Categories
non-fiction

Hiding Behind Abstracts

My mother calls me this morning and says, “What should I do with suitcases filled with books of your grandfather?”

Some he had written. Some he had compiled from his inspiration from books he never stopped reading. He read till the time he lived.

I ask my mother to ship the suitcases to me. I will be honored if I can compile a little of my grandfather in a book.

And here I am typing this. She called me his true descendent because I write, just like him.

I didn’t always write though. But I remember how it all began.

The year was 1993 in a small, pristine, and untouched town called Kapurthala of Punjab, India. I was a confused teenager, involved in petty issues of Walkman breaking down and taking from me my music, stuff that in the grand scheme of things means nothing but to a teenager, it was my world.

Well, the summer of 1993 was in full swing. The ground was burning, the heat was rising in fumes and drenching us in sweat. Shahrukh Khan had hit big in Bollywood by playing negative roles in Baazigar and Darr.

I biked to and from Christ King Convent School run by nuns when my hair barely hit my shoulders and my classmates had fancy nicknames to describe my weird hair and weird me.

In a society run by men, it was then Gill Mam, our English teacher in perfectly tailored Salwar Kameez and immaculate makeup, had the audacity to stand tall in our classroom and suggest we write down our thoughts.

Oh, boy was that a scary proposition for teenagers filled with dark thoughts, nightmares of failing–not making it in the boards or in the entrance exams to colleges.

I took her advice. I had my grandfather’s genes. But I was still not ready to lay bare what twirled in my head.

So, I hid behind metaphors and abstracts.

I am pissed at how crowded the movie theatre was became “a day filled with purple and violet hews at the movie theatre.”

I am disgusted at having to defend against inappropriate touching in public buses where the men went out on scavenger hunt on the still-alive females. In my diary that became it was an interesting and rocking ride.

Being a female in India is daunting. Being a father of two girls, even more so.

Society turned my father into an angry man who was always ready to punch, yell at the unwanted leering advances from strange men at railway stations, at shopping center. His frown didn’t leave his forehead when we were out. We became unwilling spectators of him defending us. We grew up, moved out, went away from our little town.

As a teenager, all these thoughts never made it into my journals. It remained as hews, tints, odors, shapes of clouds, rumbling of thunder, gurgle of rain…

And, here I am letting my heart bleed. My grandfather is no more, but he carries on in our spirits, in our words. And, the injustices of the world keep the pen moving, trying to make the world a more equal, a fairer place for all hearts with diverse faces who must live in one world.

No longer hiding behind abstracts. I am in the thick of it now. Writing goes on. It will die with me as it did for my grandfather.

Categories
editing Nanowrimo writing

Organizing the Editing of Your First Draft

Let’s face it. First drafts are messy and choppy. Their only merit is one of being finished. I am a NanoWrimo writer. That means I have written four first drafts in literally four weeks each. Here are some tips that I have learnt while editing your own work:

1. If writing first draft is fast in NanoWrimo, editing is slow
Different part of your brain is utilized when on auto pilot and when focusing and thinking slow. Editing is a slow process, it requires focus on detail like drawing a sketch. Edit slow.

2. Putting away the first draft is as important as editing
To be a true change agent (of your own manuscript,) it is important to detach emotion. It is a key attribute of a great feedback whether critiquing others’ work or your own. And, why would you not put in your best frame of mind for yourself? The detachment needs time after you have spent weeks with the characters, loving and hating them all along. Detachment fosters fresh perspective.

Have you noticed that it is easier to see flaws in another’s writing than your own? If so, bring the distance that exists when critiquing another’s work to your own by putting it away for a period of time.

3. Read a manuscript completely before making an editing plan
First revisions involve cutting unnecessary scenes or moving scenes around. In order to do so, it is important to get a holistic view of the big picture.

So, read through before coming up with a plan. But when you read, highlight the areas you want to focus on. When you read, challenge yourself on the value each section adds to the book.

4. Make plot and flow revisions first
Plot revisions are first because these involve massive chopping. Why edit a section that could be chopped? Plot revisions are first because it also involves moving scenes around, heightening conflict, adding and removing from the story in general. Once the plot is in place, you can focus on the little edits.

Few points to look for as a detached reader of your own work are:

a. Does the writing invoke emotions in you such as fear, sadness, joy, worry?
b. Do you evoke all the five senses of smell, sight, touch, sound or taste?
c. Is there a common thread of a goal through all the sections in your writing? A written work must have a message. Never lose sight of the message.
d. Are there segments that make you want to put the book down and not read on?

5. Put the manuscript away in between editing
Attachment is a sneaky emotion. It comes unannounced and settles unnoticed. Even during editing, attachment to characters, lines, etc. happens. So, space out editing by constant doses of detachment. Detachment fosters neutral opinion.

When spending time away from your book, read. Read other books. Read books on improving your writing. I recommend reading “Structuring your novel” by K.M. Weiland and “Don’t Murder Your Mystery” by Chris Roerden.

6. Work on characters and plot via exercises
Perform specific editing to:

a. Deepen characters / deepen conflict / deepen value
b. Ground settings and time
c. Heighten conflicts / Escalate stakes
d. Add tension
e. Planting questions / hooks to add mystery

There are several exercises I recommend furthering these editing concerns:

a. People watch – spend an hour at a busy location like a café or the city park or the train station and observe the dialect of people, their attire and mannerisms. See if that inspires your writing.
b. Research timelines and facts in your book.
c. Perform activities prescribed by experts such as activities from Donald Maass’s “The Breakout Novelist.”

 

7. Dialogue editing
Do a special round of editing for dialogues. Keep your characters honest to their own voice through the course of your book. Make sure your dialogues are not circular but believable. Make sure to add action beats to your dialogues and sprinkle it with adequate emotion.

8. Look out for overly-used words as well as vague words
Now, you are at a stage where your plot has been hammered, characters have been fleshed out, and the end is on the horizon. Previous rounds of editing would have given you an idea on words you tend to overuse. Hopefully, they are highlighted at this point. Do a word count on them and see if those can be mixed up. Other commonly used words to edit are:

a. Was / were / are
b. That / this
c. Something / thing
d. Stuff
e. Adverbs such as *ly (very, really, slowly…)
f. Then (Lines of your book are happening in chronological order. “Then” should be sparsely used to emphasize.)
g. Seemed
h. Felt

 

Also, check if there are some negatives that can turn into positives as positives tend to read better.

9. Edit on different platforms
Grammar and line level edits have a way of disappearing. There are tricks to catch them in the flow of reading.

Try reading your manuscript on a different device like a phone, a tablet, a big monitor screen. Changing environment is notorious for highlighting the mistakes (that word processor skips.) Print out the manuscript and edit with a red pen. Have your word editor read out the manuscript for you. Microsoft Word has a read aloud feature.

10. Lastly, edit from last chapter to first.
Ties into the previous point, is one of the tricks to catching more errors in your own writing. Want to force detachment to your story? Edit last chapter first and make your way in. This will prevent you from getting swept into your story where you start to read fast to know what happens next versus reading slow and hard.

 

Writing is hard work. Let yourself be your first critique but be careful while editing if you tend to be too harsh on yourself. When making notes on what to edit, also write down what you like in the writing that you wish not to change.

Happy editing and wish you the world’s best luck for all the steps that follow from editing to seeing your book on the bookshelf of a major retailer.

Categories
Nanowrimo non-fiction writing

How Nanowrimo Changed my Life?

My life changed November of 2016. I read Chris Baty’s book called, “No Plot? No Problem.” It taught how to write a book in a month. I would spit out a short story in six months if I got lucky.

“Must be too good to be true,” I suspected.

It was one of the twenty books stashed on my desk in hope of bettering my writing and making a storyteller out of a struggling writer. I was littered with comments such as, “English is not your first language, right?”

Truth of the matter remained English was the only language I knew from the time I started beading words into raw emotions. My fellow classmates in India were masters in grammar in three languages, English included. I struggled in all languages in the nineties and now after spending years in America. Being fascinated by words was insufficient to fix my grammar issues. I still butcher my grammar, but a key fundamental transformed with Chris Baty’s book.

Months prior to November, I had struggled producing five thousand words for a fiction writing workshop. Chris Baty’s book held my hand each week providing therapy for negative feelings inside my heart as I wrote without a solid plot and only a meager outline. Each week, the book prescribed exercises to get the creative juices flowing.

And I, a no body, with broken command of the language, wrote.

I, the world’s sorest writer, wrote.

“I” wrote.

The book taught me to FINISH. I hold completing projects you start an utmost priority. Did my first draft suck? It sure did. It bled plethora of complicated tribulations on my computer screen. Did it hide my grammar problem? It highlighted it. But I walked away from the experience, feeling accomplished.

It used to be a dream to make a living doing something I cherished. I no longer care for the money.

Although, I am unpublished on a steady path of rejections as I compete with multitude of manuscripts from far superior authors with better command of the language who never get to hear, “English is your second language?” type of a feedback, I am still a proud author of three books (besides being a mother of three,) unpublished but manuscripts completed with satisfaction.

And all this became possible because of Nanowrimo. I am indebted to it for life.

 

Categories
non-fiction

The Woman With Friends

friends

Our day trudged along like an old lady. Our gait mimicked the fatigue of a long winding day as we sauntered into the Himalaya restaurant of Plattsburgh, NY. Just a couple of weeks before we arrived in Plattsburgh, two dangerous fugitives meandering their way up to the Canadian border had been shot, one dead and other caught alive right in our vicinity. With this knowledge fresh in our minds, we slouched in our chairs in the middle of a painstakingly long wait for our Tibetan food. Sigh!

As we waited in our outdoor seats in downtown Plattsburgh, I observed an American restaurant next door. A waitress who wore heavy facial makeup brought two big Beer mugs to the family seated across to us. Perched up with two fat books, a young lady, wearing black slacks, sat alone with an empty plate and empty glass. She had already finished her meal. Hurriedly, she signed the check, got up and marched away. My snoopy gaze followed her out of the restaurant, and found its anchor on three women across the street. The one in the middle, pregnant in her homestretch, was wearing a striped beige and brown dress. She was thrusting a stroller carrying a girl that appeared to be around 4 years old. The young girl lay limp and uninterested in her surroundings. Something about them enraptured my attention and I sat there gawking quite unabashed. Why was I fascinated by them?

Maybe because they represented something innocent my adult life had sacrificed. Center of conversation, the pregnant lady, in the middle of a long theatrical narration, slouched forward and shook her head left and right. The response from her friends was one of deep compassion as they shook their heads acknowledging her tribulation.

As for me? My fascination took a turn, I now gazed in envy. The women had what I ached for, close girlfriends in the same town as me, whom I met every other evening; I emptied my heart full of problems or vice-versa. And, here in Plattsburgh, New York, were three women doing exactly that. In front of my eyes, flashed images of the support they provided each other and specifically to the woman in the center with the baby on the way and another child in the stroller – who seemed most vulnerable of them all. Was I right to judge what I saw?

I was about to find out for myself when the woman in black, pulled out and lit a cigarette, taking big gulps, savoring each inhalation of the black guck. And, now I raged for a whole another reason. I turned to my husband.

“Look at that woman; she is smoking in front of a pregnant friend of hers and her daughter!”

The response of my husband was trenched in philosophy hinged on society, and the marketing campaign of cigarette companies. And, as though there was nothing more wrong with my outside world then I witnessed what was “the more than worst” thing in my opinion.

The smoker in black, hung the hand holding the cigarette on her side, and gazed straight ahead. With that, she quite unassumingly, stretched her hand near the lady with a child. And, to my dismay, expecting lady’s hand reciprocated and seized the cigarette with same sly dexterity. Hesitating, she took the cigarette, put it in her mouth, as her eyes closed in relief and she puffed her own big black one.

Agony! They didn’t linger there longer and started to walk towards the red light. The cigarette had exhausted their conversation. And, very soon they disappeared around the bend of the street with the vulnerable woman guarding the baby inside her womb with a cigarette in her mouth, puffing along the way.

Not believing the transformation of events, I ignored the waiter that brought our food. Was I right now to worry for the strange lady’s unborn child? Was I wrong to judge the quality of their lives by what I saw? Regardless, I learnt a valuable lesson that day as I glanced at my children – never judge a book by its cover – things aren’t as they appear to be. And, I learned a smaller, not so obvious lesson as well-to count the blessings in my life.

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