but he wiped it off by internally inspiring a spirit of hope. Till now, too much of his life had been devoted to being a writer. That was too boring. Few people in this world would care for that. He was too boring. Intelligent, well read, full of information and yet, painfully boring.

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