452830868_0f1406ba87_bWriting. Writing doesn’t come to me spontaneously. I have tried sitting in front of laptop  continuously for 10 hours without writing a single word. I just can’t do it regularly. It takes time to build a story inside my head that is exciting enough to be worked upon, and then pour it on a blank page. I usually write when I have a story (or a scene of ongoing novel) that could wake me out of deep sleep. People call me lazy but I am not, I would rather crown myself as a perfectionist. I may spend more than 1000 hrs to write a novel but it doesn’t matter to the ones who are going to read it, spending 6 to 7 hrs of their life. You have to make (or write) something that stays with your reader till eternity. You have to learn to value those 7 hrs of your reader.

My first novel was a disaster. I would have left writing after the first review that I got for the same. I still remember each and every word that he wrote for the novel. I felt bad. It was shattering, but then I had one more shot and came ‘Hey Dad! Meet my Mom’. It was a kind of experiment from my side. The first copy that I received was couriered to the same reviewer. I waited impatiently for his review. The review came and he rated it 4 star. That was the highest ranking that he had given to any book released during that period.

I started to receive responses from across the country. They all loved the unusual story-line, and then something struck me. It doesn’t matter, for general readers, how beautifully you have written something and how in-depth your research is; the only thing that matters is the experience that the reader will have while spending those 7 hrs of reading.

So whenever I start writing anything, I do keep this in mind that how my reader will respond to it. I want to tell them a story that can entertain them and keep them on their toes till the very end. So you may call me lazy, but I am not. *Winks*


‘How can I let her go!’ by Sandeep Sharma

Another drink will help, well, may be it should help. He filled up his empty glass and gulped it down his already burning throat. ‘Pain kills pain’, he believed. He smiled with teary eyes. Once the burning of his throat stopped, that same pain came back from his chest. The weight of someone’s memories, some unfulfilled dreams, promises & desires, all together on his heart. He could feel the painful heaviness. He needs another drink.
He took the bottle & tried to empty the already empty bottle in the empty glass to fulfil his empty wish of letting her go out of his heart.
He laughed to see his foolishness. Tears fell down his red eyes. He heard someone sobbing from the next room but ignored. He had much to worry about other than that sound.
Balancing himself, he tried to get up from the couch on which he had spent maximum of his time after getting married.
Somehow he reached the desktop. He had sleepy eyes but still, wanted to see something else other than the bed.
He logged on the desktop and opened up the secret folder where his life was hiding from the world.
‘This folder is empty’.
He closed his eyes when realized what he had done few days back. The question was not that what he did was right or wrong but the question was, what could be the remedy of it? How he’s going to let her go. How?
He looked around, a room with memories, those quite and calm sleepy days and naughty nights; there was no feeling, there was nothing that they had left to share with each other, except that one photograph on which his gaze finally got fixed upon. Photograph of his marriage. How badly he wished to see ‘her’ instead of her.
He wanted to cry, or rather howl in pain and let everyone know what he is feeling right now but he stopped. A promise stopped him, a promise of never crying. ‘How cruel you are!’ He thought and smiled in pain.
Finally, he decided to hit the bed next to the lady whom he never loved but got married in hope of moving on in life, just like ‘she’ did. He was not angry on her, how could he ever be? He was just following the road that ‘she’ paved for him but nothing worked for him and may be, for ‘her’ too.
He looked at the clock, 2 ‘ o clock, time to sleep. He forwarded towards the bedroom where his wife was still sobbing. He felt bad for her. Three or may be four lives got destroyed because of one love. He had to let her go and give his wife what she deserves.
He grabbed her from behind while falling on bed next to her, rubbed her wet eyes and when she turned, he faked a smile too.
He could see ‘her’ in his wife. He knew he was hallucinating but still hugged her tightly and asked the almighty, ‘how can I let her go!’.