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.
