So the novel...finally it seems to have acquired a skeleton I can build on. The image that leaps to mind strangely are those metal structures in Ramoji Film City in Hyderabad. Four storey high and ready to become the front of anything that the dream-makers wanted. Anything from college to mansion to bank to apartment building.
The book is still at a stage where it can become anything. I wish it was out of the way so this ridiculous tie of self-esteem could also be out of the way. First books are sly monsters waiting to trip authors into displays of machismo or whining or whining machismo. I have to keep reminding myself that there will be other books and everything that i ever wanted to say does not have to be squashed into this one. And that everything that one thinks is not necessarily interesting to other people despite the neatness with which word processors can shield boring, uninsightful or simply bad writing.
Leap of faith...that is what i must make. But this business is a strange one where the leap of faith has to be made every time you type a line. Like being asked to bungee 50 times a day. Put your toes out. Now jump. Because there is no fun standing here. And jump again and again and again.
In the shower i caught myself thinking that if you have a dull mind there is no point having a sense of craft....because where is the new, the insightful, the ethical, the stimulating if your mind is dishwater? A few minutes of panic ensued. Before i squashed it down. Cant do anything to make myself fascinating at this stage in life. It would be like the parents who sent their dutiful tuition going school topping son to lakshwadeep for two weeks so that he could put scuba-diving in his US univ applications. Just embarrassing.
By the way who are those strange and brave people who put their novels online so people can read it as they go on? And what kind of lives do they have that they need that kind of punishing fear?
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