Balancing Life and Writing

Life is Not Easy…

And it’s never gonna be. You will have to chase your dream today. You will have to make it today. If you sit around and wait for the things to fall in the place, you will be waiting forever.

Once I made this mistake. I was working for an engineering firm. It was hectic. Exhausting even. Each day I returned drained. Hardly, I had the energy to open a book, let alone the willingness to hold my pen and start writing. So, I chose the easy path. I started waiting. I waited for the things to fall in place. I waited for the time when I wouldn’t have to work to pay the bills. I waited for that time to appear. Months passed. And I waited. I did not open a single book. I did not write a single line. I was waiting. Waiting for the situation to get better.

Image from papersun

Everyone gets a wake up call sometimes in their lives. I was also fortunate enough to receive one. My wake up call came in the shape of high fever. I was at home, recovering. To pass time, I reached for my pen and notebook. I started writing. Only I couldn’t. I pushed myself to proceed. I even forced myself to create something. Yet, nothing came to my mind. With immense effort I constructed one sentence. But nothing followed the first line. Horror dawned on to me. I pushed some more. Nothing.

I realized that as I was waiting for the right time to appear in my life, I continued to lose the skill I built with so much effort. That I have lost the edge. That day, I gave myself a firm shake. I silently resolved that I would read and write everyday. That was in the August 2006. I have never stopped reading and writing.

You should not either. If you love to write, you will need to read and write everyday. Yes, of course you can take a break. Every writer takes a break. Maybe once a year. For me break comes in the shape of notebook writing. When I am too drained to write anything, when my characters refuse to act or talk or do anything, I pick up a topic and reach for one of my notebooks. Nothing calms me down better than an hour or two of wild writing session.

I know many of you are facing the similar dilemma. Many of you don’t get time to read or write. But, you must, if you want to improve yourself as a writer. You will have to invest sufficient amount of time for reading and writing (If you are wondering why I am insisting on reading, wait for my next post Read More and Write Better). So, how do you do it? You can think strategically and steal away time to indulge in your passion.

Carry a book…always. Instead of staring out of the window, try to read while you are travelling. I still do this. I carry a book wherever I go. This helps a lot.

Carry a notebook around. You will never catch me without a notebook (several notebooks if truth be told). I steal moments to write pieces. When I return home, I bring with me materials that help me proceed further.

Changing your writing time is another way to get something done. Get up early or go to bed late. Write in the spare time. Give up television. Give up social life. You need to be ready to sacrifice some of the things you love to improve yourself, to grow as a writer. Everything comes with a price. Your dreams as well. Are you willing to pay? Willing to sacrifice things that matter? Willing to say no to that movie you were dying to watch? Ask yourself and then make the plans. I am sure you will succeed. 

Write for Your Soul

Image - aacc.edu

Being a writer is difficult. Being an unpublished writer is harder still. You will carry around your secret like a thief. Sometimes you will let it out and say with reluctant blush that yes, you are a writer, dreading the next question.

Have you ever been published? Have you? No, you are still unpublished. You are still trying to elevate yourself from the bottom layer of the pyramid and climb higher. You know the pain. You know the numbness that spread across your heart with each rejection letter. Yet, how easily they ask – have you ever been published.

And you say, ‘No. I am yet to make it to the publication.’ What follows forth every writer knows. A glance of suspicion sometimes. Glance of pity. Most of the times glance of mockery. It is the main reason we conceal the fact that we return home to write, to create, to tell stories.

I am not venting my frustration here. It is no way a platform to bleed. God knows we bleed everyday. God knows we cry with each rejection letter, even though we shrug it off in public. Time comes when we stand at the verge of giving up. We question everything, even our existence. Each time we stand facing a mirror, our reflection asks – why? We are unable to answer. Why we write? Why we put up with the humiliation? Why?

May be because that’s what we are. May be because we are born that way. May be because we are both blessed and cursed. May be.

I can’t speak for you. For I don’t know you. I can only speak for myself. I can only tell you why I write. Why I put up with the humiliation. Why…

Blankness bothers me. Every time I look at a paper, I see immense potentiality. I feel like holding a pen and scratching the surface. I feel like creating a world peopled with illustrated characters. My characters.

Numerous times I have reached the point from which no path leads ahead. I have stopped many times thinking now what. I panicked even. Yet, I couldn’t stop. How can I quit being me? I am a writer and I was born that way. For good or for bad, this is my life. Getting published is secondary. It comes after being a writer. But, the focal point is writing.

It does not matter who asks what. It does not matter who thinks what. It does not matter how many rejection letters come your way. You are a writer and your job is to continue and create. People may try to mislead you. They may try to force you to quit. And you have the option. You can quit. You can quit because they think you are not good enough. You can quit because you are not being able to get published. You can quit because some no-good teacher thinks you should.

But will you be at peace? Can your soul rest with the knowledge that you have given up? Can you live without creating? Can you? If yes, you are lucky. You are luckier than I am. For, I cannot. God knows I have tried. God knows I have given up too many times. But, I couldn’t stay away for longer than one day. I came back after sulking and throwing fit of temper around. And I am glad that I did. I don’t think there is anything else to say. I am not even sure that I have said anything worth reading.

Therefore, I will draw the conclusion with a verse – my personal anthem. These two lines get me going when the way is dark and the sky is full of cloud with no stars to guide me ahead. I mutter these two lines and advance forward. For I know my destination is there somewhere, concealed in the darkness. Soon, sun will rise and lead me towards it. Till then I can only crawl and hope.

Karmanye Vadhikaraste, Ma phaleshou kada chana

It means – perform your duty without expecting result. 

Out in the Open

Note - This is a small part of another chapter of my whodunit mystery novel Out in the Open - A Rudransh Ray mystery. Hope you will like it.


Stench of death touched Lisa Brown. She halted by the window and stared out. For a moment she could see nothing. Or could she? Something moved in the garden. Or, was it someone? She leaned forward to take a better look. Her naked eyes could detect nothing. Everything appeared to be perfectly normal. She felt like a fool for being afraid. Yet, deep inside her heart, the fear remained. To be sure, she took another look at the garden.

Why the surrounding suddenly felt so frightening? She wondered. Thick cloud passed over and the moon vanished behind the curtain. In the utter gloom the garden looked like a graveyard. Or so she thought. The tall and thin trees loomed like lanky monsters. Heat rose and she felt the satin night gown clinging against her skin.

With a shrug she pushed the gown off her shoulders. Cool breeze touched her skin and a shiver passed through her body. She was cold all of a sudden.

True the night was chilly. True the wind cut through the flesh. But, inside the mansion it was warm enough to be comfortable, sometimes hot even. Then why? She wondered again. Her hands lovingly touched her breasts. She rubbed her open palms over the supple globes. Beneath the skin of her hands the nipples erected. She shivered, this time not from cold. She tilted her head and closed her eyes. 

Show Don’t Tell – Well Sometime You Should

Before reading this post, please note that I don’t consider myself a master of the craft. I don’t even consider that I know more than anyone else in this profession. I am not in any way contradicting anyone. This is just an expression of my personal understanding. I am learning and this blog is created to share the experience of the process.

This is yet another advice I have come across so many times – show don’t tell, make your readers feel, take them to the scene, etc, etc. A while back I was reading an interview of Lee Child. According to this bestselling thriller writer – we are telling stories, not showing it. I agree. We are storytellers. We tell tales in our own ways.

Of course, I am not advising anyone to say – Tina was angry and leave it there. When you do that you say nothing about the character. You just mention that a female character is angry. But, who is Tina? How old is she? What is her background? How angry is she? These are the questions that you are not answering. But that doesn’t really mean you should show the readers the exact shade of Tine’s hair color or the length of her skirt (although that might appeal to the male readers).

The point is you are a novelist. You are writing fiction. You are not a movie maker. Leave showing part to James Cameron. As a writer your job is to tell a story.

I have a habit of reading about writing. When I am tired of my own writing or don’t feel like reading another writer’s work, I read about the craft with the hope that I will be able to improve a bit. I have seen that teachers and writers have different opinion about this. Some are ardent supporters of showing and some want to break the rules and create one of their own. What should you do? As a beginner, even as a pro, it might be difficult to decide which approach is better suited for your story.

So, many times, I have stopped my pen (yes, I write my first draft with pen and paper) and pondered how to show this scene. I have tried to show everything in a story. But in the end it sounded like a manual. It took me a long time to realize writing is a fusion of both showing and telling. Too much of either one can make your story a dull read. So, what should you do?

I rather explain what I do as you should choose your own style and manner of writing. I try to understand the genre I am working on. Since I am a mystery writer, my job is easy. I deal with the human minds. So, I can get away with telling sometimes. How else do you portray someone’s thought? Rudransh Ray spends a good deal of time thinking and I need to tell the readers what he is thinking about. Here I have little chance of showing the thoughts.

But when it comes to action scenes, I do show the smell of air and the long stretched shadows. These are good ingredients of mystery writing.

Even if your genre is not mystery, you will have plenty of chances to tell your story. Readers want to know about the characters and to introduce your characters you need to tell them about the mind frame, the thought process. How a character feels is important (and I guess it is the most important part of a story). Therefore, don’t be afraid of telling your story. Rules are there. But you have the liberty of breaking those rules and do what feels right for your story. You are a writer. You are a creator. Don’t restrict yourself or your creativity. Dare to be different.  

Write What You Know or Should You...

I began writing with utter reluctance. I knew that I was stepping into another territory. Although the turf is fascinating, even soul enriching, it frightened me. So, like every amateur, I sought help. I browsed Internet and read blogs of other writers (and I never stopped). I dug into books on writing. Surprisingly, every website or how to book I checked had one common advice – write what you know.

I did, I wrote what I knew and eventually I realized – I was producing trash. This got me thinking should you really write what you know? True John Grisham writes legal thrillers because he knows law. But, did J.K Rowling practice black magic? Did Raymond Chandler murdered people? Did John Sandford hack computers? No, none of them experienced what they wrote about. Even John Grisham did not work for the mafias.

So, what do we get here? Writing what you know will make the realm of fiction boring. This is fiction and you are crafting a story. You are imagining incidents that did not happen in the reality. You are illustrating characters that never existed. You are not writing what you know. You are creating.

Ann Rule writes what she knows. Of course, she does. She is a true crime story writer. But, are you? Really? If you want to write what you know, you should get into writing non-fiction. Fiction writing is exploring turfs unknown. You begin from a blank page and slowly create a world that will cease to exist without your effort. As a writer, I don’t think you should write what you know. Why restrict your creativity? Rather try to know what you want to write about.

Yes, this is the only way of writing truly compelling stories. If you want to write fantasy, research about magic. Learn how people cast spells. And you never know what you may create. Have the courage to step out of the comfort zone. Learn about the world unfamiliar to you. Enrich yourself and explore. Without the desire to know more, you cannot grow as a writer.

Since the childhood I have devoured mystery novels. Even in my adulthood I mostly read mysteries. Yet, when I picked up my pen, I feared creating a mystery story. I thought what do I know about crimes and criminals. I knew nothing about criminology either. So, I wrote what I knew. From my educational background I knew history and I wrote a historical novel. It sucked. While writing the story I knew my heart wasn’t in it. I could not visualize the world I created. But, I wrote what I knew and I was trying to be happy.

Reality hit me when the rejection letters began coming my way. I sat bemused, not being able to decode the mystery of being rejected. I was writing what I knew, then what went wrong? It took a while to realize that I was cheating myself. Historic fiction is not my genre.

That day, I changed my genre and created Rudransh Ray a criminologist who fights crime and Out in the Open just happened. When I started writing this novel, I did not even know that I will be able to finish it, that I will be able to write The End of this story. I stumbled too many times, threw away too many pages, read too many books and eventually I did finish my first mystery novel. The journey was a glorious one. What happens to this book is not the primary factor, at least not to me. I have succeeded writing a genre I know nothing about and that is the point here.

Next time you want to write that thriller, do write it. If you know about the topic, good, if you don’t know anything about it, even the better. You will have the opportunity to study and learn. So, go for it and enjoy the journey. 

Out in the Open - A Rudransh Ray Mystery

Note - This is the first chapter of my novel Out in the Open - A Rudransh Ray Mystery

The shadow

The shadow waited. Two sharp eyes followed everything. Tall trees, long stretched gloom and a Victorian mansion against the expansion of sky. It could be a setting from a gothic movie. But, it was a reality.

Light from one of the rooms on the first floor’s window illuminated a part of the garden. In this glow, Shadow could make out forms of leaves, hedges and flowers. Smell of rose and wet soil hung in the air. Cloud gathered and for a moment everything vanished but the mansion and the white light.

Shadow felt a reassuring heaviness against the chest. Metal and Wood had been used to carve this knife. Its blade could split an oak tree wide open.

Just one slash and it will all be over. The shadow inhaled. A cakewalk, it’s gonna be. Swift and fast. A smile flashed. But it vanished a heart beat later. Through the cracks of leaves Shadow watched and calculated.

With one movement of eyes, Shadow measured the challenge ahead. The mansion stood silent. Against the star clothed backdrop, it created a contrast with all its gloom.  A slender figure came to view in the first floor’s window. She had a crimson night gown wrapped around her body. Night wind played with her loose hair. She moved away from the view. 

Pacing. 

Restless. 

The Divine Beauty

v   

‘I will come to this earth as your daughter,’ declared the Goddess of divine beauty and love. She floated in the air with joy and exhilaration.

King Talish stared at the delicate face. He could not believe in his ears. Words failed to form in his mind. Despite the joy in his heart, he could not answer the Goddess.

The Goddess, however, did not have any such compulsion. She gloated and floated in air. ‘This world needs love and peace. I will have to incarnate in human form to thaw the violence. And you king Talish, you get the honor of parenting me.’

Joy flooded free into Talish’s heart.  His mouth broke into a smile. But, the delight was short lived as the voice of the royal physician came echoing back to him. ‘Your wife’s womb cannot carry human seed. If you want a child, you will have to marry again.’

Talish looked up at the Goddess in dismay. His heart felt barren as a desert. Blinking the tears, he said, ‘But, the royal physician had said…’

Before he could finish the sentence, the Goddess threw her head behind and laughed. Young leaves of the trees, danced along with the sound. She fixed her eyes on the mortal standing before her.

‘I am the creator of this world. I want you to parent my human incarnation.’ Her blue eyes dances with joy. ‘And, you doubt my words?’

Talish bowed before the goddess, despite the casual and affectionate tone of the voice. He shook his head with regret. ‘Please forgive me my dear goddess. I did not doubt you. I dare not doubt you. I was just repeating what the royal physician had said.’

‘Look at me, my child.’ Talish obeyed the order. ‘Never question the creator. Nothing happens without the wish of the creator. Nine months from now and I will incarnate as your daughter. Name me Ragini.’

Tallish jolted up from sleep. At his side queen Adhrita slept. His ears still buzzed from the words spoken by the goddess. Images of the dream were still too vivid in his mind. He looked around the royal bedroom to assure himself that the goddess had been a fragment of his wishful dream. Perspiration rolled down his back. He tried to control his shallow breathing lest the queen woke up from the sleep.

He did not want to share this dream with anyone. He did not want to raise her hope. They had spent ten long years together waiting for a child. The throne demanded an heir. But, he was unable to produce one. The ministers pressurized him to get married again which he ignored. Not for the sake of love. But, he could not find another woman as beautiful as Adhrita. Ugliness was forbidden in his kingdom.

v   

Tallish paced before the labor room. He could hear Adhrita’s cries of pain. He could not wait to hold his daughter in his arms. The promise of the goddess came true. Adhrita got pregnant and was about to give birth to a baby. Dawn was about to break free. Any moment now and the first ray of sun would explode. He threw an irritated glance at the labor room. How long would it take? Had it not been for the royal priest, he would have invaded the room and inquired about the delay.

Couple of hearts occurred and the tranquility shattered. Shrill cry of an infant roared into the air. Talish halted in his track. Joy, relief and pride all crowded into his heart and threatened to burst it open. He had become a father. After waiting what it seemed like an eternity, he would be able to look down at his own child.

A smiling maid came rushing towards him. His gaze fell upon the bundle into her arms. His daughter. The heir to his throne. He could not believe it. Dream comes true sometimes.

The young maid handed him the bundle and he looked down at the face of the baby. A round, chubby face with blue eyes and a small button nose stared up at him. She blinked twice as if she could see her father. Dark curly hair covered her tiny head. Talish bent down and kissed the forehead of the infant.

‘The Goddess,’ he breathed.

That moment, another shrill cry rose and once again shattered the peace which was about to settle. Talish looked up, startled. What was that? He wondered. The Goddess did not say anything about a twine.

He waited with his daughter into his arms for another maid to appear with another bundle of joy. Clock ticked. The king stared at the door with eager anticipation. But no one came. Tranquility once again spread its warm wings over the fortress. Golden sun ray peered through the branches of the trees. Birds started singing with joy, welcoming another morning.

‘Why are they taking so long?’ Talish asked. He handed over the baby to the waiting arms of the young woman and made his way towards the labor room. Despite the protest of the royal priest, he walked into the dimly lit room.

Smell of rose water greeted his nostrils. He heard the sound of agonizing sobs. Turning his gaze to the bed, he saw his queen. She sat with her knees drawn up. Her head rested on the top of her legs.  Her shoulders trembled. At her feet lay playing a tiny baby.

Tallish pounced upon the bed. He froze at the sight of the baby lying there. Gaping with horror, he turned eyes away. The baby had a square face. Her eyes were dark and narrow. She turned her twisted mouth and smiled up at the king.

Pale faces loitered everywhere in the room. The royal priest followed the king inside and now stood at the threshold, wide eyes, mouth hanging open.

‘Demon,’ he muttered.

‘Guards,’ Talish yelled as he came out of the terrifying trance. Couple of young men rushed inside at the call. ‘Remove this…this child from my sight. Take her to the forest and…….’ He allowed the word hang in the air. But, the guards understood. They seized the baby with rough hands and disappeared before anyone could utter a word.

v   

Sixteen years later

‘My lord, we found another dead body this morning,’ the wary faced guard told the king.

‘Male?’ Talish asked.

‘Yes my lord, same bloodless young male body.’

Tallish waved his hand in dismissal. He leaned his head against the high throne, tired. Closing his eyes, he tried to escape from the grime situation for a moment. Sixth dead body in one week, he sighed. Who could be behind this serious of cruel murder?

‘My lord.’ the royal priest bowed before the king.

‘Yes,’ Talish said in a heavy voice. He was not in the mood to endure the lecture of the priest. Yet, as the king, he would have to sit through it.

‘My lord, it is the work of a demon.’

‘Demon?’

‘Who else will drink human blood my lord?’

‘What do you suggest me to do?’ Talish rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes.

‘You search for the culprit my lord. Do not trust anyone.’

That night, Talish saddled his black stallion and disappeared into the darkness. He would keep his kingdom safe. With careful deliberation, he prowled through the lonely streets. Unaffected by the chill of the winter wind, he kept going.

After inspecting the locality, he headed towards the forest. Something caught his eyes. A white horse was tied to a tree at the border of the forest. Someone went inside. Talish descended his horse and entered the forest by foot. He did not have to search for long. Few steps later, he reached a wide glade.

A fire blazed in the middle. Beneath one of the trees lay a young man. He appeared to be unconscious. A human being attired in a golden robe leaned over the young man and drank his blood.

Talish drew his sword and pounced over. He gave a sharp yell and the person in golden robe stilled. Without delaying another moment, he thrust the sharp metal into the back of the murderer.

A gasp of pain stirred the air as the sword penetrated the lungs. the blood drinker slumped over the unconscious man. Talish wanted to see the face of the murderer. He leaned forward and turned the person’s face.

‘No,’ he gasped at the sight of the face. ‘No, no, no.’ The tormented shriek echoed into the silent forest. He staggered back, lost his balance and dropped over the ground. To block the sight before him, he buried his face into the grass. He could not look at the still feature of his beloved daughter.

‘You said you are incarnating as my daughter,’ Talish accused the Goddess. He has performed a rite and summoned the Goddess.

‘So I did,’ she said. ‘Came as your daughter.’

‘You were performing the demonic act?’ Talish yelled. ‘You were drinking the blood of young men.’

The Goddess laughed at the accusation. ‘You really believe I can do that?’

‘I witnessed it with my own two eyes.’

‘Dear king, recall how many daughters you had?’ Goddess smiled.

‘One……oh.’ Talish’s jaw dropped as the realization dawned in.

‘Yes, you have denied me and accepted the demon. You could not see the beauty my human incarnation had. It was the beauty of heart.’

Talish froze. He stared at the Goddess for a long time. ‘How can I amend the mistake?’

‘Sin,’ the Goddess said.

Talish nodded.

‘Bring her back.’

‘Where do I search?’

‘Search the same forest where you have ordered to abandon her.’

Talish did not wait a moment longer. He saddled his stallion and went into the forest. It was the last time anyone saw the king. The legend says that he still stalks the forest, searching for his daughter.