Somewhere in February last year I thought I should write a book. This is not a new thought. Like the seasons this thought comes and goes. I start with a lot of enthusiasm and then the enthusiasm fades away - because of the enormity of the task.
This time though, somehow, I was able to stick to it. Partly because someone pushed me to think about writing seriously and then proceeded to give some tips and hacks to make it happen and followed up on it. Partly because we were all stuck at home without too many distractions or needed something to focus on because we were stuck at home.
Whatever be the case, I managed to write close to 35000 words. I was happy. Thrilled.
Then I began to edit. If writing was tough, editing was killing. It was like a trek where you climb the first two hills and begin to feel good that you managed a tough climb. And then the guide points to a misty hill much higher up and says, that is where we have to reach.
But I plodded. A page a day. A few pages a day. Procrastination. Then more. Then some effort. And with some help from friends who were gracious enough to read a manuscript.
This is a self published book and I have now submitted the manuscript. The book should be out in a month or so, ceteris paribus.
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