Dhruv Kumaar

I’m writing this for myself.

I’ve been going through a lot lately. I can’t sleep, I can’t concentrate. I keep making these scenarios in my head that will never come true. I keep thinking about stuff that I know I can’t do anything about. I keep believing that one day, everything will be fine when I know it won’t.

Sometimes, we know the truth, yet we cannot accept it.

My university life is never getting better. I’m going to be this lonely for three more years. And considering everything that has happened last year, I’m scared how I’m gonna survive three more years of this shit. I’m so tired already.

I can go hours without talking to anybody. Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m thirsty until I get to speak to someone. And I feel like I’ve forgotten how to talk. I can only ask questions, never change topics or add anything meaningful to the conversation. It’s been so much time since I’ve cursed with the boys and laughed so happily.

I thought it doesn’t matter if I cannot fit in here. I know why people think shit about me. I know why I can’t simply get the confidence. I’m not that rich, that sophisticated, or that good-looking.

But, I simply can’t accept the truth. When I talk to somebody new, I still dream about things finally getting better. All I get, in the end, is false hope, though.

People have heard my side of the story. They know what the fuck is happening with me. Yet, they don’t care. They won’t text or call or check in. Only my highschool friends do that, and they’re so far away.

Everything is so hard. And it’s taken a toll on my productivity. I cannot study—my marks are down the drain. But I can’t care much about it now. With brutal honesty, writing is all I care about in my life right now. But it seems like as everything gets over my head, I’m losing my grip on that too.

I understand you, Dhruv. I fucking understand you. I know what you’re going through. I know shit hasn’t changed yet, and that’s why you’re reading this.

I’m writing this to remind you why you began writing. Because you’re seriously forgetting it.

Remember the first time you picked up the notebook with Spyral Diary written on its back. Remember what you’d decided when you opened your laptop that evening.

I’m gonna publish this. And become the best writer in the country.

Isn’t that what you decided upon? On twenty-fourth August, twenty-twenty. It’s gonna be five years since you saw that dream.

You were just a child, addicted to anime. You loved Tokyo Ghoul, and you saw the references in Spyral Diary. Attack on Titan, Parasyte, Monster, Your Lie in April, Anohana—you’d seen them all. They’re the anime that you can never re-watch again, because the memories you associate with them are just too nostalgic. Don’t forget them, Dhruv.

No, don’t cry. Not right now. We have a lot to talk about.

That’s when Myth was born, Dhruv. That’s when you began writing this story. As you’ve grown up, this story has grown with you. You’d finally felt confident enough in your writing that you began working on what you call your magnum opus. Togashi-sensei’s Hunter x Hunter, Isayama-sensei’s Attack on Titan, Ishida-sensei’s Tokyo Ghoul, Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, Riordan’s Percy Jackson: The Lightning Thief.

Dhruv Kumaar’s Myth.

The one story that was gonna take you to the top. The one story that you’d be known for. The one story that had been on the back of your mind for years.

The one story you’d decided you won’t write until you’re good enough. The one story that you’ve been preparing yourself for all these years.

That’s what Myth is to us, man. That’s what Myth is.

As you grew up, you gave up on the idea of ever getting an anime adaptation. You shifted your focus to just writing and publishing a great story. A story that nobody had ever written before.

We’re writing an epic here, man. Yeah, we’ve fucked up so much, but that’s fine. We can work on our mistakes. We can re-write. But what we cannot do is back down. What we cannot do is scrap this project.

The times are hard, yeah. You have a lot to think about. You have a lot that you should be scared about, and rightfully so. But… don’t forget Myth. Don’t forget what it means to you.

It’s been months since we’ve had any meaningful development in the project. Seems like life always finds a way to get in the way. It’s not right. Why us? Why the fuck are we stuck in this shit?

You regret every single second you breathe here. And yeah, if the breathing stops, your regret might stop too. But you cannot think this way. It’s not your fault, so why would you pay with your life?

And that’s okay. Even though it’s not our fault, it’s still something that needs fixing. So rather focus on how we can fix it than crying every night over what’s wrong.

You can try getting that attention all you want. Push yourself at the gym, punch those bricked walls, and bleed everywhere you want to. Red calluses and knuckles are invisible to others. Nobody here gives a single fuck. Not even the people you think would give one don’t. And you know it. You know how people have left you even after you opened up. You know how it goes with you. You know you’re just another misfit for them and you’ll always be that and nothing else.

Nobody is gonna ask you how you got those bruises. And even if they do, you don’t trust them enough to tell them you made them yourself.

This works. All of this bleeding and crying works for some time, even though it leaves you worse in the end. And that’s okay. But let’s focus on what works here, on your Google Docs, too. We’re done scolding ourselves and our fate.

Yeah, we’d spiral back into those thoughts again. And I don’t know what I’m talking about. But I have to keep talking. I have to keep typing. And that’s what you have to do too.

Keep writing. Don’t forget that fifteen-year-old Dhruv who first picked up his father’s laptop and soon made it his. Don’t forget the kid who fought so hard against his family, who went through all those taunts of you’re-not-getting-anywhere, who has been giving it his all, and who has stood up through thick-and-thin for years to keep writing.

Two hours every day. These two hours of the day are yours, Dhruv. For years, it has stayed like this. It has not changed and it never will.

You’re going through a lot of stuff. And I know that we can keep it aside and move on. I hate to say this, but you’re still optimistic.

You can’t lose that, man. Your mother got that optimism—it’s in your fucking blood to keep hoping for the good. Your heart is gonna break several times. But even though we fall, we can rise up again.

Do it for the kid, man. Do it for the kid who loves Tokyo Ghoul, who is still searching for those adrenaline-filled action with emotional depth. Do it for the kid whose whole life revolved around writing. Do it for the kid who gave it his all to be here.

He’s still alive inside you. You can never lose that child. Remember his smile. Remember his happiness. Remember his passion.

Just push yourself. Keep your head up straight. Think about the future, not about the past. You’ve forgotten to do that. But we can cultivate the habit again.

Think about being successful. Think about the life you’ve dreamed of—the one filled with love and care. The one where you’re not just the giver, but an acceptor too. Where you can open up and be the best version of yourself.

Yeah, that’s it. Fuck this university. Don’t think about it. The university has made you forget what writing means to you. It’s revolving around your life too much. Take the control back, man. It’s your life, and even though you live inside this university, your life is not this university.

I’m doing a health psychology course this semester, and today, our professor asked us to write a personal illness narrative. It’s like the story of an illness that you’ve encountered—how you got it, how you feel about it, how you healed up, that kinda stuff.

I tried really hard, but I just couldn’t think of anything better than the burnout that I’m feeling these days. So, that’s the narrative that I went ahead with. But, halfway through this little activity, I found out… that I really didn’t want to label myself as ill. I really didn’t want to believe that something was actually wrong with me these days, even though I’d already begun writing about it as an illness. I simply didn’t give it enough thought, probably, or I’d subconsciously accepted the fact that something is wrong.

Throughout the little two-hundred-word handwritten essay, there were two forces inside of me. One that wanted me to write down every single damn thing that’s been happening with me and break the fuck down on the spot, in the middle of the lecture. And another that wanted me to hold it all inside, because I knew that these people cannot be trusted with my feelings.

What came out was such a mess of an essay. It felt like I was bitching about just some random stuff, y’know, because the emotions were there, but not the actual symptoms that I was so emotional about. So, I decided that I gotta write about it. Just to look a little deep inside.

And probably face some facts here.

***

So, what’s wrong with me?

Well, as to begin: I cannot sleep these nights. I hit the bed at eleven, yet I’m awake till two AM or even three AM sometimes. I overthink all night long. And then I wake up at seven.

At this point, I don’t even know if I’m overthinking because I cannot sleep, or if I cannot sleep because I’m overthinking. All I know is that I cannot sleep—and I’m having a lot of negative thoughts lately.

I feel tired all day, because I hadn’t slept in the night. I doze off during lectures. I doze off when I’m writing. In fact, my eyes are still a little heavy as I write this. I hate this so damn much.

My schedule is really tight, and I have a lot of stuff to do. All the assigned papers, assignments, and then gym, my novel, and this blog.

I just… I don't know why, but for some reason, I never feel good. I never feel okay. Sometimes, talking with friends helps, but I don’t have a lot of close friends here. Most of them are just those kinda friends that you talk to when you see each other in the corridor. That means my lunches and dinners are lonely.

And, if you know anything from my first An Ode blog, you’d know I’ve messed up my image here way too much. People don't talk to me. They ignore me. The fact that most of them are a lot richer than me doesn't help my confidence.

I feel like I’m losing myself in this mess. I don’t feel motivated about my novel at all. And… that scares the fuck outta me. I edited just four pages last time I worked on it. And that was around a week ago.

This… is my life’s work. Myth is my life’s work. I can’t let it go like this.

And I’m in a really delicate situation in my life, where I have to think about my career after this degree is done. I gotta think about the stuff I’m doing, and I gotta stay motivated. But instead, I’m facing this intense burnout from my own fucking life that I cannot even concentrate. I’m always either sleeping or scrolling Instagram.

I’ve almost stopped reading fiction altogether. And that’s another thing that scares me. I’m changing. I feel like I’m doing nothing at all, yet I don’t get time to do anything. I don’t even get enough time to watch my favorite anime or read some novels. It’s been almost a month since I last watched a film.

My schedule is tight, and I love to keep it that way. It helps me with my anxiety. Because this loneliness is killing me, and if I don’t know what to do the next moment, I’d torture myself. I don’t wanna face these thoughts that I have.

Last week, I got really close with a girl. I could open up to her, and… I confessed my feelings. She rejected me, and since then, there’s this… sort of distance between us. I can feel it as we talk. I mean, she acts fine. But for me, I just can’t look past it.

I didn’t expect her to say yes either, by the way. I knew what I was signing up for. I simply had to get it out to feel better, because hiding it was tiring. It was hurting. And I was in too much pain to hold it back.

And, well, we didn’t talk for some days. And now I can’t look her in the eyes when we do. When I see her from afar, I just feel so… bad. For what I did. Not only to myself, but to… whatever it was between us.

But it probably meant nothing to her anyways.

It meant a lot to me, though. She was one of the only people I actually opened up to, after all. Shared all of my darkest thoughts. Only to fuck it all up.

I’m just so miserable. I can’t even believe it. She said I’d find someone better, and I thought she meant it. No, she obviously didn’t. Nobody ever fucking says that in a rejection and means it.

My friends say the same, though. They say I look a lot better than most. I hit the gym, take care of my skin and hair. I’d get better girls. But I simply cannot believe it. Because what’s happening with me is the exact opposite—I get rejected every time I try. And then handed lies and excuses.

I hate love, and I hate the fact that I yearn for it.

Now that I think about it, I hate emotions as a whole. I hate feeling anything. I hate feeling hurt when my crush is talking about her ex, I hate feeling lonely when I’m eating at one corner of the mess by myself, I hate feeling depressed when I’m alone in a classroom like I am right now, doing my own stuff by myself.

It hurts. It hurts a fuck lot in here.

***

Now that I think about it, I feel like… I seriously need some help. But it’s not my fucking fault, is it? It’s not supposed to be my fucking fault that I’m so broken and miserable.

Then… why do I have to fix myself?

Why did I ever have to be in this mess? I was just a child dreaming of a cool college life. I wanted to try drinking, clubbing, partying—all that shit. I wanted to have good friends who would kill for me. I wanted a girlfriend who would love me back with all her heart, just like I did. I wanted to be in a place I was comfortable in and I could enjoy.

I wanted a home too.

I wanted a fucking home too. I was just a kid who fucked up once. Do I really deserve all this for that shit?

I didn't sign up for this. This social exclusion is killing me. This life is killing me from inside.

I don’t dream anymore. I don’t think about the future anymore. I can only think of the next hour, the next task, the next day.

It’s time I face the truth. It’s time I tell this to myself: you’re sick.

Yeah, Dhruv, you’re ill.

This disease will kill you if you don’t do anything about it. You know how low you’ve been, and you can’t afford to go this low again. I can’t afford to keep obsessing over what-if-I-die daydreams. Get a fucking grip on your life.

Remember Myth. Remember your dream of being a psychologist. Remember your gym training. Remember your parents, friends—they’re all behind you. They’re waiting for you to win.

And I seriously wanna win. But… isn’t asking for help losing by itself? Doesn’t it mean that I lost to these people? That I couldn’t prove myself right? That… I gave up to their social shunning shit?

Does it matter? Your family might never know this story, and your friends would keep lamenting your loss. Is that what you wanna leave behind, Dhruv? A bunch of people crying over your corpse?

I certainly won’t do that, but it’s not about them. It’s about me. And, if I feel like this is gonna help my case, then I should probably go ahead with this plan. Then I should probably take the step.

Will this help your case, though? Isn’t that a kinda defeat either?

… It is. But I’m tired. I gotta accept that I’ve lost.

Then go ask for help.

I tried. I called them first. They refused to pick up. I tried to settle in. They’re way too different from me. I can never be like them—and nor do I want to be. I can’t fake-it-till-you-make-it. I tried. I fucking tried every fucking thing. It’s been a whole year, for damn’s sake. Do you really think I’d have not tried?

No, you’re wrong. I did. I tried. I tried everything to try to settle in. But the more I did, the worse it kept getting. Every single damn time. My roommate tried to choke me. My friend refused to pick up my calls anymore. A girl now tries her best to bring things back to normal, but I’m in her way, even though I want the same thing.

I’m my own problem. Or, this whole place is. But whatever the problem is, all I know is that I don’t know the answer to it. I wasn’t supposed to live a life like this.

I want the other person to call me up on their own sometime. Ask me for dinner. Invite me for a group study. Or to even send a fucking hello.

***

I can’t believe it, to be honest. A year ago, I wouldn’t have believed that I’d be so low in my life—simply because a bunch of my peers hate me. It doesn’t make sense.

I do have friends—just not on this campus. I do have a home—just not on this campus. I do have a life—just not on this campus.

But it’s hard to look at them now. I want them close to me. After a tiring battle, I wanna be back home and sleep in my own bed every night. I don’t get to do that, though.

I wonder if everything will ever be fine again. I gotta do a Master's after this degree, and even work. Will I ever fit in there? Or does this cycle of suffering continue until the end of my life?

If it’s the latter, I might end it as soon as possible.

My summer holidays are ending. Just three days later, I’d be back in that hell of a university that I hate so much.

I had to be writing the second part of Story of a Myth, lol. I’m sorry—it’d need to wait. I think there’s a couple of things I need to reflect upon before I leave. Because… this vacation made me realize some stuff. And I think I need to sort it all out in my head.

It’s actually kinda crazy, though. I’m writing this from the comfort of my own bedroom. I’ve written here, in this same room, for more than four years. I was already writing before my family shifted to this flat, so I can’t really say that this bedroom is where my story as an author began. But this bedroom is definitely where Myth began, where this blog began, where a lot of works that I’m both proud of and resent began.

In three damn days, I’d be back writing from random classrooms of my campus or inside the library. Even though I’m writing in this bedroom that I love so much—with my mother clanging utensils in the kitchen, my sister studying in the other room, and a temple playing devotional songs right outside my apartment—I will be editing this piece from that place of darkness. From that hell. And when somebody would begin reading it, I’d have been consumed by that darkness again, lost all motivation to do anything at all, and just surviving my days.

***

I began university exactly ten months ago. And man, these ten months were brutal. I was shunned by many. People spread weird rumors about me. A couple friends that I’d begun talking with abruptly began ignoring my calls.

I was lonely. I was tired. I was depressed.

Time went on, and I feel that even though I wasn’t suicidal, I was… really close. I was blabbering that what’s-the-point-of-living nonsense all the damn time. It came up at least once every time I’d call my school friends.

I’ve cried alone. I’ve cried in a dorm room that wasn’t mine. I’ve cried on the phone with a school friend.

I’ve cried to songs. And I’ve sung songs about crying as loud as I could with nobody hearing me.

And I never accepted how down bad I was. I was so dumb. I was not okay. I’d told myself I’d accept it if it came to this, and that I’d do something about it. But I could never accept it. I could never tell myself that there was a problem.

Because if I accepted that I was sad and lonely, that meant that they won. Who are they? Who the fuck knows. Probably they who spread weird shit about me. Probably they who abruptly cut me off from their lives when I needed them the most.

And I couldn't let them win. I had to win against them. I was the right one here.

It got worse. Yeah, I made a friend or two, but I never felt that open with them. They were different. They got offended easily. They didn’t crack vulgar or weird jokes. They were… more sophisticated. They were simply better at this shit.

I came without a mask. And, before I knew it, I began painting my face too, just so I could fit in. Gone were the curses and jokes. But what was left was this hollow shell of the person I used to be.

Where did all the laughs go? Where did all my friends go? Where did my confidence go?

What… had I become?

And why the fuck could I never accept that I had a problem that needed solving. When I was back there, I always thought that… that it’s simply who I am. That wasn’t who I am. That person who spent ten months on that campus doesn’t define me.

***

I don’t wanna go deeper into the problems with my university life here. I’m gonna write a lot about it when I go back there and start folding again. For now, I wanna stick to the topic—this vacation.

I had a winter vacation in the past too, but… it simply felt different, for some reason. This vacation time has been a lot different than before. These two months have given me the Dhruv that I used to be.

I’ve regained a lot of the confidence that I had. I’m happy with my life again. And, most of all, I’m thinking about my future again.

I think we simply don't talk about how being in such survival mode  for so long makes you forget about the future. You… stop chasing things. You stop thinking about the gain you’re gonna make in the gym in the next two years, or how you’re gonna end this draft in three months and then it’d be ready to be sent to literary agents, or that you still have a minor to decide upon. You just think about the next minute, the next hour, the next thing on your schedule. Never about the next month, or the next year.

***

I had a fake catfish account that I’d made with my friends two years ago. Then, I’d also followed my old school’s friends—for context, I shifted schools in eleventh grade.

I saw my tenth grade friends on that account. And I reconnected with one. Texted for a while, y’know. We decided to meet IRL. He told me he couldn't believe it was a fake account. He thought it was a real girl—and he literally refused to believe it was me talking when I revealed to him the truth, lol. Isn’t it the exact opposite of how it’s supposed to be with catfish accounts?

Anyways, I also went to see my old school. Not from inside, but I at least saw the building. I went past the street where I used to come back home from. I walked inside that burger joint where our whole class had gone after our scribble day celebrations. I sat inside the restaurant where I used to go every day after school with my new school’s friends.

Yeah, those high-school friends that I’m still connected with. I love these guys. I can’t believe that even after so much time, after so many of us have left, we’re still here, meeting every other day and celebrating this vacation like it’s gonna be our last.

I’d gone to meet them almost every evening. Just some money, pajamas, and lots of fun. We’d go shopping, roam around in random parks, or simply go for dumplings—we call them momos here. And we love dumplings, by the way.

On Instagram, I got to see a lot of old friends again. I sent some of them a follow request, and they’ve followed me back. Looking at their grown-up faces reminds me of that school where I’ve been from my childhood until tenth grade. I kinda regret that I was never too close to them—and that I pushed them off as soon as I shifted schools.

To be honest, they didn’t need much pushing off anyways. I was never too important to them. I was that shy guy who fumbled his cute love story.

Still can’t get over that fumble, though. I was such a mess.

***

All of it… for a second, made me feel like… like probably, I’m back. I’m back in the time and place that I wanted to be in.

For some time, I felt that I was back. All that laughs that I’d left behind, all that comfort that I’d been starving for, and all that… confidence that I’d lost in my last battle—all of it was back. I am back.

And I’m pumped up about the future. I can… finally think straight. I’m not worried about somebody messing up my schedule. I’m not worried about the next event that I probably have to attend to socialize. I’m not worried about the night, when I’d have to return to that dorm room, sleeping beside that person who tried to choke me once.

I can breathe again. And, this air feels so fresh. I’m away from all that pollution that’s filled up in that university.

I feel happy here. I feel confident here. And I feel that I’ve successfully washed up the paint that I’d used to mask my face.

***

But now that it’s time to go back, I can’t help but feel anxious. What if this year proves to be a repeat of the last one? What if every dream that I’m working on… I lose them somewhere again? What if… things just don’t go well again?

My lump fills up. I feel empty. I feel scared. I can’t even forget it—I have to go and pack my bags soon. I have to start collecting the clothes that I’d need, the stuff that I’d have to buy, and… mentally brace myself for that war again.

I don’t know what’s the point of writing all of it. Most of you probably don't understand half of the stuff that I’ve said here, because you guys don’t know the story. I just… thought I had something to say. Now I think that I don't, really.

So much has happened. I’m reminded of all of the past stories that I’ve lived—all of the stuff that I’ve done, but I’d forgotten about. I thought I had a story in my hands right now—a story that needed to be told. But I probably didn’t.

And that’s okay. It’s probably just a collage of everything that’s happened between ninth grade of school to first year of college. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about theme these days. I’ve recently completed the first draft of my novel Myth, and when I look back, it always felt like I was missing something. And that was this: even though I sorta-kinda knew about my theme, I… really didn’t.

That was such a confusing sentence, lol. Anyway, what I mean is: I’ve simply had an illusion about the theme of Myth. I thought I knew what I wanted to say, but in reality, I didn't. When I began thinking about what message this story gives, what everything represents, my mind went blank. I understood that there’s the protagonist, and then there’s this antagonist: what does it signify that this protagonist beats this antagonist? What message am I trying to give here with this?

I asked such questions to myself, and that’s when the clouds cleared up. I now understand what theme is. A theme—or a story, for that matter—is, broken down to its bare bones, an argument.

Alright, now I think I lost you. I’m yapping about random stuff way too much, without telling you how I connected all these ideas. Gimme some time.

***

#01. Story and Plotline

I think that the first thing I gotta clear up before I head forward is this: a plotline is not a story. Now, you might know this a little bit, somewhere in your head. You’d have a little idea that they’re different. But, do you know how exactly they are different?

Head back to the basics, students. What are the foundational elements of storytelling? Plotline, characters, theme, setting, and style.

Now, look at this formation. Plotline is a part of story. They don’t stand shoulder-to-shoulder in the hierarchy.

But see: plotline and theme do stand on the same level. What does this mean?

A happens, then B happens, and then as a result, C happens—that’s plotline. Add characters in, and plotline becomes: X does A, Y does B, and as a result, Z does C. This is character and story together.

The background of this mix of plotline and character is called setting—where A, B, C are happening. In short, setting is the context in which the plotline takes place.

This is your WIP right now: it has plotline, character, and setting. And style obviously refers to your writing style. But there’s still something missing: theme.

Thus, your story isn’t a story until it has a theme. By definition itself, a story needs to have something to say. Because theme forms an important aspect of a story. So, if there’s no theme, it’s not a story—it’s simply a mix of plotline and characters, probably with setting and style.

This is the difference between a plot and a story: a theme. A plot is what happens; a story is a plot that wanna tell you something.

***

#02. Theme and Argument

So, we now understand why your story isn’t a story yet without a theme. But what is a theme?

Well, to say it as simply as possible: a theme is a message. And yeah, it can be a moral value, but your message can be a lot more than just that. Your message can be anything.

Now, there are two sides to any message: a side that’s correct—the side that you, the author, takes—and an opposite side. And that’s how a message becomes an argument.

There are two sides to an argument, like I mentioned before. Your hero—not the protagonist—represents the side that you wanna show is correct. Because your hero always defeats your villain. The hero always wins—that's why you represent the side you wanna show win with the character that’s gonna win in the end. And so, your villain is the side that loses—the side of the argument that you stand against.

Let me take the example of Drowning Deep Down the Ocean. It’s still in its outlining stage, by the way, and it might take a couple of years before I begin writing it. But I do have an idea about the story.

Pro tip: think about your own story right now, if you’re struggling with its theme. This little exercise is gonna help you a lot.

The main theme is DDDTO is simple: that loneliness can be overcome. Or, that depressing days are always followed by sunshine. Something like that.

In the story, my protagonist has changed cities, and he’s having some struggles settling in his new school. He’s being shunned and bullied. The story tackles the topics of loneliness, a little failed romance, bullying, and all that.

In my story, my hero is my protagonist itself. And the villain? Well, it’s the situation with his crush, his bully, but most of all: setting. The whole environment where the story takes place.

In the end, obviously the hero wins. How? He doesn’t just punch the bully off—even though that’s the climax of the story. In the end of DDDTO, the hero has some friends and a life. And good mental health. He’s comfortable with his situation. He’s better than he was in the beginning—he knows how to confront his loneliness and his problems now. He knows how to act in this new environment. Thus, he’s defeated this new environment—his story’s main villain—metaphorically. So, my hero won.

That symbolizes my theme that depressed days are always followed by sunshine. My hero wins against those days, and now sees the sunshine.

Everything comes full circle. That’s how you turn a plotline into a story. When you argue your points with your story. When things tell something to your audience. When everything means something.

***

#03. How?

Now, you do have a plotline, but how do you turn it into a story? How do you figure out a theme for your story?

For that matter, I’d like to tell you something: it took me around eight months and a whole draft to understand the theme of Myth. I’ve been brainstorming about this story for more than four years on top of that, by the way. It took me this much time to figure out what I wanna say to my audience through this story.

So stop thinking about the themes of your story. Figure out your story first—know your start, your end, and everything in between. And then start making connections: what does this plot mean? What is it trying to say? What does the start and the end signify, symbolize?

 At least, that’s what worked for me. DDDTO is a story I’d written around an year ago, and it’s only now that I understand its theme. Myth took me a whole first draft, like I mentioned before.

But, you can start your story with a theme. A lot of authors do that. And that’s the magic of storytelling—the process of writing a story changes from one person to the other. So, take a deep breath. And have fun writing. You’re gonna figure your way out. It’s gonna be fine if, in the end, you have all of your foundations figured out. Doesn’t matter how you do that, y’know.

We all know what we mean when we use the terms heroes and villains. But, as William James said about consciousness, we only know how to define it as long as nobody asks us to define it.

Yeah, the two terms are really vague, if you think about it. Who do you call the hero of a story? Somebody who saves the day? Then Superman would be the only closest character we’d have to fit the definition, if we take that as our criteria. But, not all heroes are Superman, right?

What makes it even more confusing is the fact that terms hero and protagonist are not synonymous with each other. And nor are the terms villain and antagonist. That means a story might have the hero as their antagonist.

So, what the hell do I mean?

I believe that many newbie writers often mistake these terms—and this can have an adverse effect on their stories. So let me rant here for a moment.

***

#01. A Shift in Perspective

Just as the sub-heading says, I need you to have a shift in your perspective. Think about it: what is the foundation of a story?

Characters? Plotline? Setting? It’s none of that, man. None of that.

It’s theme.

Theme is the foundation to all stories. Film, prose, poem, music—whatever medium you choose, it remains the same. Stories are built upon a specific theme.

Yeah, you may settle on the setting first—what’s the world like, what’s the overall vibe of the story. Or the plotline—what happens and why. But, before you can mark your project as complete, you need to understand what the theme of the story is. Once you decide on a theme, you know how to tread forward—how each scene moves the story forward, why each scene is present and turns out the way that it is.

You can’t unravel your story in an organized manner if you don’t know the central theme of your story. And if you’re not organized, don’t expect your readers to be sticking around.

Alright, the last sentence was kinda harsh. But I wasn’t lying at all.

I can’t stress enough how important the theme is for your story. And, how do you think a theme looks like in a story?

It’s in the form of an argument.

Storytelling, in short, is nothing but an argument. You’re trying to make a point. In most stories, it’s not too on-the-nose, unfortunately, so we never really think about it enough.

And, an argument has two sides. Now you, as the author, have to decide which side you choose. What do you tell the readers is the correct side among the two?

Let’s take an example to bring this point home. The story that I can think of off the top of my head is of a high-school guy who’s really depressed because his family shifted to a new city, and he can’t take that change. He’s having trouble making new friends, some strong dude bullies him constantly—it’s not severe, by the way—and the girl he likes… Well, he’s the bully character’s girlfriend. So… it’s kinda messed up for him.

The theme is that of change, obviously. And here are the two sides: changes are fine, and that they suck. As simple as that.

The hero? Obviously, the main-character. The villain? Now, there’s loads of them: the situation with the girl—not the girl herself, mind you—and the bully character, but also the overall setting of the school where he just can’t open up. Remember, a villain is an object of storytelling, so it doesn't need to be another character per se. A villain can be an event or a place too.

So, as you can see, I have an argument in my theme. And, based on that, my story has heroes and villains, with villains being other situations, events, or characters that my hero needs to overcome.

The argument that my hero represents is that changes are fine, they’re a part of life. And even though they’re tough, you’ll be fine. That’s the argument that my hero reflects.

In an argument, you as the author has to take a side. And the side that you deem to be correct, you reflect that in your hero. And the incorrect side, obviously, manifests in the form of villains.

***

#02. Protagonists, Antagonists

Now then, let’s clear this confusion too.

A protagonist is the character through whose perspective the story is told. And, an antagonist is the character who stands in opposition to the arguments that the protagonist makes.

The thing is: since most authors choose to tell their stories through the lens of their heroes, we often believe that protagonists and heroes are the same thing. Which is a lie—it’s just that most authors choose heroes as their stories’ protagonists.

There are a lot of stories that decided to choose their villains as their protagonists. A lot of crime-thrillers are like that—their theme is generally to study and show how villains become the way they are. Todd Phillips’ Joker is a good point-in-case. And so is the anime Death Note.

Both the stories mentioned follow the villain of their stories—the character who often fails in the end—as their protagonist. Now, since Joker isn’t really a complete story, the villain doesn’t really lose at the end.

Joker is an experimental film that has pulled it off quite nicely. The arguments are handled really, really creatively, and that’s why we know today—for certain—that even though, in the end, the villain doesn’t lose, they’re a villain. Otherwise, in most times, if you’re going for something experimental like that, you’re likely to confuse your audience about which side of the argument you, the author, are on.

***

Conclusion

I hope that helped clear some confusion. You certainly don't need to think about the theme and arguments that your story makes, especially early in the project. So don’t worry if you’re still in your first draft and haven’t got it figured out.

We all love stories. I mean, what are you even doing on my blog if you don’t?

Humanity as a whole loves stories. We’ve been telling stories ever since we could. And, thousands of years later, we don't just narrate them to each other out loud—like I’d assume we used to. We read them, act them, imagine them, hear them. Arts, music, prose, theatre, films—we use all these mediums to tell our stories today.

In fact, language itself is storytelling. Count the subject of the sentence as character, and the verb as action, and try to imagine any single sentence that isn’t telling you a story.

And as I’m writing Myth, I can’t help but wonder… that this story has a story too. A story of how it came into being.

A story of how I created this story.

How cool is that idea, right? Stories are all around us, and even stories have stories that we don’t ever talk about in the story.

I wanna talk about it. I wanna tell you the story of this story that I’m writing. And, you won’t believe me, but this shonen dark-fantasy novel began as a Pokemon fanfic.

***

#01. Welcome to The Myth

First, I believe I should tell you about Myth and what it actually is about. Myth follows Ishaan Kulkarni—in a world where sapiens often discriminate against cannibals—and his quest to kill his father and the King, and bring about the Cannibals’ Revolution.

So, info-dumping time: Myth is set in a world where sapiens and cannibals co-exist on the Amian Isles. Both are different species of humans and look the same, but what makes cannibals different from sapiens is Bloodlust—cannibals have it, while sapiens do not.

Bloodlust is a condition where a cannibal, under immense emotional pain, loses their minds and becomes a monster. They secrete more mana—a life-force that makes humans stronger or weaker—and act like savage animals.

Bloodlust can result from great anger or despair. Their eyes turn red and they attack the nearby humans around them. Often, their savage instincts mean they even kill people and suck out their blood. That’s why it’s called what it is. Controlling yourself under Bloodlust is possible, but developing that skill requires a lot of time, patience, and practice. Once a cannibal could control their mind under Bloodlust, they can use the extra mana secretion to effectively fight in a battlefield.

Anyway, the Amian Isles is being ruled by the Dansamian Empire and its Seth dynasty. They’re sapiens, and they go really hard on their cannibal citizens. Cannibals are often framed and given harsh punishment by the courts. In prisons, they’re exposed to inhumane working conditions, where they often perish.

Everybody knows the Seth dynasty is trying to wipe cannibals off from Dansamia. Yet nobody does anything about it.

Ishaan, or Itsuki, is a sapien who was framed as a cannibal and thrown into such a prison-camp. His crime?

He killed his mother.

No, he actually did not. When he came back home, she was dead, and his father was missing. This can only mean one thing: his father killed his mother.

He was just fourteen. When he turned seventeen, he broke out of the jail with his friend, Haruto, and began his quest of searching for the seven Fragments throughout the Isles. Now, what are Fragments? Nobody knows.

All we know is that they’re mentioned in the Great Canbalasian Myth—the prophecy of how the Great Sinner would bring about the Cannibals’ Revolutions for equality, as he commits the greatest Sin ever. What Sin? Again, nobody knows.

Okay, I’m done telling you guys the basics. Let’s head forward.

***

#02. Inspiration

I used to watch Pokemon a lot as a kid. Not that I loved it too much—it was simply an obsession. All of my school friends would often talk about the new episodes and pokemons that appear in the anime. In my country, mostly, the first couple of generations were the only ones dubbed and telecasted, but soon, that changed and even newer ones began floating in. It was a golden time to be a Pokemon fan in my country, and I was certainly on the ride. But that obsession soon faded away as I grew up. I don’t know when, why, or how it happened—it just did. Over the years, I’d shifted from cartoons to smartphone games. Or something else, probably—not that I can remember.

Four years ago, when I was just a newbie in writing, I was re-introduced to Pokemon through its games and manga. And by games, I mean the older games—GBA ones. I had downloaded a GBA emulator on my mother’s smartphone, and Pokemon Liquid Crystal was the first game that I ever completed.

Yeah, I know Liquid Crystal is an adapted version of Pokemon Crystal, which was developed for GBC instead of GBA, and isn’t an official game. I know my stuff, man.

Anyway, that game kinda opened up my imaginations, lol. I’d always imagine being a character in my own Pokemon anime series, with different parts of the game being different episodes of the show. A character would say, like, two-three dialogues max, but I’d then imagine a whole monologue out of them, filled with my own character’s reactions and all. And as I’d try to complete side-quests and other sections of its story, I’d always be thinking how my character would react or what he’d say as he walks or runs through the wilderness.

I was one imaginative kid, after all. The games had just enough blank-spots that could be filled by a kid’s dreams and stories. And soon, as I began reading the XY manga, I got to know that Pokemon can be far more exciting than it actually is. The show is for kids, and I tried several times—with no success, I must add—to get into it again, but I’d simply outgrown it. I’d even outgrown the manga series—I read only the first one-two volumes of the XY series, if I remember correctly.

And the games? I tried XY, Sun and Moon, and even Black and White. I’ve tried all generations at least once, but Liquid Crystal was the only one that I ever completed. Seemed like I’d soon outgrown the games too, after that one. Though, if I’m being honest, just thinking about these games kinda make me want to play them again.

Anyways, I was into dark and mature kinda stories at the time. I was just fifteen, but Monster and Parasyte: The Maxim allured me a lot more than Naruto.

I saw the potential in Pokemon, but I felt like it wasn’t being used by the brand. Pokemon can be dark and mature too, I believed. We, the audience that used to watch the show and has simply outgrown it, can still enjoy it—only if the story was a bit tweaked.

Pokemon XY generation was my favorite—Ash, in the anime, had been so close in the tournament, yet lost in the finals. He was just one fight away from becoming the Pokemon Master, and… he lost. That story-beat touched something in my fifteen-year-old’s heart.

Imagine being so close, yet so far from what you really wanted all your life. That was gonna become the foundation of my fanfic—The Pokemon Extremes.

***

#03. The Pokemon Extremes

The idea was simple—it’d be a Pokemon fanfic. But, taken to the extremes. Hence the name.

I came up with new mechanics of Pokemon-battling. It was simple: the trainer had to use their aura to power the Pokemon, and can even throw their own mana on the opponent’s Pokemon. So, the battle was an important test of the trainer’s physical capabilities and endurance too, not just their pokemons’.

It wasn’t simply a game of strategy anymore, where the trainer would tell the pokemon what to do. The trainer would be an equal fighter in a battle, standing behind their pokemon yet on the front-line just as much as their pokemons.

I think this is where the concept of mana first emerged in the story. In the world of Myth, mana is a life-force that a warrior can use to either infuse on their blade to make their attack deadlier—which is called bound-mana—or throw mana directly at their opponents in various ways—free-mana. Bound-mana techniques are simpler to gain and use, while learning free-mana techniques take a lot of time and dedication.

I’d not really named it as mana in the fanfic, though. I just had an idea that for the trainers, the battle would be physically exhausting too, and that the trainers would be an equal part in the fight with their mana capabilities.

But then the Gen-Z arrived, and the word aura gained just another meaning altogether. So, I changed the word from my WIP.

In fact, if you think about it, the idea of Fragments oddly resembles the concept of collecting gym-batches in Pokemon. When I was turning the fanfic into the idea for an original dark-fantasy, I tried to adapt as many ideas as I could, and that of Fragments was one of them.

Something about roaming around the world, collecting random specimens that makes the MC powerful, inspired me so much that I decided to keep it as that. But, I had to decide how I was gonna make the Fragments fit into the story.

***

#04. Fanfic to Not-a-Fanfic

I kept stalling the fanfic. I was always busy with writing other original fiction. I was excited about the project, but let’s just say, not too excited.

Something about writing a fanfic never really motivated me, to be honest. See, I was greedy from the start. And I understood that I couldn’t really monetize a fanfic… So it seemed like a waste. Not that I was able to earn through any other crap that I was writing at the time—but at least they had a chance, legally, to be sold for money.

And fanfics were, after all, somebody else’s world. You’re using another writer’s characters and world to make your own story. Something about that fact didn't fit right with my younger self.

So, I decided. I was gonna turn it into an original piece of fiction. And, guys, that’s where the journey of Myth really began—as The Canbalasia Extremes.

***

Conclusion

I love music. It helps me through a lot of stuff. Whenever I’m sad, I start listening to sad songs. At the gym, I’m vibing over hip-hop. And generally, I’m listening to random pop. Music truly gives me a soundtrack to my life, and most importantly, act as a time-capsule to remember these times and feelings that I’m going through.

My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy reminds me of my second semester at college. Charlie reminds me of when I changed schools back in eleventh grade, and experienced my first ever heartbreak. Goodbye and Good Riddance reminds me of the lonely monsoon last year, when all of my friends were busy searching for colleges and work while I was bored in my room, reading books and studying writing simply because I had nothing else to do.

And… The Marias’ Submarine reminds me of her.

Today, I wanna tell you guys a story. It involves love, confusion, and most of all—music. 

***

I’ve tried talking about it. I don't know why, but I don’t feel like this is something I can explain, y’know. Like, not completely. I don't know what’s wrong, but I try to tell somebody the details, and they never come out right. There are always parts that I’m too embarrassed to share, or simply ignore at the heat of the moment. I don't think anybody has ever got me when they say they do after they’ve heard the whole thing and start bombing me with comments, suggestions, or advice that I don't need.

Everything was just so… confusing. Dumb, even. Just too many coincidences for it to ever sound believable. But it happened.

Yeah, it did happen. And I think only we know about it.

So, let’s head back a couple of months. I was going through one of the worst times of my life.

University, lol. No, I’m not kidding.

First of all, I hate my university, and the kinda students there. Everybody’s just so… different. High-class. Pretentious.

Arrogant.

Yeah, not everybody. I understand that not everyone is the same, and personally, I now know a lot of good people. But overall, the crowd’s pretty bad, and I don't recommend a simple guy like me roaming there and experiencing the worst inferiority-complex of their lives. It was always so overwhelming—everybody came from good backgrounds and schools, had such a resume already which was filled with actual achievements and experiences. And then there was me, who had nothing to show but this blog.

Not that I’m proud of it, lol, but it’s just… not an MUN win or something, y’know.

Anyway, I was learning to mingle with these kinda people. Understanding their body language, clothing styles, conversation skills, and all that stuff. I was lonely, but I wasn't alone. I had a couple of friends that I saw around the campus every now and then, and could spend some decent time with. Even though it was rare, I had at least one good conversation a week.

And that’s when it began.

It was just a silly joke. But my roommate was furious at me—he tried to choke my neck. We got into a heated argument, where he called my mom. Cursed at her. Tortured me mentally. A lot of stuff happened.

I involved the warden, and things calmed down. I was told to bear it all. And that’s what I did, but silently. I refused to stay in my dorm-room—I’d just go back to sleep or change clothes.

I wasn't comfortable in my own room. I’d always roam around—in the mess, library, or random classrooms. Went to the gym every evening.

Everything was too much to bear already, and not having a comfortable place where I could be by myself made it even worse. I felt like I was always being watched, judged. I already had a couple of anonymous students talking about me online. I hated that time.

I couldn't think straight. I still can’t believe that I was actually feeling that down at one point of time. I was simply… surviving. Yeah, that’s what it was. I’d completely stopped thinking about the future at all. Whenever I woke up, I went straight to work—freshen up, brush, bath, cook, and then the classes. Gym in the evening, then you boil your eggs, and then you go search for an empty classroom where you can write for the next two hours. Then go have dinner, and then back to sleep. Repeat the cycle the next morning.

No friends. Always be on time or you know your anxiety won't let you live. You can't go write because you have a thing at seven-thirty? A club meeting? To heck with that club. You skip the thing and go to write. Or else, your anxiety won’t let you live.

You’d curse yourself for getting out of your shell again and trying it out. Don't you remember what happened last time? Somebody tried to choke you. The kinda crass humor that you’re into isn't for the arrogant, pretentious people that surround you here. They can't take a joke. They can't take a single damn joke. And they can’t stand that somebody thinks differently than them. Stay serious in front of them. Don't open up, and don't sacrifice your own stuff for them. Because you know your anxiety won't let you live.

And my anxiety didn't let me live, either. I don't know if you could call it PTSD, but I received a call from this guy today, and I felt a punch in my chest. And I cut his call.

I wasn’t able to sleep beside him at night. Only when I knew he was out of campus would I have a good night’s sleep. The only time I would smile or laugh was when I was scrolling Instagram, and then I’d feel even worse because… because I don't know. Because I felt that I didn't have anything or anybody else who could make me laugh like this anymore. It’s just me and this Instagram account.

I began trapping myself within the world of my earbuds. Kanye West, Juice WRLD, Eminem, Charlie Puth, Gracie Abrams, SZA, Tame Impala, Hayd gave me comfort. They became my catharsis.

I didn't think about the future anymore. I didn't think about my degree, my grades, my readings, my… my novel, my blog. I simply did my work.

These vacations, I’ve got a lot of stuff planned for my novel. And I’m completely changing the look and vibe of my blog. I’m pumped up these days. And on one completely random day, when I was fine again, was when I realized how unwell I was back there.

Only when you suddenly feel alright again is when you understand how bad your lows were.

***

It was at such a time in my life when, on one random day, I got a follow request from a random girl on Instagram. She had a weird PFP which displayed only her left eye. I don't know what I saw in that eye, but… I followed her back. I don't do that at all—I don't even let some people that I know follow me on Instagram, especially if I feel that I wouldn't be comfortable with them seeing my posts and all. I’m too picky about who can and cannot see parts of my life, after all.

But I let her in my world. I used to spam memes on my stories in those days, and she was the same. It was the same kinda weird memes that I liked so much. So one day, I messaged her.

I was at the mess when she texted back. Since I’d just finished dinner and was scrolling reels anyways, I immediately opened her DM and we began talking. It was around nine-forty-five PM, and the day… wasn’t exactly a good one.

I began talking to her about my problems. The social exclusion, inferiority-complex. Everybody hates me, I hate them—all that kinda nonsense. She shared some of her heavy stuff too. I told her I had to go search for a classroom to study—we could shift to a call and continue our conversations.

I gave her my number, and soon received the call. It was kinda awkward at first—yeah, we’ve been talking with each other just a minute ago, but talking on call… was just different. We tried our best and broke the ice.

And man, I felt alive again. I got a small classroom, but I absolutely did not study at all. I kept talking to her.

After that, we’d talk on most nights. Randomly flirting with each other, cracking jokes, yapping about mindless stuff. I just assumed she liked me back, and… it was probably the first time in my life that my assumption wasn't wrong. She gave me all the hints.

Yeah, I soon found myself in an online situationship. I’d not even seen her by that time—all I had was that PFP of her left eye. But her voice… and how she treated me—I was obsessed. We both made it clear that we liked each other, but we lived five-seven hours away from each other. We decided we won't make it official until we haven’t seen each other IRL at least once.

For a couple of months, she was the only friend that I had. The only person who would talk to me. When all my good friends were so far away, and the new, shallow friends of my university just disappeared randomly, she was the only one who understood me. Helped me. We’d talk for hours on end, every night. I’d share all my problems with her, and she’d yap about random stuff all night. We’d laugh and cry and sometimes even argue and then make up—all in a couple of hours.

All in a single phone call.

I’d experience so many emotions after so much time, and I loved her for it. She was quirky, funny, weird, just unapologetically true to herself. Just my kinda person. Not like those arrogant, pretentious people that my university was brimming with.

Yeah, she made me laugh again.

I felt a lot better every night after I talked to her. I was obsessed. I was addicted to this feeling. I was… in love.

***

We were talking about our music tastes, and one day, she randomly recommended me No One Noticed by The Marias. In the refrain, Maria sings about how she needs a virtual connection, and asks the other guy to be her new video obsession. She sings from a place of loneliness, asking for help, desperately.

Maria’s voice, for some reason, resembled too much with her voice. I always felt like she was talking to me whenever I heard that song. I’d soon start listening to it day and night.

And, all that time, I couldn't stop feeling that she was confessing her love for me whenever Maria would sing.

I soon tried the whole album, and it resembled just too much with her. Run Your Mouth resembled how she’d evade my confrontational talks, Paranoia resembled how we were always paranoid about this online thing, Real Life and No One Noticed resembled how we used to hate that we could only talk online over calls like that.

***

Three-and-a-half months later, we both felt that we were losing the spark. And, talking about an online situationship was always too embarrassing for both of us. There was no way we’d meet IRL ever. She’d never come to Delhi. I’d never visit Jaipur.

So, we broke off. Vacations had begun, and I was healing. Her loss didn't devastate me at all. I kinda wanted to end it, because I was so frustrated that I couldn't make any realistic plans to visit her at all. I tried, and I felt that all of it would be worth it, but… when I began feeling that she didn't like me that much anymore, I had to reconsider. I began losing interest too.

I should've talked it out. We could’ve walked through it, I believe. But… I just couldn't take that step.

And losing her made me realize just how much I miss the feeling of being loved. She made me feel special. Wanted. Attractive. She helped me through thick and thin.

I was used to talking about my problems with my friends, but there were always different problems that I shared with different friends. It’s not like I hide other problems with them, but… it’s just that I feel they won’t be able to help me out like these other friends would, y’know.

But she was the first one with whom I could share anything. I lay all of my life bare open for her to see.

I took risks for her, and I believed I could do even more. I had a lot of first-time’s with her.

She’d made me addicted to love. Once she left, I couldn't fill up this void inside of me. All the self-confidence that she’d instilled in me had just vanished again.

I was desperate for love. Downloaded the dating apps, but they don't work for me. Began skincare, got a better haircut. Nothing’s working.

For a moment, I felt that I’d never get anybody to love me back ever again. I still feel the same—the feelings are just not that intense anymore.

We all talk about self-love when we’re single. We all are told to love ourselves before we step into a relationship, because you’re not ready for a relationship until you do that.

But even though self-love is really important, I don't think you can replace love with it. You can feel that you look good all you want, but it’s all pretense until somebody else echoes those thoughts. You just crave that sort of validation.

And you actually feel like you’re getting something in return when you give. You’re used to giving and giving and giving, but only when you experience love is when you begin to understand what it feels like to be repaid for that.

You may adore, but once you get adored yourself, you can never go back. Especially not to a world of being single anymore.

***

One day, I really gave a try to the final song of the album, Sienna. And if No One Noticed was all the things she wanted to tell me, Sienna is everything I wanna tell her.

It has a really abrupt ending. The song was at the height of its tension, and then, it just… stops. You hear the bubbles, and then the album is over.

That says something.

Unfortunately, one thing I kinda regret is that I never got to tell her how much I love the song, and the album I discovered simply because of the song that she suggested to me. On a random night, we’d talked about it simply for three-four minutes before we shifted to talking about The Weeknd. Lol, she hated him, and I loved Die For You.

Yeah, she left. I can take that. But I cannot take the fact that I never got to recommend her to listen to the whole album.

***

I’m not attractive. Not conventionally. I’m mid, I’d say. I work on myself and try to look cool, but that rarely gives me results. I’m kinda unlovable, I feel. Because it’s not like my personality is attractive either. On top of that, I’m short. I curse a lot. And say and do a lot of dumb shit. I’m shy, under-confident in many scenarios. I’m not physically strong either.

Am I insecure? Not really. I feel that these are just facts that now, as a soon-to-be twenty-year-old mature guy, I should accept. It’s not like I’m never gonna feel that kinda love again—I understand this. But it’s gonna be hard for me. It’s gonna look a lot different than this one.

And, it’s gonna take a lot of time for me to find somebody again. I’ve tried on a lot of girls, but I don't know how to flirt and talk romance, y’know. Those things were just never taught to me. I observed and tried to imitate, but never understood all that.

All I can do, for now, is to wait for somebody to find me again. And, probably, I’d be listening to Submarine until then.

***

I hope you liked the story. It’s the first time I’m speaking about all these things in such details. I just… couldn't keep it inside me. I’ve gotta let her go. And make space for new connections, or somehow fill up this void.

Because everything is fine until I don't look over that void. I can’t escape it. So I gotta heal it.

My first year at the university recently ended, and man, it was horrific. Like, really. A lot of stuff happened that I’d wanna forget and move on from.

Anyway, this blog isn’t supposed to be me bitching about my university life, lol. What I wanted to say is, I’ve been at home for the past one month, and now that I’m over a really hard part of my life, I was pumped to do something. And, I looked over at this blog.

It’s a mess. I post, like, twice a month, and I have a really lot followers count. I see other authors around me with such a strong branding done that I feel a little jealous. So, I’ve decided. This gotta change.

For the past one month, I’ve been brainstorming about what kinda brand I wanna build for my name—Dhruv Kumaar. And it’s tough, because there’s a lot of things that authors do that I cannot. For example, I tried opening a authortube channel, but I guess showing my face on camera just isn't for me. I’m too shy, and my parents keep disturbing my personal space anyways.

So, a YT channel is outta the window. I wanna do something that I can, y’know, and that’s where I turned to this blog and thought that this is what I wanna do, but better. Far better than I currently run this.

More brainstorming later, I think I do know what I should do with this blog now. Currently, it’s a heavily writer-focused blog, where we discuss tips and rants about the art and craft of the written world. That type of content isn’t going anywhere, but to increase the output and gain some more followers, I’m gonna turn to some reader-centric content too.

Why this shift, you may ask? It’s because I need to target some readers. I need to build an e-mail list where I also have readers who are interested in my life and my works. I’m currently working on a novel and playing with several other ideas in my head for now, and I have big things planned for these projects.

My current WIP is a dark fantasy, shonen-like novel series named Myth. I wanna yap about this too, y’know. And I wanna yap about the other two slice-of-life novels that I’m actively outlining these days. And I wanna yap about the books that I’m reading—The Book Thief, After Dark, Stephen King’s On Writing, Wait for Me Yesterday in Spring, and a lot more that have been on my TBR list for years, at this point. I wanna talk about my favorite films and anime. Yet, I wanna keep ranting about writing and the techniques and processes that I follow to work on my projects.

So, I’ve shifted from Wordpress to Substack. So, welcome aboard, my Wordpress subscribers! How’s this new look?

So, you might ask how this blog is gonna look like, then. And, to be fair, I don't know. I have a lot of content ideas in my head right now, and I think I’ll be posting here at least once a week now. But, I don't know how I’m gonna do it. I used to simply write and then hit the submit button, but I think I also need to edit and schedule posts now, and I don't understand how I’m gonna take out time for all that. I’m kinda bad at organizing tasks, y’know.

Anyways, all I wanted to say is: expect some new changes soon. I still have a month of vacations left, and I wanna get this new thing running before I go back to that awful place I have to call my university.

I’m really excited for this. I think this is the biggest thing I’ve ever set out to do. I love to write, to yap, and to yap about writing. I want you guys to read the dark fantasy that I’m working on—it’s my magnum opus, I’m convinced. I’m gonna talk in a later blog why I think that’s the case, lol, but for now, I feel I’ve got a lot of stuff figured out. And I’m confident I’ll figure out the rest. But I don’t wanna do it without you all. I wanna give you all the safe space that I personally never had when I began writing.

So, subscribe to my Substack. Please, guys, I wanna stay connected to you all. I want you all to witness this journey and be a part of it. Also, I’ll help you to take the steps that I personally took, so it’s a win-win!

Some days ago, I was discussing films and stories with somebody. The guy worked at a production studio, and we were talking about how films are generally made in India and the globe. Now, just a little fact about myself: I hate the trends that the Indian film industry follows. So obviously, we had differing opinions about how films should be made and stories should be written.

It was a fun conversation, to be honest. I mean, discussing stories is always interesting, y’know. You learn a lot of new things.

And one of the few new things that hit me was that… stories are of a number of types. And no, I don't mean genre. I mean… according to the inspiration that the author takes, there are a set types of stories.

I found out about three such types: research-based, experience-based, and vibes-based. All these forms of stories differ in what lies the foundation of the story, how it was inspired, and as a result, how differently they are structured from the other two.

You might already have an idea about what I’m talking about, but lemme yap for some time.

***

#01. Two Types of Stories

Coming back to the conversation I was taking about—the man who I’d met had handed me a worksheet. In there, he’d noted down how a film’s story is generally ideated. The first step was: research. Interviews, newspaper-articles, blogs, and all that stuff. I don't remember the next steps, but they were kinda along the same lines.

I frowned. This was the first time somebody has told me, with a straight face, that research was how you begin the story. So, I told him how I don't agree with this.

For me, inspiration comes first. And, to write a story about something, it’s important for me to be there, or have some sort of experience about such topics and themes. I won't ever write a political drama—simply because I am no politician. Nor am I involved in any politics at all. Nor will I write police dramas and about any other larger-than-life events.

For me, a writer has to use his own experiences. That’s what makes the story legit—when it comes from the writer’s heart itself. When the writer knows what they’re writing about.

Otherwise, the story—for me, at least—is illegitimate.

I was once writing a story where a character’s friend—trigger warning—kills themselves. As I worked on that novel, I realized that I wasn't doing justice to this story. The themes were just too dark and mature for me to be talking about them, especially since I’ve never really had this experience first-hand that I was writing about. None of my friends had ever taken that step.

I thought I was onto something really deep, but as I worked more on it, I realized how, in reality, I was just messing around. Good that I dumped that story. Even though it’s a story that nobody has ever told and it needed to be told, there are people far better than me who should pen this story down rather than me.

But, I’ve always had this thing in my head that in the future, probably, with enough research, I could make this story work. Probably. But when I saw the sheet that this man handed me, I kinda didn't agree with it.

And, that’s where I believe the difference in our processes lay: we were just writing different types of stories. I want to write experience-based stories, but the man worked on stories that were rather research-based.

Experience-based stories, according to me, are stories that begin with a spark of inspiration from one’s own experience. Something happens in the author’s life, and they wanna write about that event. As simple as that. Most drama, romance, comedy, and slice-of-life stories come out of this. Anything that’s based on reality or metaphors of realistic themes.

Research-based stories, on the other hand, are stories that begin with the author being inspired to write about social issues or events. So, let’s say most action films, historical stories, crime-drama stories, political-drama stories, and all that are more research-based rather than experience-based. They’re different in the sense that they’re more based on the plot—because research can only tell you what happened, not why somebody did it. So, they’re rather plot-driven than character-driven.

I think that’s why most films are research-based, while most novels are experience-based—films are, in general, a rather plot-driven medium, while in prose, stories need to be more character-driven. This is the case because you watch the films from the perspective of a camera, while you experience prose from the eyes of the narrator, which, more often than not, is a character of the story.

So, the form of both research-based stories and character-based stories is fundamentally different, and that difference arises in the way the outlining is done. However, it’s important to note that they’re not two sides of the same coin, but rather, two edges of a spectrum.

Yup, a story can be in between both of them. After all, you can always add your own experience to a story that began with research, and you can always research for some current event to add to your own experience-based story. It’s important to understand that the lines between these two types of stories are really blurry, and probably, from outside, you’d have a hard time putting a story in one of these boxes.

Take Adolescence, for example. Or something like The Book Thief. Heck, even The Tale of Two Cities. That reminds me I had to read that novel.

***

#02. A Third Type

While I was brainstorming for this blog, I asked myself this question—where do I put fantasy? Or, let’s say, anime? These stories have a distinct vibe to them that’s different from both of the two types of stories that we discussed above.

Take any fantasy anime or light-novel, for example. Let’s take Tokyo Ghoul, my favorite manga. Or Mother of Learning, my first ever web-novel. Are they experience-based? Or research-based?

The answer is: they don't even fit in this dynamic. So, to complete my theory, as the great philosopher that I am, I had to come up with another type: vibe-based stories.

So, what are vibe-based stories? These are stories that are more commercial, and therefore, are more inspired to imitate the general vibe of an already-successful form of storytelling. Solo Levelling is a good example. And, most of Bollywood today is simply vibe-based rather than experience-based or research-based.

Now, I don't mean that vibe-based stories are not written by passionate writers, but that they’re not realistic as an actual experience-based story would be. Three Days of Happiness is a good example—a Japanese light-novel that’s made to fit the general vibe of light-novels, yet so different and inspirational. The author was definitely inspired not by just the genre that he was writing for, and took from his own experiences to add onto it to create something like this.

Hunter x Hunter, One Piece, Naruto—most anime are made to fit these general vibes of a shonen anime, yet they’re so deeply written. That’s what I’d call good vibe-based stories.

***

Conclusion

So, inspiration is a tricky thing. It can come from anywhere. And the way that you use those inspirations and let them bleed into your story, you can definitely form different types of stories. So don't think much about all of this stuff—just write. That’s it. And love what you write.

It’s the question that’s been worrying me for some time. I mean, we all know reading other author’s fiction helps you a lot in writing your own story. But, if you write fiction, does reading nonfiction help too?

I recently began university around a year ago. And firstly, I just checked my grades and I’m not doing well. Secondly, I’ve been reading a lot because of it. Y’know, those political science, history, philosophy, cultural studies stuff. A lot of nonfiction. And, because of that, I’ve been reading less and less of fiction too.

Now, as an author myself, that kinda worried me. I’m not worried anymore because the semester’s over and I’m back to reading fiction again, lol, but it led to a question: they say writers should read a lot. They never mentioned what they should read. So, does all this random nonfiction that I’m reading counts? Or it doesn't? Why does it not count?

And so, guys, welcome to another one of my yapping sessions.

***

#01. Elements of Theme and Style

First, let me reiterate the main elements of storytelling here. Because, obviously, nonfiction can't help you with every part of storytelling, but still, there’s some stuff I feel it can actually help you more than fiction ever does.

Anyway, these are the main elements: theme, plotline, character, setting, and style. That’s it. That’s all. That’s everything your story is made up of.

Now, plotline, character, and setting are obviously unique to fiction. Actually, if you study nonfiction and style a little deeper, you’d understand that everything in language is plotline and character, but let’s not get into all those details, because it means we’re severely disrupting the sense of what these words conventionally mean to us right now.

So, what’s left with us are theme and style. Now, you might ask: what’s theme and style?

Theme is the underlying foundation of your story. It’s the issues your story is trying to tackle, or even the message it’s conveying. Honesty is the best policy, betrayal, good wins against evil, racial injustice—all that stuff. For example, Metamorphosis is absurdist, and stands on the themes of alienation, family dynamics, and stuff like that. Mainly alienation, though. Kafka is trying to give out a message too: you’re just as good as you’re earning and providing something to somebody. All relationships—at least in Gregor Samsa’s case—are transactional. Once you can't give that anymore, you turn into an insect.

Damn, that’s such a good reading of the novel, I realized. I’m so damn smart—y’know, I just thought of it! Lol, sorry.

Let’s come to the other element: style. It’s the way you write. As simple as that. Style includes your vocabulary, tone, but also some common habits, such as how detailed your scene-descriptions are. Style is basically how you tell the story. How you design those words on paper, y’know.

For example, look at this blog itself. I use the word lol a lot. Also, I use a lot of commas, em-dashes, colons, and a lot of unnecessary phrases in the middle. I joke around, but I still sound a little informative. That’s my style.

Every writer pens the same story differently, and that’s what makes it their own. After all, Shakespeare never wrote his own plotlines. Romeo and Juilet was inspired by earlier Italian tales, Hamlet is a retelling of the legend of Amleth—and I can see a lot more on Google right now, but I won’t list them all here because that’d be boring. But yeah, Shakespeare never came up with a story of his own.

Yet, he’s often regarded as the greatest author of the English language.

Why do you think people love him so much? His plotlines? No. It’s his style. His poetic grasp on the plays left his audiences baffled. His words were strong enough to hold people’s attention—and make them feel emotions. Simply through words.

Yeah, he was white. And he probably never existed. But let’s ignore all that, lol. Lemme make my point.

What I’m trying to say is: style is important for your story. Damn, I wrote a hundred-plus words just to explain this?!

***

#02. Nonfiction is storytelling

Most of nonfiction is storytelling too, in a way. You’d often find that in essays and articles, the authors often tell a little story connected to the message they’re giving. But even if there’s no apparent story as we know it, there’re still characters and a plotline—of events, of ideas, or simply of contexts.

I told you I won’t go deeper, but I think I need to. Look at this blog. There’s no story, except when I told you I’m failing university. (which is true, by the way—my GPA is three. three-point-zero. and im NOT happy…)

Anyway, look at this blog. It has characters. Both theme and style are characters of the sentence. All sentences need characters. In fact, in the last sentence, the word sentence acted as a character too, with the verb need being, well, the action that the character sentence does. Yeah, language is a lot complex than we initially think it is.

Anyway, we don't give a damn about that characters. As fiction authors, we talk about a living being when we talk of characters. And nonfiction might not have that all the time, but most nonfiction does.

Nonfiction is a form of storytelling—it just tells a different story. And in a different manner. So, the style is gonna be different, and, let’s say, less novel-like. But there are stories.

Language itself is storytelling. Like I said, all sentences need characters—the subject—and actions—the verb. And when a character acts, that’s plotline. Without it, there’s no language. There’s no thought, even.

Yeah, even political ideologies are characters. Every object is a character. Lol, everything is character.

Now I kinda sound like a mad scientist who’s going on a random monologue before the climax hits.

***

#03. Climax: The part where I console myself for reading less

So yeah, nonfiction has theme. And style. It shares both the elements with fiction.

Also, these elements appear the same in both forms. Like I told you about how the character changes with form, theme and style apparently doesn't.

In a nonfiction, look at how they use their words. Nonfiction evokes emotions too—notice how they do that. Notice how they appear interesting and keep you hooked. Observe their style.

Also, observe how they subtly try to tell you something—that’s theme. Understand theme. Understand characters and plotline, because even though the story is being told to you in a different manner that doesn't include action and thoughts, it’s still there. You might need this skill a little bit in fiction, too.

Prose is prose, guys. If somebody has written it, there’s definitely something you can learn from it—even if it’s bad enough to learn what not to do.

***

Conclusion

I was reading an amateur writer’s short-story where their main-character, who also happens to be the narrator, was a psycho. Like, super-psycho. She seemed to be a serial criminal who was in a secluded psych-ward for a long time, before she ran away and murdered a guy she was obsessively infatuated with. Crazy lore, right?

Anyway, I read that and I tried to understand that character. And… the short-story sparked a lot of questions in me. Because I was editing it, I was pointing out all the mistakes in the character and the execution of such a story, but when I was done, I asked myself if I’ll be able to do it or not.

And, to be honest, I kinda thought about it. How do you even pull off a psycho character like that?

First, lemme yap about the problems you’d face, if you’re up for the task.

***

#01. I rant about the problems you’d face

Alright, what makes writing a psycho MC a tough task, exactly? And the answer is: the character itself.

Think about it: who’s supposed to be the most well-written and thought-out character in your story? Certainly not the love interest who’s only there for thirst-trapping. It’s supposed to be your narrator.

And it makes sense. If you’ve ever made character-sheets where you list out all the goals, motives, and conflicts of all your characters, you’d often notice that the narrator’s sheets have to be way more detailed.

After all, more often than not, your narrator is gonna be your main-character. And since you’re telling the story from their eyes, the character has got to be everywhere!

Like, seriously, your MC does most of the tasks. And not just that—since they have a lot more screen-time than the others, you write a lot of them. You put them through a lot of new situations, and slowly, you get to work a lot more on them. Because while writing, you find out there was an angle about their character you never really thought about—so now that you’ve thought about that angle because you needed it for a scene, you gotta add the new details on the character-sheet.

If the story is long enough to allow it, your MC is gonna see through a lot of shit. They’re gonna feel happy, sad, frustrated, devastated—all that stuff. And putting them in such varied situations is gonna allow you to understand how they react differently to different situations and emotions.

And that’s why the traits/flaws lists of the MC are way more detailed than the others. You just… spend more time in their head, so you understand them better than any other character in your story.

Also, you have to understand them on a really deep level. Because you’re gonna write from their perspective, after all. The reader is gonna have a really deep level of access to the MC’s mind. Because, like I’ve said a lot of times, prose is different from films as a medium. A novel is founded upon the structures of character. And so, your character has to be strong enough to take up the weight of the story, or else, everything is gonna fall flat.

And the thing is: the psycho characters cannot be that strong. Why? Because… they mostly don't have a reason for their actions.

Because would you even call them a psycho if they had any form of reasoning for what they’re doing? Aren't they supposed to just… do shit? Like, that character was so obsessed with the guy, her love interest, that she killed him. How are you gonna explain that to your reader?

Why did she do that? What was she even thinking?

Your readers are not gonna get what she was thinking, because, to put simply, she was thinking nothing, right? She just did it. That’s why she’s the mysterious, mad-crazy character.

Your narrating character, the MC, can't be such a mysterious, mad-crazy person, because it just doesn't make any sense. Their action have no reasons and no thoughts behind them, and even if they do, they’re really irrational.

And you cannot put that up on the paper, y’know. Because your narrator is completely open to your reader. And their thoughts aren't gonna make sense to them. But, you can't let that happen—your character has to make sense to them, because that’s what makes the form of prose so relatable to the reader, doesn't it?

For the foundations of your story to be strong, you need your narrator to make sense to the readers. But, this mad-crazy character can’t do that.

***

#02. My suggestions

You still wanna tell the story. And, without sounding like an amateur. So what do you do now?

To be honest, I don't know. Figure that out yourself. That’s where most of creativity lies, after all—figuring shit out yourself.

You can still write it from the character’s perspective, to be honest. You just have to do it, like, really, really well, y’know. You need to play on that craziness, work something out. You need to give them really strong reasons for doing all the crazy stuff that you want them to do, or… just do something.

But what I’d suggest is to simply not write from that character’s perspective. Write from somebody else’s perspective, who can notice for your reader that this one character is acting like crazy and needs to go to that psycho-ward. It’s better if the character follows that crazy character at all times, and has no idea in the beginning about the craziness of that character.

Or just let another character narrate it for them. Like, use a character that got to know about all the details later, after the story has unfolded completely. I’m not really sure how, but that might work out somehow.

At the end of the day, I can only give you ideas. Work with what seems best for you and the story you’re forming.

***

#03. Conclusion

Yeah, that’s it for today. Thanks for coming to my TED talk, lol. To be honest, I’m having some troubles with my project for now. I think I need another edit, but I gotta wait so that I can give it a fresh eye, and… I can’t wait. It’s excruciating.

Theme is one of the most foundational elements of storytelling. All good stories have a theme—an argument, if you may call it that. Such stories try to tell you something, and that something is what we say is the theme of the story.

It doesn't even matter if it’s a novel or not. A song? A play or a film? A news-article? Even an advertisement? Every single form of storytelling has to have a theme in it.

But, we often confuse what theme even is, and how do we come up with it. I mean, I guess most of us begin our stories with a really cool idea, say a scene, and then build on top of it. We keep building the sequence of what-happens-next’s, without realizing that we gotta have something to say with this story that we’re creating.

And that’s why it’s so tough to fit themes in our stories. So, here I am, trying to collect my thoughts on this topic, because I feel even I am doing a not-so-good job in that department in my own web-novel.

But before we begin, please click that link…

***

#01. what’s a theme?

Let’s begin from the beginning.

I don't know how this definition ended up in my notebook, but that’s what I heard somewhere about themes and wrote it down: theme refers to the central idea or message of the story. And… I was gonna do such a bad job at describing it—good that I found my notes on time.

Anyways, as you could have guessed, theme is what you’re trying to tell to your audience through your story, like I said earlier. A theme can be as simple as: honesty is the best policy. Or, good wins versus evil. Or 

You’d have seen the latter—or probably both—in most of the fantastical stories where the protagonist is trying to save the day by killing the antagonist. And it makes sense—most of the stories are actually founded on such simplistic themes. In fact, many stories can hold extraordinary plotlines while serving such simple arguments.

However, themes can sometimes be complex. For example, Metamorphosis plays on the themes of loneliness and alienation. And, it does not only paint a great picture of its scene, but it also describes the theme really well.

One thing I’d like to note here is that a story can have several themes, but it’s better if those themes are interconnected to each other in some way, and you consider the plotline of the story while coming up with the theme of the story. Talking about the themes of high-school romance and toxic relationships in a dystopian dark-fantasy doesn't really make any sense, after all.

***

#02. types of themes

I just realized that there’s probably some types of themes that are usually employed in storytelling. Lol, it’s crazy how some things just hit you in the head only when you write about it.

Anyway, themes can be either descriptions or arguments. Like, look at Metamorphosis—it’s not trying to argue for anything. It’s not trying to tell you how absolute authoritarianism is bad, like Orwell’s Nineteen-Eighty-Six does. Metamorphosis is simply painting a picture for you.

Though Nineteen-Eighty-Six paints a picture too, that picture has a reason. And it’s not just to show you a picture that you probably don't know about—it’s to tell you something. To make an argument.

Both themes are completely okay, in my opinion. But, I believe that in general, most of the commercialized fiction is filled with arguments, while literary fiction is more focused on the descriptions.

***

#03. How do you find a theme for your work?

Good question, I’d say. Unfortunately, I don't have an easy answer for this one.

Writing, as most writers keep echoing, is a highly personal art. The process of creating a story that works is different for everybody. For example, re-writing whole drafts don't really work with me, while most would re-write their stories as many times as they can.

Similarly, the process of finding themes and inserting them in your stories is different for all of us. Some of us have the themes in mind already when we’re outlining, while some of us have to go at least halfway through the draft to get there. Some even complete a whole damn draft, and then look at the macro of the story to identify the themes.

It’s different for everybody. All I can say is that one day, it’s gonna hit you. It’s gonna hit you why you should be telling your story. You’d just know what you wanna tell your readers.

Until then, don't stop. Just keep adding those what-happens-next’s to your plotline. Keep working on your story. That’s exactly what I’m doing with my work, after all.

And, I think I’m kinda getting there. I do have some ideas to play with the themes of my story.

It might seem counter-intuitive, at first glance, but sometimes, we only know what we’re writing about only after we’ve written it down. That’s what’s so magical about this art.

You can always come back to cut the scenes that ain’t relevant to your story anymore, and add the ones in the middle that work. Like I said, writing as an art is highly personal—different for everybody.

***

conclusion

In the end, all I’d like to say is: you write for fun. So write for fun, for now. Don't stress much about the theme. Just like most things in life, it’s gonna come to you when the time is right.

Alright, hear me out. It was just a prompt that my professor gave to the class, and… and it made me think. I couldn't really attempt it well, but I wrote something in the middle that… that just inspired me to write this blog. Because it’s something nobody talks about.

Throughout my life, I’ve heard a lot of people say how reality is stranger than fiction. And, as a writer myself, it kinda worries me. It’s like they’re belittling the art that I’m so passionate about. Like, they just… don't see what I see, y’know.

I mean, it’s kinda dumb, now that I think about it. But I still feel this way. I’m one of the firm believers of art-imitates-life philosophy, so I don't buy it when people say that reality is stranger than fiction. What got you thinking this way?

Have you ever read Dostoyevsky? McCarthy? Or even me? Alright, the last one was a little bit of a stretch—I’m quite literally writing a shonen dark-fantasy web-novel, which is the last thing you can consider realistic. Anyways, you get my point. Prose can be highly realistic when it needs to be, so how can you say that reality is often stranger, when the lines are so blurry? You have never consumed realistic stories?

What I just said is bullshit. I hate to break it to you, but here’s the truth: these guys are right. Reality is stranger than fiction. But there’s some nuances that I wanna rant about.

So, welcome to FictionStudent!

***

Writers often find inspiration from instances that have happened in their lives. Most stories are not just stories—they represent the lived experiences of humans who tell them.

Stories can take any form—a novel, a film, or even in art, music. You name it. Advertising uses a lot of storytelling too to get customers, as far as I understand.

Stories are everywhere around us. We’re actually surrounded by stories. We just don't know. Newspapers, ads, Instagram Reels or Tiktoks, any social-media content, blogs—heck, even this blog! And on top of that, we also narrate stories to each other all the time. You might tell your mom how your day at school was, or your spouse how work went. Isn't all of it stories?

That’s what we mean when we say art imitates life. Art comes out of life. Something happens to us, and we just can't keep it in. We have to write about it. And that’s how we write stories.

It was just a prompt that my professor gave me. But it made me think. And it made me realize how art is not just a realistic representation of life, but a highly polished version of it.

Think about your life. Your life is not… just one story. Your life is a bunch of stories running all around you, with you. When you’re yapping to your best-friend about how your class-presentation sucked today, your presentation wasn't the only story.

You were preparing for it for days. Designed the slides with care. Practiced it well. And still got sweaty hands when it mattered.

But, is that the only story that was going on at that point of time? Yeah, it’s the story you write about, or at least narrate to others—but there’s a lot more happening that you just don't add in that story. For example, the coffee today sucked. Or that some professor scolded you for some really silly reason. Or that you had a class today that you hated a little lesser than you usually do.

We don't tell everything that’s happening in our lives when we tell our stories. We just tell the parts that matter to that one particular story.

That’s why I said that art is a highly polished version of life. Life doesn't make any sense on a whole—it’s composed of little fragments that we join and delete and mold together to tell a story which actually makes any sense.

Look throughout your day. Yeah, you designed a presentation today. You took four hours to make it. Then you went for a coffee and it sucked. And then you spent some time with your friends, and went to sleep. That’s reality.

Days later, stuff continued to happen. One thing led to another, and the fragments began to join together. And you messed up the presentation today. You couldn't buy coffee today because you’re low on money. You went to buy eggs.

Our life is just filled with these little fragments that together don't make much sense. But some fragments are like seeds—they grow a stem, and then those stems grow branches. And these branches begin connecting to other branches. Everything expands. Stuff happens. Some fragments begin making sense together. Sometimes, we make the connections ourselves.

So yeah, when you ask me, reality is stranger than fiction. Because fiction isn't supposed to be strange. It’s supposed to be an organized version of life itself. 

The more I read and write, the more I feel that there’s never a single narrator in most novels. Yeah, some sure are exceptions, but only some. That’s extremely rare, and to be honest, I think that only first-person narratives can be counted as such. And then too, it can be argued that these novels too have more narrators than a single one.

Oh, I shouldn't just start yapping about all this stuff without explaining all this, lol. The point I’m trying to make is: there’s more than one narrator in your scene. Even though it’s supposed to be a single narrator in a scene—and that you can shift narrators in different scenes—there’s actually two narrators in all the scenes that you write.

The second one is you, the writer.

Let me explain.

***

#01. Explaining The Dynamics

Well, at all scenes, at all times, there’s two narrators in your work. The character that you’ve chosen as the narrator for the scene—let’s call him the MC for now—and you, the author, yourself. And, you’re constantly shifting between one and the other from paragraph to paragraph, or even from sentence to sentence.

You might ask me that I’m lying, lol. You might tell me that it’s not the truth. That you write only from the eyes of your MC—you tell what they’re seeing, smelling, thinking, doing, all that stuff. And yeah, you’re right.

But what you essentially don't understand is that will your MC explain the scene-descriptions if they were telling a story to somebody?

Will your MC explain everything in such detail as you do? Will your MC narrate every single damn dialogue that they hear from other characters?

Just keep your MC right across the table. And then tell them to tell you the story. Ask them what happened. Strike up a conversation with them, where they tell you their story. And observe that if they’re real humans, they won't go in too much detail.

You, the author, has a habit of going into too much detail. Yeah, you’re using the vocabulary of your MC to explain to your reader how the grass is green and all that stuff, but your MC would never. Do. That.

And that’s where the second narrator comes in play. It’s always you who’s going into too much detail. Yeah, that means you’re a part of your MC. Like, the personalities of you and MC have merged into a single one, to tell this story to the audience.

That’s how even though an author may have different novels which hold different MCs, there’s still something common in all of their novels’ voice and writing-style. The way the dialogues come up, the way the scenes are described—these patterns remain the same in all the MCs that they create. And that’s because they’re not the characteristics of the MCs—they’re the characteristics of the author themselves.

It’s such an abstract thing. It’s such a delicate thing to think about. But still, it’s so… out there. Why does nobody talk about it?

The more I think about it, the more I feel that even though my MCs may be unique in their own sense, I’m kinda… contaminating their character when I use them as narrators. Like I’m playing with their chords, telling them what to do instead of letting them do their thing.

I first noticed it when I was reading One of Us is Lying. Great book, by the way. I highly recommend it.

Anyways, when I was reading this novel, I noticed how every character was supposed to be so… different from each other. Their personalities, vocabulary, actions-reactions—all of it were just so unique to them. Yet, the way they’d narrate their stories was the same. It was written in multiple first-person POV, by the way.

I began thinking more and more about it, and that’s how I stumbled upon this realization. That there’s always this dynamics between the MC and the author, at all scenes and at all times. It’s like you spread the layer of your own writing-style to the voice of the MC, which results in an immersive narrative.

***

#02. What do we do about it?

Now, you might be wondering if it’s a bad thing or not. I mean, everybody in the writing world, including me, is gonna tell you that you only narrate in the voice of your character. That’s what show-don’t-tell means.

And show-don’t-tell is the holy rule of all modern literature, and should never be broken.

Even though you need to tell at some times, all the exceptions are a part of the rule itself, I believe. However, check out my other blogs where I talk about it. We’re onto something else here.

Anyways, the point I wanna make is that like I said before, it’s dynamic. It’s not like you have two narrators and you wanna shift to just one—your MC. But, it’s a dynamic relationship. There’s a varying degree of both MC and the author in your narrative.

I believe both of them are needed in prose. I mean, if your MC just begins yapping about the story, with no structure or dialogues or scene-descriptions and all that stuff that you, the author bring to the table, the story won't be as interesting. However, if the audience only get to see the perspective of you, the author, and not the MC, then everything gets boring, because the author has no stakes in the story, and therefore, cannot be trusted to evoke the right kinda emotions with their words.

So, I’d say both are necessary to the art of writing. However, what’s more important for you to understand is that you strike a balance between the two.

You need to understand that both sides of what constitutes your writing-style has their advantages and flaws. And, you need to use the best of both of them to create yourself a style that’s actually interesting to read.

You need to keep your author’s voice hidden, while making sure it’s still influencing the way the story moves forward. You need to keep your MC’s voice at the forefront, diving deep into their thoughts, emotions, motives, and actions.

And you need to strike a balance. You as the author of this narrative need to tell your character how they tell their story, simply put. That’s it.

***

#03. Conclusion

I’m sorry I was gone for a whole damn month, guys. There’s a lot happening in my life these days, and I just can't seem to focus on this blog till I’m actually in a good mood. It doesn't mean I haven’t been in a good mood since a whole damn month though, lol, but that it’s taking a lot out of me these days.

Writing can be a really tough nut to crack. Readers should find every single scene interesting and be glued till the end, and let’s be honest—that’s not an easy thing to do.

With the rise of TikTok—to be honest, I don't know if we can blame TikTok or not, but since it’s banned in my country, it’s fun—readers need something interesting all the damn time. Like, you can't have a scene where your characters are just messing around, y’know. You need to move the story forward, or at least present a sort of conflict to the readers.

The readers should always have something to look forward to as the scene plays out. Is it because of their low attention span? Or, were the readers always like that? I don't really have an answer to that question. But, like I said, blaming TikTok is fun, so that’s all I’m gonna say.

Anyway, how do you solve this issue? How do you make sure each scene keeps your readers glued, even if it doesn't really push the story forward?

The answer to your woes, my friends, is the Law of Opposing Powers. (im sorry the name is so damn cringe but i jus came back from jim what else can u expect?)

***

#01. Character versus Character

So, what is this Law of Opposing Powers?

It’s simple, actually: you just need to have opposite powers at play in your scene. Let me explain.

Let’s suppose that there’s a scene where two characters are discussing something. Let’s say… they’ve just had a near-death experience and are discussing how they could have lost their lives in it. The scene is set; how do you make it interesting now?

One direct way is that you might let your characters agree on the issue, y’know. All of them say how it was actually really dangerous, and that the consequences would have been deadly. But, this scene won’t really be interesting to the readers.

Give your characters different opinions. Don't let one of them be the yes-man, y’know. Both of your characters should, firstly, have something to add to the discussion, and secondly, should have different opinions. That’s what you call opposing powers.

Let’s say that one of the characters isn’t really all that serious about it. He’s like: alright, we might have lost their lives, whatever. But, however, the other one is dead serious about it, and is trying to explain to him how bad the results could have been. Probably let a third character be completely dismissive; he’s like: ah, what nonsense, we’d have never lost our lives.

Now, you have opposite powers in your scene. Now your scene is ready to be written and presented to the readers.

This discussion might not push the story forward in a literal sense, y’know, but it has a really important part to play: showing a part of each character. This law, therefore, also helps you show differences between your characters and their attitudes.

***

#02. Setting

However, as you would have guessed, it’s not always possible. You can’t let your characters argue with each other all the damn time, y’know. That just doesn't make sense. And what if the characters in question are good friends, or have similar attitudes? What do you do then?

Well, guys, this is where I show you another application of my law of opposing powers.

The thing is: the opposing powers shouldn't have to be your characters’ opinions all the damn time. You can add something more.

For example, let’s suppose your character is in enemy territory. They wanna penetrate deeper inside, but don't know how to. Here’s another pair of opposing powers: your character and their setting.

Yeah, your setting can act as an opposing power too. A scene where the character is struggling—or not struggling, doesn't matter—to know more about the setting means that the setting is a power they need to overcome, y’know. This is how most adventure-fantasy stories remain interesting—exploring the settings plays an important part in these stories.

***

#03. An Easier Way

Well, if you’ve grasped the concept—which I believe most of my students must have by now—you might be wondering how you are even gonna use it. It seems like it’s a tough nut to crack, right? To think about a scene so damn much…

But it doesn't have to be this tough. It doesn't have to be this draining. While writing this blog, I realized that there’s another way that I can use to teach you the Law of Opposing Powers. And that’s through conflict.

Now, stay with me here. I think you all must know what a conflict is, but if you don't, let’s go back to the basics. How do you create a character-arc? You give them a goal, a motive, and a conflict. You can also give your characters several goals, motives, and definitely many conflicts, but for simplicity, let’s assume we give our character just a single goal, a single motive to achieve it, and a single conflict.

Now, what’s a conflict? It’s the opposing power—something that’s stopping your character from achieving their goal. But, it’s a macro-level thing—you unfold the characters’ conflict through several scenes and acts, not just a single one.

For this, I’d urge you to give each scene a micro-level conflict. It doesn't really exist—I made this up. A micro-level conflict is a conflict that resolves within the said scene.

You can see the difference between the characters’ opinions as a micro-level conflict for your main character. Or even exploring a setting can act as one.

***

#04. Application

You might feel that it’s still a tough thing to implement in your writing. And you’re right: adding a micro-level conflict in each scene might be tough. But, if you wanna make it easier, I can give you a little trick.

For each scene, ask yourself what the purpose of the scene is. Why is the scene here? What’s it doing?

Knowing the purpose of your scene can really help bring forward the opposing powers that your scene may hold. Now, all you have to do now is to polish them and make them shine. Easy peasy.

And, if your scene doesn't have a purpose, give it one. Before beginning each scene, you can just define what you want out of this scene. How it’s gonna end. Defining all that would really level up your writing.

***

#05. Conclusion

I hope the Law of Opposing Powers would help you guys in your writing. I came up with this idea when I was discussing about writing with a friend of mine.

Man, discussions about writing with other writers can really help you gain some insights, y’know. Even I don't know how I reached this idea—I just did. And probably this is the magic of talking about writing.

That’s why I’d never stop yapping about writing.

I’m gonna do something that I’ve never done in my blogs before: I’m gonna tell a story. But it’s not like a short-story, flash-fiction, or even a narrative essay. To be honest, even I’m not sure what I wanna achieve by telling you guys this story. But I just… want to get this out of my head.

I’ve never told this story to anybody else. I’ve never talked about it. Even my closest friends who I’ve spoken with know just some parts—they don't have the full picture.

For some reason, it never came out of my head the way I wanted it to be. I still don't know how to tell this story, but I’m gonna try my best.

This is the story of my college’s first semester… and my very first writers’ block.

***

How’d you feel if you got admission into the best liberal arts university in your country? Man, I was ecstatic. I still remember that day when I’d read the mail: I was in the kitchen with my mom, by the countertop as I was scrolling through the mails, waiting for the results. I got the admission. Unconditional confirmation.

I was in. I didn't even do shit, just flexed my writing experiences and that’s it. And I was pretty bad as a writer at that time. I probably still am, but at least I’m a lot better than I used to be, lol.

Anyway, the four-month break between school and university suddenly felt like such a long time. I was told to enjoy this time to the fullest—and I did. I pampered myself too much. I’d wake up late, eat shit all day long, and spend a lot of time with my friends.

I didn't like that phase, lol. I couldn't meet my friends every day like I used to do during my school. But I didn't hate it. I was still meeting them every other day, at cheap restaurants, y’know. Just swearing at each other to the fullest and laughing so hard our lungs hurt.

I loved my friends, and I knew it: I was gonna miss them. I was gonna miss all these days. I was gonna miss the two years that I’d spent with them. But I didn't let my future worries decide my present—I enjoyed the days to the fullest, like I always used to do.

Also, I’d got admission into one of the best colleges in the country. What could go wrong, man? It’d be tough starting over—living in the hostel, making new friends, beginning a new life all by myself—but I knew that once I’d make some good friends, I’d be laughing with them all day long. Without restrictions, because there was no home-time in college. And then all the problems of my life won’t feel as big as they really were.

I daydreamed about such a life every single day for four months, man. I was overjoyed. My life was going just in the right direction and I was loving every single part of it.

I knew good times always precede the bad times, lol. Nothing lasts forever. Learned that long ago, but I still had faith in myself. I was brimming with optimism.

***

The summer break finally ended. Monsoon came in, and I finally stepped inside the university for the first time. And… I was mesmerized. The whole first day went well.

I met my new roommate—I couldn't believe I was gonna live with a random fellow for a whole year, lol. I still can't believe that, even though it’s been so long. The fact just seems so… so not-a-thing-I’d-do.

I roamed around the campus, looking at the big buildings. I saw all those new kids, all smiling and laughing and having fun. We had some ice-breaking activities the first night, lol. I couldn't participate in any, because I’m kinda an introvert, but it was still fun.

And that was the day I realized this: this place was just so different from what I’m used to. All of them were dressed up in shining colors, talking in English rather than our native languages, and just seemed so full of confidence.

Now, mind ya, I’m not from a small-town or something, but… I was just never too close to such kinda people. You can say I am a small-town kid, but not from a small-town, if it makes any sense.

I was used to wearing pajamas all day long. I never went to parties or drank liquor. I never smoked. I was never even close to smoking at any point in my life.

I’ve never dated. I’ve been in love, but never dated. It just… Things just ever went that far. Now it seems like I missed a couple of things during my school, but looking back, I knew I was so damn busy just laughing and swearing with my friends that I don’t really regret not having a girlfriend, lol.

Anyways, here I was: in between those kinda kids that had done it all. They were just seventeen, like me, but they’d experienced shit that I’d not. That I’d just seen in American high-school dramas. That I’d just daydreamed about, and then thrown those dreams out of my head because I thought it was just so damn unrealistic to even think I’d be like those people.

Also, many of them came from rich families. They kinda knew how to act with strangers. And dress up. I… I’d been growing my hair for really long, so they looked so messed up all the damn time. And my shirt had wrinkles because I’d pulled them out of my pants. My whole outfit was just a mess.

No, it was probably not a mess. But I always felt it was. I always just… felt out of place. I always felt inferior.

Looking back, I can't even pinpoint it—if my clothes were okay or not. Probably it was because everybody was speaking in English, while I just wasn't used to the language. Or probably that everybody was so brimming with confidence as they talked to new kids around, or participated in activities such as karaoke together, among other strangers.

I stood by the edge, looking at it all. I was completely overwhelmed by it all. There were… just so many people. All my age, but looked so widely different from me. Or they didn’t—I just thought they did.

The lines between what’s real and what’s not started to blur. My own thoughts had started to take over my eyes—they only showed me what I thought was real.

And what I thought was real was that I was different. I was different from all these people who could speak fluent English and joke around without the need to swear at every damn sentence. They wanted drinks—they didn't care about the money. They didn't go to cheap restaurants to talk with their friends.

***

Something in me started to change.

I knew these patterns, not gonna lie. I used to be quite shy and introverted at one point, so… I knew what was coming. And I feared what was coming.

I was gonna be alone. I was gonna be hating every single one of them. And this was gonna go on for four damn years. Man, I was done.

I tried to fit in. I made a couple of friends in the first week. And I showed them a part of my real self. I refuse to be like the others here—I was gonna be who I actually was.

I thought we were close. I thought I’d found a home. I thought I could share anything with them.

One of them was really close. She was just as sad as I was, and her home was way further away than mine, so she was a lot more stressed than me. I thought we could share anything with each other. To be honest, I kinda loved her—not romantically, but I did. I wanted her to be happy.

And soon, she found some other friends. Good for her. I was happy that she’d finally made some friends and settled here, but… but she soon got busy. Y’know, college got intense, assignments popped up, and now she had new friends she could spend her free time with.

She left me behind. Again, I was alone. And more alone than ever, because… y’know. I trusted her too early. Now, when I look back, I can see it clearly—she probably didn't see me as close as I thought we were. I don't know her perspective on this story, and I don't think I ever will. We’re still kinda friends, but not really. And definitely not so close that I could go ask her about her perspective.

Definitely not what we used to be. At least, in my eyes.

God, good that she hates reading. She’d probably never read all this shit. And, I hope she doesn't. I really hope she doesn't.

Because as much as I’d wish her well, I kinda hate it. We were in this mess together, right? We were in this damn mess together, but… but she moved on. Found her place. And left me behind.

There were days I wanted to talk to somebody. So I’d call her, and she’d not pick up. Nobody would. I’d lie on my bed, in the middle of that dark room. I’d be by myself. I’d want to take off my shirt and shoes, but I’d be just too tired to care about that.

I’d start sweating all over my body. But I still won’t get up until I could finally take no more.

***

Everything started to get much worse than it was. Like I’d predicted. Time passed, and nothing changed.

I’d just go to classes, sit in a cafe to study, eat alone in the mess, and sleep. I’d sleep late—because one of my friends used to call me at midnight and we’d spend around an hour talking to each other—and wake up early. My classes began at nine, so I’d wake up at six, work on my novels between seven to nine, and then go to my classes. After classes, I’d hit the gym.

Gym was heaven for me. It’d help me distract myself from everything that was going on in my life, even if it was only for an hour. It’d suppress my anxiety, pump up my blood, and give me a reason to be alive.

I wasn't taking in enough protein. I wasn't even eating much those days. Yeah, I ate all three days of the meal, but… it was never enough for bodybuilding. So my muscles were almost always hurting.

That was alright, though. As long as I could write and gym, I knew I’d be alright. I knew I’d bounce back, like always.

Those two things have helped me a lot. They’ve given me purpose in life—they’ve given me something to chase.

But man, I forgot I was going through a hard time. Nothing was supposed to be good.

***

No, I didn't have to leave gymming and writing. I’d never give up on them, man. They’re important. I’d rather give up on studying, lol.

What happened soon… was that… I hit a writers’ block. And man, the damn timing. It couldn't have been worse.

During that time, I was working on the second draft of one of my novels. I generally don't do that—I just type, edit, and then upload on RR or some shit. But this story was serious, and I knew I’d need to be serious too. I’d also planned on a third draft.

But, writing the same story over and over again… made it much more boring to me, y’know. I had all of the plot planned out already, I was just fixing the scenes, you could say. And I don't think I was doing a good job at it either.

Trigger warning: skip the next paragraph.

My story dealt with the themes of guilt and suicide. It was the story of a school-girl whose ex-boyfriend had just killed himself.

As you can see, it was… a really serious theme. I knew I had to handle the story with care, taking other people’s opinions into consideration. I was gonna use Reddit to get in contact with people who’ve experienced loss like this, just to be sure I handled everything maturely. I was gonna get my second draft beta-read like that.

I was excited for the project. I’d first begun it during the break, and the second draft went well for a couple of days. Until… it didn't.

I soon lost all motivation to write the story. My inferiority complex hit me hard too: was I mature enough to tell a story like this? Have I experienced life this much that I could write about these topics?

High-schoolers’ suicide is a big problem in my country, because of our education system. I won't go into much details, but it’s really messed up. I wanted to start a conversation about it. I wanted to bring forward a story of these kids, who’d given their lives because they couldn't live in such an environment anymore.

But I’d never experienced all this first-hand. Just news, Reddits posts—stuff like that.

Still, I dragged myself on for three damn months. I was averaging six-hundred words a day, even though I used to average around eighteen-hundred before. On some days, I’d write just three- to four-hundred words in those two hours. Even though I knew the whole damn story!

All of it messed me up even more. I now know how this story of my writers’ block ends, but… I didn't know how it’d end when I was living it.

Questions swelled up in my mind. Am I done? Can I really not write anymore? Have I lost all interest and motivation from writing? Have I… grown out of it?

I’ve given writing my all. I’ve had several fights with my mom because I was writing stories instead of studying. I’ve been doing it for years, spent so much time learning and absorbing it all. Was it all… for nothing?

Whenever I’m going through a hard time, I tell myself that while it lasts, it was gonna hurt. But, at least I’d have a story for later. I could use these experiences in my art. But… if I can't write, do I even need these stories? Do I even need experiences in my life anymore?

All of my experiences, good or bad, are just content for my creative work. If I’m not writing… is life even worth living anymore?

I wasn't suicidal. But… you can say I was purposeless now.

Writing wasn't my personality. But writing was my life. It gives me a way to live. It shows me a future I can aim for. And now that I believed I was losing it… shit got way worse.

Suddenly I didn't know what my life was gonna be years down the line. I didn't know what I was aiming to be now. And, I didn't know how I was gonna tell society that I’d given up on words, after telling them how passionate I was about it.

I was scared. I was lost. I was done.

So, is it how the story of my stories come to an end?

I didn't know how to accept it, but one day or the other, I knew I’d have to. I can wail and beat my arms around like a kid all day long, but the truth won't change.

So, here comes the end?

***

Every college has a gossip app, apparently. Even mine did. I kinda knew about it, but never downloaded it.

Y’know, I kinda hated everybody there. So I was obviously reluctant to associate myself with stuff like that. But I soon caught wind of a certain post that was made on the app, and… just for a brief moment of time, I downloaded it.

Somebody had asked for reviews on me.

Somebody had written how I was a creep.

Somebody had written how I was a loser, because my deadlifts were too weak.

I don't think much of it now. But as a mind that just needed another reason to punch my chest, it hurt. It hurt so damn much.

After over three-and-a-half months of constantly struggling to fit in, to write, to work on myself and my self-image, I… cried. I let myself cry for a really long time. And all that time, I just hoped my roommate wouldn't just stomp in.

I was alone. Lying on the bed. Like always.

***

I still don't know why the writers’ block had hit me. I’ve written such a big blog in just one sitting now, but at that time, I wouldn't have written even half of it in a week.

It was probably because I couldn't sleep at nights, so I was always drowsy. It was probably because I just lost all motivation to write that novel. Probably both—I don't know.

I scrapped the project soon. I knew I wouldn't be able to do it justice, and the themes were too significant. I was not the right human to write something like that. I’d let this story be told by somebody else who can, or later in life when I know how I can tackle this story.

Also, I changed my time. I don't write in the morning anymore. I’m probably just not a morning person, lol. Only evenings work for me.

And yeah, life’s good now. My newer project is coming out good—I’m having a lot of fun writing it. I love it, I’m proud of it. It’s the best thing I’ve written so far.

And, things haven’t really changed much. I’m still kinda alone, and I still don't have close friends here. But, at least I have people I know. People who know my name, and probably accept me for who I am.

I’ve started working on my diet—I finally get the protein I need, lol. And I feel so good, both physically and mentally.

I’m still working on my personality, though. I’m changed, and I’m learning from people around me. I don't know if it’s for better or for worse, as Juice WRLD said in his song Robbery, but I’m changing—and I can't reverse it.

Lol, don't ask me how addicted I am to Juice WRLD. Man helped me through some hard times. And it wasn't just him—I have a lot of singers I have to thank for it. Kanye West, Charlie Puth, Eminem, SZA, Tame Impala—the list goes on and on.

Oh, how I love music. And how I love writing.

Also, the first semester was a good experience while it lasted. It inspired me to write a story about it, lol. Like I said, all experiences are just content for writers, man. That’s probably one of the reasons why I romanticize most of my suffering.

Anyway, I’m doing fine now. I’m in a better place than I was, and I hope shit just gets better from now on. I’m still trying to make myself a life that’s as happy and fulfilling as my last years of high-school had been. It’s kinda tough, but I’m positive I’d get there.

Not all novels are equal. Every novel is different.

The same is true for authors too. Every author is different, and therefore, so are their methods for writing prose. Some authors outline a ton, while some straight-up refuse to even create a TXT file for it.

Therefore, everyone has pretty… radical—let’s say—ideas about outlining. Ask three authors their feelings about outlining, and you’d probably get six different answers—because, apparently, everybody has something or the other to say about it.

It can get quite overwhelming, I presume. I mean, I never really thought a lot about it, to be honest. I began writing with a simple outlining method, and I still follow that. But it can get quite overwhelming… I hope.

Anyway, I’d try to give you a full picture of what outlining is, when you should do it, and when not.

***

#01. What is outlining?

Outlining is a simple process where authors, before beginning their work, write little notes about the plot-progression. It can be in the form of a map, or just bullet-points. I believe most use the latter, though—like me.

Anyway, moving on. As you could see in this definition, it doesn't tell you about the intensity of outline, if we may call it that. And by intensity, I mean, how detailed your outline must be.

Everything between a single line about the ending to a thorough bullet-point list of several arcs and acts can be termed as an outline. In an outline, anything and everything is possible. (demm that last line was dope.)

So, what do you do now? How intense or detailed should your outline be? Or can you rely just on your memory? (ngl sm ppl do that.) On what factors do you decide upon?

Let’s dig a little deeper.

***

#02. Forms of Outlining

By intensity or levels of details, I’d like to divide outlining into different types: overview outline, only-the-end outline, I-don’t-wanna-miss-anything outline or IDWMA outline, and next-three-chappys outline.

An only-the-end outline would be an outlining method where you only know of the end of the story, y’know. You just have an ending, probably a beginning, and you don't know anything about what happens in the middle. In this method, you’d want to connect the starting point from the ending point somehow, and you do that as you write. You don't plan in advance, you just go write the middle section, and then probably trim it a lot in the editing phase—but that could depend.

An overview outline would be an outline which just tells you some basic stuff about the plot. Like, you know the beginning, are probably not sure of the ending but it doesn't matter, and some parts of the middle act. You know how it’s gonna start, and you have some sort of blurry idea of where to take it further.

I-don’t-wanna-miss-anything outline would be an outline where, as the name suggests, you don't wanna miss anything! So, it’d include going into really deeper details about the plot: what’s the starting point, what’s the ending scene, what’s the climax, how’d the middle act progress, and even how certain scenes would play out.

Next-three-chappys outline would be where you kinda know what’s gonna happen next. You’ve begun, but you don't know the ending or anything like that. You’re just focusing on the next couple of chapters. It’s just like building a bridge as you walk on it.

Hmm… I don't think that metaphor worked. Whatever, I guess you got my point. Anyway, one thing I’d like to point out is that in the next-three-chappys outline, it’s not important that you know only of the next three chapters! It means you just know a little about the immediate future. That number is just ornamental.

So, what’s gonna work for you, buddy? I guess you’d already have some sort of idea about which method you prefer. But even if you’re not, I hope the subsequent sections would help ya out!

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#03. Question Yourself

No, I don't mean you should question your existence. And no, I don't have a better heading for this section. Hope that answers all the worries you might have had.

Firstly, I’d like to tell you that, as I said earlier, each author is different. And thus, what works for somebody like Brandon Sanderson or Stephen King might not work for you. If you try those techniques, you might end up in a really miserable position.

Right now, I want you to ask a question: what sort of outlining method do you prefer?

Think about it for some time. Or days. Just get to an answer.

Think about what are the advantages and disadvantages of these methods that you can think of. Think about how these advantages might help you, and how these disadvantages might kick you in the back.

And, the answer would not be simple—especially if you’re confused about outlining. That’s because each sort of outline has a different effect on the story and on the writing method as a whole.

You might find writing boring in the I-don’t-wanna-miss-anything outlining method, because it leaves little space for creativity on the spot. Everything about your plot is already decided on the spot.

Similarly, only-the-end outlining method might frustrate some writers too. They might take the most direct route that leads to the ending, even though they didn't really intend to.

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#04. Question Your Story

You gotta ask yourself about your story too. What sort of story do you wanna write? And, would your outlining method fit with the story you’re working on?

Yeah, each outline doesn't help you write every story the way you want it. Like I said, every method has their advantages and disadvantages, and these differences do translate on page.

You can't really expect you’ll write whatever you want to, however you want to. Pick your poison.

If you’re writing a mystery, you’d need to use the I-don't-wanna-miss-anything method, because that’s how you’d be able to structure your suspense well and drop the hints at the right places. In a well-structure, genius mystery story, the next-three-chappys method would be really inefficient.

But, if you’re writing a progressive fantasy on RoyalRoad, I-don't-wanna-miss-anything method would be tiring. Your story would probably consist of several story arcs, and span across several books. Next-three-chappys, overview, or only-the-end methods should work the best.

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#05. How to Choose The Right Method for You

Another thing I’d like to tell you is that you don't really need to pick just one method and stick to it, y’know. Personally, I use a method that’s a weird mix of next-three-chappys method and only-the-end method. You can say it’s kinda like overview method, but I don't have the overview of the whole story, so that description doesn't really fit.

I’m working on a progression fantasy-drama web-novel, so the method suits my story. Just like me, you too can make really weird mixes of these methods that I just explained.

The thing is: outline however it works for ya, buddy. Take a step back, breathe, and think about it. Take hours, days—however long you want. Think thoroughly about the type of story you aspire to write, the type of author you enjoy being, and then make your decision.

And, again, since different stories might need different outlining methods, you might be switching around these methods project-to-project. And that’s completely fine!

If just thinking doesn't help, go do some prompts. See how they go, y’know. Use different methods for different prompts, and try to understand what’s working for you and different sorts of stories that you’re writing. It’d help you a lot.

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#06. Conclusion

I hope you now know a little more about outlining than you did before reading this. And, I hope this would help you make up your mind.

Writing is a highly personal experience, remember. The type of projects you pursue and your ambitions might change with time.

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