Wednesday, October 24, 2012

The Pesky Little ‘I’


I love writing. To me it is an extension of storytelling and I always loved story telling; especially telling the kind of completely nonsensical stories which would keep kids on the edge of their seats, clutching their sides and laughing hysterically. But there are some serious differences between spontaneously telling a story and writing a Novel.

In my case, these differences are slightly less. For example, most authors, I believe plan their plot in advance and have their characters fleshed out and gnashing their teeth, raring to go even before the first word is written. In my case, Oops the gurgle had to take his bamboozler out of his pocket and aim it at his opponent, before I decided whether Oops wanted to erase his memory, freeze him into an icicle or just give him a gentle tickle. In the dark planet, when all lights suddenly go out, I rack my gray cells to figure out if a slimy slithery 20 foot slug should devour the protagonists or whether invisible creatures should laugh ghoulishly at them. Basically what I am trying to drive at is that I write novels, much like I tell stories; on the spur of the moment. I find this keeps me mentally alert and gives me batting practice to face all the googlies life throws at me J

But this was where the crux of the problem lay. It was when I tried to make the novel conversational and free flowing that a completely unwanted character reared its puny little head. It was ‘I’. ‘I’ slipped into the story completely without warning at several places. Normally, I wouldn’t have minded ‘I’ jumping in to hog the credit for a particularly juicy anecdote or to relate a really funny incident. But when I sent the manuscript to my editor, the primary platypus, Sayoni completely booted ‘I’ out.

“The omniscient first person is completely unacceptable. Please see to it that he stays out,” she told me sternly.

I bridled. I pretended as if I really cared for ‘I’ and just couldn’t chuck him out. “After all,” I told the platypus “this is my writing style. ‘I’ has to make an appearance every once in a while to build rapport with the reader.”

The platypus was at heart quite soft and supportive of poor struggling authors. I could hear heavy silence from the other end of the phone. The platypus was presumably swishing her tail in consternation.

Finally, after I went to the extent of telling her “without ‘I’ piping in from time to time, I feel like I am reading someone else’s work,” she agreed to keep the guy in.

If  you are now thinking, “Yay, RamG, way to go. This is how the oppressed classes (authors) should assert themselves with the oppressors (editors/publishers),” you are jumping to conclusions. Sayoni the platypus, who has seen many an author and who is well versed with various tactics of bringing a rebellious author under control was far subtler than I thought. She sent my manuscript to a critic. After a week, I got a forwarded mail from Sayoni.  Mind you, a simple forwarding of the critic’s mail to her with no comments whatsoever of her own.

It said – “the book had me in complete splits. But I don’t know how to say this, every time I got really immersed in the plot and was chewing my nails off, a wise guy would suddenly spring up and start making funny comments. A bit like God. Are authors supposed to do that? Can we keep him out, please?”
I read and re-read the forwarded mail. I knew when I was defeated. I decided to boot ‘I’ out.

Easier said than done. I had to break the news to ‘I’.  ‘I’ was completely pissed when I broke the news.

“Dude, first of all, you promised an autobiography in which ‘I’ would appear at least once per sentence. I was so thrilled. Then you completely welshed and went and wrote some idiotic book on beings with brains in their bottoms and other such crazy stuff, thereby banishing ‘I’ completely. You can’t blame me for trying to sneak in a few times! Have a heart.”

I felt sorry for the poor guy. I could see his point. I was the one who had given him hopes of a book full of him by promising an autobiography. At the same time, I knew that it would be idiotic not to take the advice of the wise platypus. Finally after racking my brain for several seconds, I came up with an unbelievably amazing solution.  All I had to do was to add an asterisk (the star thingy, not Obelix’s friend) wherever ‘I’ used to be. Then ‘I’ could come in with his wisecracks as footnotes. ‘I’ was thrilled with the suggestion. So was the platypus. Peace reigned throughout.

But I know this is temporary. If I don’t come up with an autobiography and give ‘I’ squatting rights in every sentence, ‘I’ would be really unhappy. What is more, I knew ‘I’ would also rope in ‘me’, ‘mine’, ‘us’ and ‘our’ into the conflict. If I were ‘I’, I know that ‘I’ would do exactly that.

Monday, October 15, 2012

The Snaring of the Platypus


I admit I have let you all down with a resounding thud. After promising a post every week to my millions of admirers, I blatantly went back on my word and stopped posting for well over six months.

In my defense, I must humbly point out that in my last post, I had promised to share how I managed to snare this extremely rare breed called a publisher. But having proclaimed this intention well before actually bagging the creature, I had to lie low and pretend to blend into the background till the trap was finally sprung.

Today, I am the  proud possessor of a publisher- squirming and thrashing, no doubt, but firmly in my grip and unlikely to escape. Now I believe I am ready to share the gripping saga of my publisher hunt.

It was in October of 2011 that I typed ‘the end’ and officially declared my first novel complete. Even as I wiped the sweat off my brow, I had already embarked on the next step – that of finding a publisher or literary agent. Since I was absolutely convinced that my book was superior to anything ever written or anything that could possibly be written in the future, I would settle only for the best publisher. Ok, Ok, I am sure you must be muttering arrogant so-and-so on reading the last line, but I would place the blame squarely at the doorsteps of my informal editors, friend Anjali Nair, and my sister-in-law Shubha  (even though she lost steam half way through)who both kept raving about my book. Being an eternal optimist, I decided to ignore the lukewarm response of my cousin Nandu and the extremely positive but not ecstatic response of my young friend Vidyuth.

And thus started the quest. Having written a young adult book of international appeal, I decided to first search for a publisher in UK or USA. There was a small glitch, of course – a vast majority of these dinosaurs accepted only hard copies of the manuscript. Having learned from J K Rowling that to become a great author, one had to at least get 13 rejections, and considering the money and effort that takes to courier 14 separate envelopes to the US and UK, I decided to focus only on those few who accepted email submissions. Fortunately, my prime target, Christopher Little (he was JKR’s agent) was among them. I sent off my manuscript to all of two publishers and Christopher Little and waited.

In the meanwhile I also deigned to look at Indian publishers. I did extensive web research and figured out the whole process of snaring a publisher. It goes roughly as follows…

- Go to the web and research out the names of the publishers of all the famous books you know…
- Ask your friends and their friends if they have any contacts with these publishing houses…
- Cry when you realize that friends do not have connections to really big time publishers…
- Settle for whatever and get introduced through aforementioned friends or friends’ friends…
- Send your synopsis to all the aforementioned publishers…
- Send synopsis also to all other publishers and agents in the country not in the contact list…
- Curse your cousin BalC who worked in the company called Synopsys when you realize that you have miss-spelt the word synopsis in all your mails…
- Wait week after week for rejections to pour in, pretending you are aiming for 13 rejections…
- Write stupid blogs about how one is about to get published…
- Get polite rejection from Christopher Little and mutter ‘No wonder JKR sacked him’…
- Get impatient and start the process of self publishing through Createspace, coughing up an enormous sum of $3000, muttering ‘forgive them for they know not what they miss’ about the publisher community …
- Chance upon an old friend called P Venky who introduces you to his friend called Chanty who introduces you to Westland, one of the leading publishers…
- Keep sending reminders to Paul of Westland, thanking god all the while that he has not responded, being pretty sure that any reply would be a polite rejection…
- Get a mail from a totally strange being called Sayoni Basu (who later on turns out to be Paul's wife), who calls herself a Primary Platypus of Duckbill Publishers, saying they are an associate of Westaland, focused on children’s and young adults’ literature and that she loves the manuscript…
- Thank god profusely for creating some sensible people like Sayoni Basu who moreover has the sense of humour to call herself primary platypus instead of a boring Director etc. ...
- Fall on your face and accept whatever terms in the contract with utmost gratitude...
- Fervently thank god for the strange creature called platypus and the stranger being called primary platypus :-) (Ouch! Sayoni Sorry!)

And after intense research, my friends, I have come to the conclusion that this is the best process towards getting published. Follow it to a Tee and let me assure you, you can also get your novel published. Of course, the prerequisite is that you should have written the damn thing to begin with.