Writing Beyond Perfection: Pratiksha Karn On Expression, Struggle, And Staying Raw

There is a moment, familiar to most writers, when the fear of getting it wrong becomes louder than the urge to say something real. It is in that moment that many stop. Pratiksha Karn did not. She began, like many others, not with a plan to publish but with a need to express. Long before […]

There is a moment, familiar to most writers, when the fear of getting it wrong becomes louder than the urge to say something real. It is in that moment that many stop.

Pratiksha Karn did not.

She began, like many others, not with a plan to publish but with a need to express. Long before there were books, recognition, or even a defined voice, there were notebooks filled with raw thoughts—unfiltered, imperfect, and deeply personal. That, she insists, is where writing should begin.

“Perfection comes much later,” she says, adding, “At the start, it is only about expression.”

A Writer Formed In Observation

Karn’s journey into writing did not emerge from literary ambition as much as from attentiveness.

Growing up in Hazaribagh, a small town in Jharkhand, she became a quiet observer of the world around her—absorbing its rhythms, contradictions, and silences.

Those observations would later find their way into her work.

Much of her writing leans towards social realities—patriarchy, class divisions, and the quiet injustices that often go unnoticed in everyday life.

In an age where digital narratives are increasingly curated for spectacle, Karn chooses to dwell on what is uncomfortable but real.

“We talk about everything that looks good,” she reflects, “but we often ignore what still exists beneath it.”

Her writing, therefore, is not an escape from reality, but a return to it.

The Shift From Scribbles To A Published Voice

Like most writers, Karn’s early work lived in fragments—journal entries, scattered poems, and social media posts. The idea of publishing was distant, almost accidental.

That changed during her teenage years, when she published her debut book, The Locked Episode—a raw, early work that marked her first step into the literary world.

The turning point came when her writing caught the attention of a local author, who offered her an opportunity to contribute.

It was a small opening, but one that revealed something crucial: her words were being read, and more importantly, understood.

That realisation changed the trajectory of her journey.

There is a distinct difference between writing for oneself and writing for a reader. Karn crossed that threshold not by chasing validation, but by recognising connection.

“When people started responding to what I wrote, it gave me a push,” she says.

“It made me think—maybe this can go further,” she added.

The Weight Of Starting From A Small Town

The literary world often romanticises beginnings, but Karn’s came with its share of constraints.

In Hazaribagh, opportunities in the literary space were limited. Exposure was minimal, and the ecosystem that supports emerging writers in larger cities was largely absent.

Financial challenges added another layer of difficulty, especially in a field where publishing itself requires investment.

To sustain her journey, Karn balanced her writing with teaching—building stability while slowly carving space for her creative work.

There were no shortcuts.

“You cannot expect returns at the beginning,” she says.

“You have to keep putting in the work, even when nothing comes back immediately,” she added.

Learning To Unlearn Perfection

One of the most defining shifts in Karn’s writing did not come from an award or a publication, but from criticism—unexpectedly, from within her own home.

Her early writing, she admits, was overly structured, almost rigid in its pursuit of correctness. Grammar was precise, vocabulary deliberate, and rhythm controlled. It was technically sound, but emotionally distant.

The feedback she received was simple: it did not flow.

That moment forced her to rethink everything she believed about writing.

“Too much structure can burden the reader. Writing should feel natural, not forced,” she says.

What followed was not just improvement, but unlearning—the conscious decision to prioritise honesty over polish.

Writing Across Forms, Staying Rooted In Reality

Over the years, Pratiksha Karn has experimented with multiple forms—poetry, short stories, and prose across genres. While she has explored romance, horror, and even gothic themes, she is clear about where her strength lies.

Social narratives come to her naturally.

They are not constructed—they are observed.

Horror and comedy, on the other hand, require a different kind of imagination, one that does not always align with her lived experience.

Yet, she continues to explore them, pushing her boundaries while staying anchored to what feels authentic.

The Emotional Cost Of Creation

For Pratiksha Karn, writing is not a detached exercise. It is immersive, often intensely so.

Characters are not merely created—they are lived.

When a character suffers, she feels it. When a story demands loss or silence, it lingers beyond the page. There is a quiet emotional cost to this process, one that readers rarely see but often feel.

“An author experiences everything first. Only then can it be written,” she says.

AI, Authorship, And The Question Of Authenticity

In a time when artificial intelligence is rapidly entering creative spaces, Karn’s perspective is measured rather than reactionary.

She acknowledges the utility of AI as a tool for structuring, refining, and clarifying. But she draws a clear line when it comes to authorship.

Expression, she insists, cannot be outsourced.

“AI can enhance what you write,” she says, “but it cannot replace where it comes from.”

The rise of AI-generated literature, in her view, raises important questions—not about capability, but about authenticity.

When everything can be generated, originality becomes not just valuable, but essential.

Publishing, Perception, And A Changing Landscape

The divide between traditional and self-publishing has long shaped how authors are perceived. For years, traditional publishing carried an inherent legitimacy—built on established networks, editorial screening, and audience trust.

Pratiksha Karn acknowledges that this perception still exists.

But she also believes it is changing.

With the rise of digital platforms and independent publishing, readers are increasingly responding to relatability rather than reputation.

The emphasis is slowly shifting from where something is published to how deeply it connects.

“Earlier, goodwill came from the publisher,” she observes. “Now, it comes from the writing itself.”

Influences That Stay

Karn’s academic background in literature has played a significant role in shaping her voice. The works of John Keats, William Wordsworth, and John Dryden continue to influence her understanding of language and expression.

At the same time, her personal reading remains eclectic, ranging from reflective works like Ikigai to spiritual texts such as the Bhagavad Gita.

These influences, diverse as they are, converge in one way: they reinforce the idea that writing is as much about introspection as it is about communication.

Silence, Then Words

When writer’s block arrives, Pratiksha Karn does not fight it with force.

She waits.

Often, it is a moment—a scene in her surroundings, a fragment of news, or an emotional response—that breaks the silence. She retreats, reflects, and begins again, usually with nothing more than a rough idea scribbled in a diary.

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From there, the story builds.

Not perfectly, but honestly.

What Comes Next

Karn’s journey continues to evolve. Her upcoming work includes contributions to an academic anthology slated for undergraduate-level introduction—an indication that her writing is not only reaching readers but also entering classrooms.

It is a quiet but significant milestone.

The Only Advice That Matters

For those just beginning their writing journey, Pratiksha Karn does not offer formulas or shortcuts. Instead, her advice is disarmingly simple—and grounded in everything she has learned along the way.

“Write raw. Write incorrect. Don’t be afraid of mistakes,” she says. “Just keep writing.”

She also cautions against chasing validation too early—whether in the form of recognition or financial return.

“At the beginning, if you expect too much in return, you will be disheartened. Writing needs patience.”

In the end, Pratiksha Karn’s journey is not defined by where she started or how far she has come, but by the way she continues to write—honestly, imperfectly, and without fear.

In choosing expression over perfection, she reminds us that writing is not about getting it right the first time, but about having the courage to begin, again and again.

Watch author Pratiksha Karn speak about her journey in this candid interview.