The World From My Bubble
I stare at a blank sheet of paper, waiting for inspiration to strike.
Something. Anything.
My imagination remains stubbornly barren, just like the paper. There was a time when my pen would glide over the sheets, and a story would be born just like that. But now?
Nada. Zilch.
My publisher floods my inbox with emails asking me about my next book.
How do I tell him that my muse is on strike?
I’m an award-wining author of a successful children’s series; my protagonist is eight-year-old Bubbles. She is as cute as a button with chubby cheeks and pigtails. She is also curious and precocious, inspiring an entire generation with her adventures. Every time I see a little girl wearing a Bubbles t-shirt, my heart bursts with pride.
Twelve books. That’s how many titles I’ve brought out in the past ten years.
The New York Times has labelled me ‘A modern-day Enid Blyton’, words I cherish, and put up on my wall. The framed cutting stares at me now, mocking my plight.
Is this the end of Bubbles and her adventures? What is the reason for my ennui?
My phone rings.
Video call from Aishu.
Aishwarya is my eighteen-year-old, calling from Harvard. Talking to her is the best part of my day.
Any day. Every day.
“Baby, are you settled? How are the classes coming along? Have you made friends?”
“Mumma, everything is dope. Don’t worry.”
Dope like drugs? What? No! Wait, dope is slang for ‘incredible’. Phew!
I do most of the talking. I complain she has lost weight, and her hair is looking dry. I beg her to eat better and to apply hair oil. I promise to find a way to courier her favourite snacks to Harvard. She tells me about her professors and her workload.
Soon, she has to go. I’m left with a blank paper and my thoughts.
Empty nester. Empty.
How time flies! Aishwarya, my bubbly baby. The one with the cute pigtails and chubby cheeks. Mumma’s pet. My little girl who created a ruckus on the first day of school because she missed me. But now? Oceans away, scripting her story.
That’s when it hits me.
My muse hasn’t deserted me. She has grown up and moved on, while my heart is still stuck in one place, holding on to the memories of yesterday.
I try writing again. I scribble words I’ve learned from Aishu.
Dope. Rizz. Swiftie.
An idea germinates in my brain. Excitement courses through my veins, similar to when I started writing the first Bubbles book. It is bold and risky to wade into unknown waters, but it’s a plunge I have to take.
I email my publisher, telling him I wish to retire my current series. We always knew that Bubbles had to grow up someday. More importantly, I’m pitching a new idea, a new series for young adults.
Because every story needs to end in its time. And when one story ends, a new one begins.
Penmancy gets a small share of every purchase you make through these links, and every little helps us continue bringing you the reads you love!