A Perforated Soul

No. I'm not posting this story here. I believe in preserving the integrity of the pieces I write. I don't send stuff for CF from my blog, and I don't post my CF stuff here either. (ok, i should stop using "stuff". I was reminded in my PS 1 gd that "stuff" is slang for narcotic substances. )

I look at the story, the way a parent would look at a problem child. I don't know if any of you have had this experience before, but when you read a story with a brilliant setting, neat plot, interesting characters, but it's badly written. Then you say to yourself "Hey. I should write it my way, and it'd be awesome." This urge to improve someone else's creation is inherent in all of us, and this is why most inventions have reached the level of sophistication/development/perfection that they have. This urge is what transformed Edison's primitive light bulb into energy efficient tube light models (c'mon we wouldn't want to be stuck with his model forever.) , Linux from a simple open source whatever into a feature-filled phenomenon, the spinning wheel into large scale looms, the wheel into a Ferrari etc. So while human beings are always desperate to add something more and make other's stuff better, why don't they look at their creations first and try improving upon it?

every parent has something to say about others' kids (yes it's annoying.), and yet they keep offering suggestions for their development. "send her for dance lessons, she'll learn to be more graceful." "send her for Hindi tuition, that's the only way she'll pass." "send her for handwriting improvement classes, her writing is so messy." "make sure she helps out at the kitchen, she ought to learn these things" "get her to drink more milk, she's not fair enough." (ahem these were directed at improving yours truly.thankfully my parents didn't bother.)
But they are averse to accepting suggestions about their own children, cause they see them as perfect the way they are, yes even the "problem" child. That's love, i guess.

A perforated soul -my problem child-it wasn't a perfect story.

i love the analogies i used, i love the way my pen flowed,i love the feelings it evoked, i love the pain it caused me to write it, i love the pain it took away from my scarred soul, i love the fact that people loved it, i loved the fact that some hated it "worst story you've written ramya"- my roomie, i loved it for being the only story of mine that my mother fell in love with, i love the "corny lines" it had,i loved it for being "sappy" "filmi" "mushy" whatever, i love the lines where a lot of people(ahem ahem) saw graphic meaning where none existed i love the two central characters, i love their anonymity, i love the way they acquired an unique image and an identity in every reader's mind . the visual you form in your head, as you read my story the pictures that are created of my two nameless characters in your head, the names and identities that you give them- this combination is as unique as each of you.

In a sense, my story was a mirror, it reflected your individual experiences/perceptions of love while representing the collective conscious experience that human love is- with all its foibles , its agony and its ecstasy laid bare.

And yes, i gave these two characters names, identities and images in my head as well- because I'm a reader just like you. And a writer is the most special reader of his/her work.

Love can make you see perfection, where it doesn't exist. And then make you love the imperfections, when this illusion breaks. "a perforated soul" unveiled this truth for me.And i love it for this.