The Impact Of Woman Writers

I hear all those wonderful things that women are doing these days and writing is one thing that seem to draw me to them, wanting to know them closely through their books. Writing in today's world means using words in a way of expressing whats wrong with the world. And although I am no expert, except perhaps writing my side of the genre, romance in today's world is a different ball game all together. You need to think about an audience and write, the publisher would reject you on the basis of your sales report and somehow make no sense at the time but still he is going to make money out of it despite the unsold ones. Anyhow, it doesn't matter. This is all the bitterness flowing out. But the best part in India that happened are women writers who are being welcomed with open arms and almost being counted upon as the best sellers. Enough of Chetan Bhagat nonsense i guess.

Some of the writers I admire- be it in India or other countries are Mary Angelou, Diana Palmer, Judith McNaught, Jude Devereaux, Melody Anne...the list just goes on but the impact shows in my writing. Lately I have started reading Indian women writers too- Anita Desai, Shashi Deshpande, Chitra Banerjee Devakumari, Sreemoye Kundu, Sudha Murthy, Preeti Shenoy, Usha Narayanan are all well known in the literary circle now. These I read and some I wish wrote more books like I remember reading KEEP THE CHANGE by Nirupama Subramaniam and wish she wrote more books like this one. Of course, its just my view but I miss it when writers do not follow the genre they write about. Keeping a steady flow of same kind of genre keeps a sense of security and it makes me want to go back and read again and again. However, writers like JK Rowling moving towards thriller but I can still get through it. I like her. She has been engaging teens for years now with her Harry Potter series. I love the movies and thats that. 

Lately I have been seeing a lot of women writing which in itself is a big change from the usual. Aditi Mathur Kumar's SOLDIER AND SPICE has truly captured the life in army of a new bride well. Then I read Preethi Venugopala's Romance WITHOUT YOU which is a great story of an engineering student falling in love with the right man, only the wrong family. 

Stories like these entertain us and we come to see so many aspect of a writer who are more like celebrities these days with thee exposure of media and you can actually speak with them, chat if you want to and read their interviews to keep yourself updated. Young readers relate a lot of books written by these writers and I for once can't wait for another book...

This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.

NaNoWriMo- A Month Of Writing Dangerously

Whoever said that happiness is just around the corner. I just found my happy place. Its right on my laptop where I get to write and write and then write some more. I have been struggling with my writing since months and blogging has been a safe place where I did post an article whenever I am inspired. But everyday I cannot be inspired or drawn into writing. And I need to be- desperately. So I am giving in to this challenge and get going with my new psychological thriller.

Excerpt of the novel:

The deserted, hilly town of Matheran holds a secret.

Mili James gets a call that changes her life.

Her father was dead and police are all over the case, saying that things are not what they seem. The funeral leaves Mili with startling questions about her past and things attached to her brother’s disappearance starts to make sense. However, when she finds the videotape in her brother’s room, she begins to realize that things are not quite as they seem in the James family.

She is intrigued by the investigating police officer Karan Singh and revisits the scenes of her childhood only to find something that could ruin their family.

Mili slowly finds herself drawn into a web of lies, murder and perhaps, even drugs.

Can Mili resist the charms of Karan and uncover the secret of the her brother’s disappearance before it's too late, before she could save her family?

So join me and read more about my novel, give me suggestion, ask me to change something you do not agree with. I will welcome your views and write more- but I am not going to stop. 

Love At A Coffee Shop- A Transgender Story

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

She looked at me frankly and curious too. I found her enchanting. She had long hair, wavy but ended in curls, blond highlights that might have faded away to a dull finish now. Her eyes were small with a button like nose and a mouth that held the most beautiful smile. I turned over on my seat and blinked at my image staring back at me in the mirror. 
I could see the woman who was hiding behind manly clothes, waiting for everyone to see me as just that. How could anyone know how i felt? A woman. A man. Or both?
I just knew that down inside I was born to be a woman. 
The cup of coffee getting cold beneath my fingers as I fidgeted with a broken pencil, just like my broken spirit. I still had the previous evening to write but the writer in me didn't. I just wanted sit back in my chair and finish the book. I wish it was a romance because if anything that I needed in my life was just love. My parents are still unaware. They think that I am their little boy. My face was changing too and with the hormone supplement, I was feeling sensitive and teary-eyed often.
"Do you mind if I sit with you? The entire coffee shop seems to be filled with young students", the man sat without my consent and I looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. 
"Sure", I muttered, still staring into my book.
"Would you like another coffee? I don't see that consumable now", he was trying to be light. Trying to laugh but I didn't know how to react. I was wary of his friendliness.
"No. I am fine".
After a few minutes of silence, I found him staring at me, and mostly trying to peep into my book. 
"You haven't written a word since you are here. Do you want to borrow a pen?"
He handed out an expensive looking pen at me, "Take it. It won't bite".
I took it without hesitation. Will that shut him up? I was staring at him now. He was a handsome guy. Not in a model like of way. He had a receding hairline but his eyes and face had an open endearing look that I could not imagine anyone saying 'No' to him. He wore a simple blue stripped shirt with rolled up sleeves, showing off his very tanned wrists and fingers that seemed to clench and unclench over his cup of coffee. He had long fingers and his body was bulky as if he worked out in the gym.
"Would you mind if I tell you that you are one of the most pretty faces I have ever seen in a long time?"
I didn't mind at all.
"I get that a lot".
Even when I dressed as a man. I got that compliment. Not handsome. Pretty. And I glowed under my mother's disapproving eyes.
"You should let me buy you a coffee".
"No thanks. I have a doctor's appointment and I can't really have much of caffeine with my prescription".
My voice had change through time now. Six months! And I did deliberately tone my voice down, try to sound like a girl.
"You look fit to me..."
I wanted to tell him everything and stop this useless flirtation. I am not what you think I am. I am a transgender. But still a woman who wants to come out in this world and be herself.
But I just got up and left, leaving behind a romance that could have been mine. 

A year later

Same Coffee Shop.

I held my book in my hands. Finished. Published and open in front of the entire world now. The publisher had been excited to get this manuscript, said that India was getting into this 'Pride' moment. This is what it needed. I could literally see the dollar signs in his eyes. And I wasn't too unhappy about my royalty check too. I was independent now. I could afford that sex change operation now. My parents were still coming to terms with my sexuality and I was coming to terms with my life at the moment. I was twenty now. Studying in the college where I used to be a boy. 

"Can I get an autograph, Ms Writer?"
I picked up the pen for another signature. Nina. That was the name I had chosen from Niel. 
"Red suits you".
I looked up and saw him again. He still had the same lazy smile as if it hadn't shocked him.
"Hi again", I said shyly, "So now you know and you can hate me. I am used to it".
"Would it shock you if you if I asked you for a coffee now?"
I lost my voice.
"I mean after you are done with the event. Let's get to know each other again. Man or woman, I really find you intriguing".
And I said yes. It felt freeing. And I felt like I was flying already. 

Her Wedding Night- A Short Story

Imgae source: Internet

“Come away with me!”

His hands hurt and his mouth was tightened into a grim line of remorse and anger, “Please…!” he begged as he pulled her closer to him.

“No”, he heard her lifeless voice and there was no emotion in her voice.

There she sat, so young and beautiful on the bed, wearing the bright red glitters of bride and golden of the sunshine.   Her eyes glittered, her tears already dry and spent.

“No?”

“No”, she repeated but there was no firmness in her voice. Raising her gray eyes she bit her lip. A habit that was endearing to Arnav for a very long time-almost three years  

He moved closer to his, cupping her face in his hands and forced her to look at him, “But why! You don’t want to marry this guy, do you?” his mouth slowly moved closer to her when she suddenly pushed hi \m away from her. Her gray eyes no longer dim “Damn you Arnav! Damn you! What do you want me to do? Leave all this”, she spread her hands and looked around, “You want me to go with you and disgrace my family…my husband!”

“You don’t even know him”, he snared, his no longer pleading, “That guy could have seen you hundreds of times in a wedding…is it my fault that I don’t belong to your community?”

“No”, she said morosely, “It was never your fault. And that guy you are referring to is now my husband”.

“I don’t care a damn about that! He hasn’t touched you. I have!” he pulled her closer again and plundered his mouth into hers, punishing her for the torture he was going through sitting here waiting for her relinquish her principles for once and do something that they both wanted. He moved her lips closer to her ears, “Can you tell me that after being with me you want to be with him? I can hear your heart beating Shriya. Its telling me that I’m the only one whom you will ever love!”

“Y-yes”, she answered, her voice no longer steady. It shook with the force of love she felt for him.

“Then come away with me…you know you want to…”

“No”, she repeated again.

His whole body stiffened and he suddenly let go of her. She fell on her back and stared at him with helpless eyes. Pulling his T-shirt down to his jeans he ran his fingers roughly on his thick long hair. It almost reached his shoulder.

“You are too young!” he protested, “Why in the hell they got you married?”

“We, Arnav”, she repeated, “We are too young. You forget that we are of the same age”

“So what!” he barked then closed his eyes swallowing the pain because he knew that no matter how much he protested now Shriya had made up her mind. He looked at her drinking in the beauty, the innocence of youth…only eighteen waiting for her husband to come and ravish her. Just the thought burned his blood. He felt like killing…he felt like dying!

“You have to leave now”, she said, her voice marvelously calm again, “I hear footsteps”.

He narrowed his eyes, “You want me to go”, repeating her words as if he was hearing that he was about to be given a death sentence, “And what then? Where do I go from here?”

“I know where I go from here Arnav. Where you go, you have to decide”.

“I want you. Only you!”  He shouted again.

She closed her eyes and looked away, breathing unsteadying while silent tears ran on his cheeks.

“So I should go?”

She nodded and pursed her lips, an unwanted sob passing through her lips.

“God! Don’t cry! Why are you crying”, he almost sneered, “It should be me who should be crying. Should I?”

“No!” she yelled this time and then glared at him showing the old sprit that had attracted Arnav to her at the first place, “I want you to leave. My husband is going to be here any minute now. Do you want him to find out that I was having an affair before our marriage?”

“I don’t want to shame you”, Arnav drew a sharp breath, “Or do you think that is why I came here. Climbing that window?”

“I just want you to leave”.

“I’m asking you again”, he slowly walked towards her, “I’ll earn Shriya…I can make money. We don’t have to live on love only…”

“No!”

“So that’s it, is it?” he paused on his steps and looked at the because he knew that this would be the one last time he would.

“Yes”.

Their eyes met and a strong current seemed to pass, Arnav turned away before it destroyed him. He slowly walked towards the open French window. Though he didn’t look back he could hear her soft sobs and she didn’t even call his name. The door of the room suddenly clicked and he quickly climbed back. The last thing he heard was a man talking and Shriya’s soft answer to him.

His Shriya was married.

His beautiful young Shriya was married and he couldn’t do a damn about anything. He walked slowly on the road his eyes blind to the fast paced traffic coming along on the road.  Miraculously he walked straight without getting hit, his thoughts only about the wedding night of Shriya ahead. She was not his any longer…

His eyes hardened at the thought. She could have come with him. If she loved him, she would have come with him…

Maybe she didn’t love him enough. Maybe…just maybe their love not strong enough to protect them.

A tortured cry left right from his heart to his mouth and the only thing he didn’t do was to cry.

Diary of a Married Woman- A Horror/Thriller Story

Date: 6th May 1975

He waited for me to come home every night, to our son and our life that seemed to be going on and on for years now. It will never end. Marriage after all has no end, no contract. And I envied my single friend, Asmara. She had no worries, except maybe paying the bills and keeping her flat going with her 9 to 5 job. I had no job. Maybe that's why I had to do it secretly. I wore a saree at home but outside I was a different woman. A woman who wanted it all. Who could tell that a simple married woman was in fact a prostitute? My job gave me pleasure. I know I am supposed to crib but I don't. I like being manhandled and wanted. It makes me feel like a woman.

Date: 17th May 1975

Today there were riots and Indira Gandhi has declared emergency in the state. Everything was weird. But my clients were more than ever. Maybe it was the stress of what was happening. The man was handsome. He had a wife and an infant of two days at home. But he came to me. He says he is attracted to me but I find an instant dislike to such an insensitive man. After he pushed me against his car, I didnt't feel like being a part of the act. So I just pretended it was my husband. 

Date: 20th May 1975

Asmara was unhappy. She cried that her boyfriend had to undergo vasectomy. The rules were strict. And she wanted children. They were about to get married too. I felt nothing except perhaps, my husband should go to the camp. He should be sterilized. Already her son was showing signs of autism. I shouldn't tell him though. I killed our second baby when it was born. I took his tiny neck in my hands and cracked it into two. And I felt happy. My body was mine again. 

Date: 25th May 1975

They were going to kill me. I just knew that. Yet when he just felt my breasts, I realized like every other man, he wanted to do it. A woman found in the streets so late in the night despite the State emergency, was a serious offence. The police officer gave me a lewd stare and asked me to get with it. When I reached home, tired and scared, I never wanted to go out of the home now. But he hit me again. Did I tell you that he didn't know I was a woman of streets? He thinks I got and sell those horrible puppets he makes at home. And all that money I earn is his. But how can i let him know the truth? Hurt and male ego didn't go well together.

Date 30th May 1975

Killing a man for money was easier now. It wasn't necessary to do anything else. That handsome man met me again. It was easier to work late in the nights now in exchange of physical favors. I stood with blood in my hands and my mouth, his guts were out and he looked like a scary picture of 1950's. Black and white and no color in his cheeks. Dead people made an interesting subject to describe. No wonder the police spent hours on them. But they were not going to find the culprit. 

***

The tank bund on the roads of Necklace road was deep. Osman Lake was filled with uneven shores. There wasn't a soul walking around. She raised her hands high up in the air, closing her eyes, enjoying the fresh air and a faint order of fish mingled with blood. Then there was a splash. The old beggar on the road twitched his nose and collected the money she threw on his clothes. He removed his blind glasses and walked his way home. Finally he could afford the drugs and a bottle of rum for dinner. 



(C) Sonia Kundra Singh
Do Not Copy
(c) Copyright 1957

The Hand- A Thriller/Horror Story

Living in the city was never so much fun. I walked the lanes in a quite solitude waiting for the rain to calm down. It was getting darker and the rains didn't loose its ferocity. It only got dimmer and not so pleasant sunlight remained for us to go home.  But my home was what I called home. It was a one bed studio, previously owned by an artist. He still had his paintings in the flat when I started to move in. The landlord didn't touch them, asking me to do what I wish with them. Most of them were portraits of people, young and old and some very repetitive ones, as if he was trying to perfect his art. And some incomplete.  This particular woman did seem very difficult to put on canvas. And I was taking arts at school. It only made sense that I get to keep them.

The dreary stairs stood in front of me as I reached. Two flights to take and I skipped in my way. I was thin and fit so not having an elevator didn't suck as much as it did for others. And the rent was dead cheap. It was so affordable that I didn't need to share it with anyone. I finally had my own place at 18.

I flipped through the several keys I had when the door opposite to mine. The old woman was creepy, white hair, uncombed and those sleeping robe that must not been washed since ages. She she stunk! Like some rat feeding on dead worms and maybe of rat poop too. I backed a step. The smell was unbearable.

"Why are you living here?"
What a weird way of welcoming someone.
"He doesn't like anyone watching him work. Or touching his work. Never sold them even to me. I could have given him so much for those paintings".
"Uh, He?"
"The man who used to live here. Amish guy. beard and a hat with black suit. He used to hide them from his Rabbi family".
"What do you mean?"
"They killed him. He was being rebellious. A jew wasn't supposed to paint. He could only be a farmer or a teacher..."
"I see".
The woman laughed. Her rotting teeth telling a story of an unloved life, "And you will know soon too".
I just pushed myself into the flat, angry that I got an insane woman for a neighbor. No wonder I didn't have to give the down payment.

The light didn't work and it was too quite. The woman's word still ringing at the back of my mind. I was a catholic, church going woman with no one to tell me what to do with my life. The poor guy must have really suffered. Religion suppressing his creativity.
The lights flickered and a hollowness of someone talking began.
"Cut his hands off!"
"Both his hands!"
It was like an repetitive echo. The paintings began to lift and fly, smashing against the walls. I stood frozen, sweat trickled down my forehead and body just feeling cold, as if it was peak winters and I was standing naked in the middle of the night.
"I love that woman. Don't do this please".
"We are going to do what we please. Our religion does not allow two marriages. You are a cheat".
A shadow of a woman, so beautiful began crying. And another one, a little older but coldness exuded from her. She took the painter's knife and slashed the woman's head.

The lights came and there was no one in the room. The paintings were exactly where they were. And none were torn. I blinked and felt a fervor. The woman's painting had to be completed. I got to work, my hands picking up the color palate, fresh and the paint brushes looked new. It was like someone was waiting for her to do the job. I didn't feel tired, a strange fever catching up with me. Someone tapping my shoulders, putting his solid hands on them, wanting to tell me what to do. But I ignored it.

Morning came and I had a backache. It was the first in my life. The painting was finished. I went for my classes like everyday but the backache persisted despite those medicines. Weeks turned into months. The ghosts didn't come back. My neighbor was invisible but I was admitted in the hospital for an uneven spine. The backache had now become a serious problem. I was wrapped in some weird bandages, my hands were being bound and my mouth gagged as I tried to explain but no one heard me. My teacher had come to see me and he looked peeved and concerned.

"You said you had one painting that you wanted to show me".
"Yes...it's of a woman".
"Your flat is filled with blank canvas and there is only one painting with red paint on it. Of finger prints and hands..."
I was speechless.
"It looks like real blood".
"Maybe my flat was robbed. My neighbor might have seen something?"
"What neighbor? The old woman who owned it never gave it up. And she has been dead for years now. So I really don't know what you are talking about".
"I...Where am I?"
"It's a psychiatric ward. You have been making hand prints on your canvas for months now".
The old professor left shaking his head in dismay. I turned in my bed, curling into a ball, the backache gripping me in pain. The mirror in front of me had another man, hugging me from behind. I closed my eyes, tears and a mix of fear swirling me in the world of make believe world.

(c)Sonia Kundra Singh

Do Not Copy

(c)Copyright 1957

The Tree Of Knowledge- A Short Story

The only time Bhalu thought that it was okay to stay back in the fields was when he was expecting Rewari to come his way. She was a beautiful girl. Her sun kissed cheeks, those eyes that crinkled as the sun stared openly, her lips dry with walking all day to reach the school only to come back dragging her feet behind, her legs tired of walking for five kilometers to reach home. But he liked that she stopped by his field for a drink of water. Sometimes he even had fruits that he hid from his father's sight. Those ripe mangoes were just right for his Rewari. Though she didn't like talking. Only those blank stares when his eyes went inadvertently to her breasts. The only time he actually got a closer view to them. But her school uniform just made it impossible for him to actually imagine them any further.

Image source: UNICEF

"Why are you so late today?" he asked as he pulled out the earthen pot for her to drink.
"Baba said, I can't go to school now".
It was upsetting to hear the news. She already lived far away from his fields. Now she would never come his way.
"You should insist then if you really like going to school".
For the first time she looked at him, than through him, "Why didn't you ever go to school?"
School wasn't for him. Even his parents knew he was dumb. But he was good at farming. He worked very hard for it.
"I like being a farmer. And the fields won't take care of themselves".
"I am going for high studies to the city. It's the tenth boards and I really want to take it".
That sounded too intimidating for him.
"And then what do you want to do?"
"Maybe apply for a job. Depending on what I am studying. I like math".
Too complicated for him. But at least she was smiling at him. He smiled back. Is it the right time to hold her hand?
"Do you think we could be friends?" She sounded eager, "I like that you want to know what I want".
"But I want to be more than friends...", he couldn't stop at being just that, "I want to marry you".
She dropped the water, "And stay with you as a farmer's wife? What about school?"
"You can study after marriage".
It was a lie. She knew that. But at least he was desperate enough to do that.
"I have to go".
He stopped her by holding her arm. It wasn't supposed to be a tight hold but it hurt. Surprised by the move, she wriggled out of it.
"You have to answer me now".
"No! I don't want to marry an illiterate like you".
She didn't look back.
She just ran. Ran like her life depended on it. Talking to boys wasn't encouraged in her village but she had always looked forward to some rest on her way home. Now she was afraid to even go to school. The one place she loved. And what will happen from tomorrow anyway? Her father would marry her off and her life would be finished.

The next day she sneaked out of her house determined to attend her exams. It was her ticket to freedom. The boy's village came on her way but he was missing. She sighed with relief and wondered why the tree was so crowded.
The boy's lifeless body hung from the tree, his color blue and his shabby clothes torn of his body.

"He was depressed last night and just disappeared into the night", was what she heard when she tried to eavesdrop.

Before she could reach the school, her father was waiting for her. His face red with anger and some other cousins looking equally peeved. She hung her head and before she could say something felt a blow on her head.

"You will listen to your father". "You are a woman, A woman listens!"
And the last she thought that crossed her mind was the puppy love of the boy who gave up his life because she broke his heart and maybe she was soon going to meet him soon.


(C) SONIA KUNDRA SINGH
DO NOT COPY
As per Copyright act of 1957 

C for Characters in the novel

As a writer I always had this insane obsession with my characters. I get attached to my heroines and often dislike the hero till i find something worthy about him. But its very important to have feelings for them. Hate and Love is all good and also compassion if you can. Because you are writing about them, through them, so you got to have a mind without any prejudices.

Always make a brief sheet about their physical characteristics

Name:

Profession:

Goals:

Hobbies:

Likes:

Dislikes: 

Siblings:

Parents:

This will help you build a strong plot and you will always have in handy a sheet for reference in case you decide to shelf the project and start after a few months later. Always a great way to re-do your novel too.

My laptop and my note book always go hand in hand

Characteristics of characters:

A character needs to have certain traits that will make him loveble or distrustful or hateful. All these three emotions are great to start with. The heroine will have something solid to base her dislike for the hero. The same can go with the heroine's characteristics. The hero can choose can emotion. Except of course they are strongly attracted to each other.

The secondary characters play a major role and you can give them one characteristic that would make them responsible for the conflict in the novel.
For example: In my second novel A SOLDIER'S LOVE STORY, I have the best friend as the secret jealous friend who cannot see the heroine happy. She ends up being the case of her best friend's rape. And thus starts the conflict where the heroine decides to end her marriage celebrations.

Conflicts:

Any conflict would do. In fact you can make a simple conflict as 'College breakups', 'Alleged cheating', 'an impossible mother in law', 'An abusive husband', 'An arranged match' and so on. In fact I think writing these down will help you a long way. You can make a simple profession as your base for a conflict too.
For example: In my first novel LOVE ME IN THE END, I have based arranged match as their conflict. The hero and the heroine hated each other because they ended up together because of a forced match. Both independent minded and NRI's, they do everything they can to break it off.


Writing a novel becomes really easy if you have notes. I understand that one has to be creative but one has to be organized as well to make sure that you complete that novel you always wanted to write,


#AtoZchallenge #April2015

A Writer Or A Mother? So Many roles to play

With my second novel A SOLDIER'S LOVE STORY

A woman’s life no longer labelled as just a ‘wife’ or a ‘mother’. She is certainly more than that. I say that because I live among women around me, in my family who are not only conquering their field as a professional but also doing their bit as a mother and a wife or a daughter. My mother who married into a Punjabi family being a Bengali have certainly not been a smooth journey. Along with that she had three daughters who needed to do well in studies and behave like a ‘sanskari’ woman when they would get married in other families. While taking care of us she pursued her interest in Education and did her Masters and Mfil. My dad was always encouraging her and also opened a school so that they realize their dream as entrepreneurs. They struggled all their lives to give us a good life and I do learn a lot from the because my parents never taught me to be spoil brat. Every thing in life is achieved only through hard

On one of our trips to Aruku Valley. We are ardent travelers!

work.  Maybe that why I am one of those women who want it all- A loving family, children, a career and an active social life. And although the pressure was high where all my friends were pursuing professional courses, I just wanted to be a writer. And although people who do think that writing would mean just sitting with an expensive laptop and typing abc’s, it does take a lot more than that.

My family

Weaving stories, making a good readership and a family that lets you be by giving you space and time is what doesn’t happen all at the same time. The hectic social obligations of an army wife often gets in the way too. There are always social gatherings, some NGO work with the families and events that needs a woman’s hand. And with a toddler in tow, sometimes you have to make tough choices and leave him to fend for himself. However you cannot excuse yourself at times which is what makes your life tougher. As a woman I cannot help but feel guilty at times because I always feel I am not doing justice in my relationships. Being a writer pulls me away from the reality and I often isolate myself from them. Its freeing because I write better then. And today with three of my books published and a good number of people reading them, I know that I have done something for myself- created a niche that one needs in life to wake up in the morning and look forward to the day.

Marriage- deal or no deal

Marriage after a long long time has come to my mind that really diminishes the romance in your life. you are in the mode of a trance before the legal certificate is out and it only makes you a pawn of the societal sacrifice. It is a beautiful because then all the celebrations, the clothes, the food and the people, the music just drives you crazy. You feel like a celebrity and you the most importance person of the day. Your husband looks like the prince in the shinning armor and you feel like princess Samyunkta where you will be carried away in the arms of a very dashing Prithiviraaj-like character.

The reality sets in.
The house to manage, the maid that comes late and takes vacations in time of need, the bills and the important documents that never are found in time, the TV subscription always seems to show the last date, the breakfast-lunch-dinner pattern sets in and going out only seems like a waste of money. The sex becomes a chore- who will be on top is questionable now.

What women actually think.
Obviously when we see a new bride, all we think of all the sex they must be getting. It only makes us wish that we want to be in her place. obviously she would get to sleep late and the husband will wake her up with sweet kisses, all day long she would just read magazines, the food would automatically be cooked and the maid would be like the fairy Godmother.

What the man thinks.
At last someone to take place of my mother. Here is someone who would give me home cooked meals, she would wake up early (around five-ish) and finish all the housework and make excellent three course breakfast for me. The sex obviously is a perk. But then she is there-always there. So that thing can wait.

But then to be clear. This is not what happening in every marriage. I see happy couples everyday. But then i see them adjusting to the fact that they are willing to take eachother's mistakes and turn them around.  Fights are the worst thing you could do. Pointing fingers is just a bad strategy. Cheating is a bad idea. Communication is your best friend. And you can expect the magic of love happening.

With marriage and all.

High hopes!

The day begins with high hopes of writing something again and I am stuck with searching for titles. I stumbled upon this interesting link on just so many titles on love that I am just abashed and a little elated to know that titles starting with LOVE actually make sense (If its a romantic novel). A die hard fan of romance, my next romance is just going to be all about love and the real essence of togetherness.

"""As the author of the ''I Love You'' virus recently learned, anyone seeking a large readership should use the word love in a title"" - Jenny Lyn Bader.


Makes sense i guess.

Self Love

I am coming down to write my third novel, the second already gone for publishing now and will probably be out before the end of this this year. It is an exciting process to get your work acknowledged. Of course I find my share of critics but it is just another way how you deal with them. The important thing is that you write for the sake of writing and not for some kind of adoration. I satiate my hunger for self love by writing. It just a matter of maintaining that self love by ignoring people who say otherwise. If you listen to people talking about your work and being negative about it, you know that they are just telling you their views. And a good writer is always critisized.
No one is perfect. 
And I never ran behind perfection. Always craving for it. I have realized that being perfect is just another excuse for blaming people why they are not the way you want them to be.
My work is just another sample of how perfection is not achieved but procured. 
So love yourself and write what you love about. 

Really Reality Bites: How to create believable characters?

One of the best days of my life is when I am all up with ideas about the plot, the characters and then (if I am very lucky) the climax.

How I make my characters?

It is very easy to create a make-believe person but to convince an audience about that person you have to make a personality to go with it. So, to begin with always think about your hero and the heroine with strong believable names that is easy to pronounce (not like those that is very difficult to remember) and make them have jobs, families and hang-ups like everyone else. Baby names websites are the best place to search for names. They also got this interesting description that could help you build a character as well.

They should have a place they come from and of course the place they were born too. They have hobbies, fears and tempers like everyone. So make a workable sheet for you. It doesn’t have to be long but long enough for you remember.

How to make a character?

Make a little biography of the protagonist and if you got the time, make a little background for the minor characters as well. So that you don’t forget why this exist.

I know it all sounds like a lot of work but if this isn’t there in that little notebook that you always carry around then you cannot simply come to writing the story. You will have your little uncertain passages and you simply cannot go back and refer all the time where the hero came from. Use colourful stick ups around the place you write and voila not even the “writers block” can stop you. Only you (your laziness) can.

Note: Also published on readersencalve authors portal

What goes inside Plot making?

Plot is perhaps the easiest part of writing a novel. All you got to do is to brain storm a few ideas, think about the story you want to pen down and then make a very basic flow chart of what you want to achieve in the end.

Ask yourself questions. This is not your school classroom where you are hesitant to ask. Here you are the boss, you are the student and you are the reader. So ask away.

• What (is my novel about?)
• Why ( am I writing this?)
• When (are my characters going to find themselves?)
• How (will I make the perfect ending?”

This way you make a list of questions and have it safely tucked away knowing that you always have a back-up.

Make sure you have who your main protagonist is and whether your novel is going to be in first point of view, second point of view or multiple POV.

After deciding on your characters, your story begins with deciding a genre. Do you want to write a romance, mystery, thriller? Once that’s decided, make sure that you have an interesting mix of reality into fiction. Since writing LOVE ME IN THE END, I have found that romance in real is very different from the one in the pages. You have to have two people in love who despite hating each other also want to be with each other. When you have the reasons all jot down on a list of paper it becomes easy for you to use their dislike for each other as conflict. Another important part of a plot of conflict but then I will explain that in detail later.

For example from Love Me In The End:

“Of course I want to marry!” she contradicted, “Just not you in particular”.

“And the reason could be?” Arman narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t like you”.

“Fine! I don’t like you either”, turning back to the other woman who was smiling almost maliciously, “And there is nothing better than to get rid of you”.

Also make sure that you have a sub-plot going on since it becomes monotonous for the reader to keep on thinking about the problems of the hero. The sub plot could be more on a lighter side, perhaps adding the hero’s flirty brother who makes sure that the heroine goes for a date with him to make the hero jealous in turn bringing a passionate response from both sides.

Making points also help

1.       Father making decision to get a groom of his choice

2.       Daughter hopes to change his mind

3.       Hero torn between his career and impending marriage

4.       Hero and heroine meet and here comes an explosive chemistry

5.       Father feels uncertain and decides to call off the match

These are some of the points I made for my novel. And you need to keep on making it till the end even if you decide to change your mind in the end. This is the magic of a pen and lots of paper around.

Be bold when writing a story because if you don’t believe in what you write, no one else will.

Note: Also published on the website of Readersenclave arthor's portal

My experience becoming a Published writer

Looser thoughts: Yes, I had given up already.

There were times when writing I would stop and wonder just "WHY am i writing?"

The introduction: It was the time of my life when I was sipping tea at the Mess and whenever people asked me what I did (for living I mean) I brushed away the question and asked them about themselves (and you know how people love to talk about themselves). My husband said "She's a writer", My dad said, "She's a writer", My sisters, my mom all had the same thing to say. And I wished they would just say nothing. According to me writer was a very renowned status given to someone who is published, known and appreciated/critiqued. 

The intervention: The market was booming with books by Indian writers and I knew I wasn't bad at writing myself. I was reading an article about a writer published at the age of seventeen (i won't be taking names here) and got inspired to do some editing for the time being. I was naive when it came to knowing the publishing industry and except perhaps Penguin and Rupa I knew none. Of course it never came to my mind that there are smaller publishers who are ready to give young writers a chance. I was one of them. I browsed the internet for all the small scale publishing houses and found many. I sent many emails too. Excited about the prospect. Many would hate this process-but I loved it. I knew that there is someone out there who was reading my novel, thinking about it and making a decision. 

The dream coming true: Yes, I was accepted by many publishers (not naming again) but I choose Mahaveer. That was the first email I got and I jumped with joy. Who knew I would see the day when my novel would be in stands?

It did take a lot of time because publishing is no joke. There is editing, final editing, book cover, the acknowledgments, the synopsis all being reconsidered but its all worth the wait. Till then just keep writing another one because it will just drive you crazy to wait.

How LOVE ME IN THE END was born? The six month long wait was over. I had LOVE ME IN THE END in my hands and people talking about it too. Its a great feeling to know that "Yes, you have done it!" 

P.S: If you care for more information about my novel check out any leading websites like- Amazon, snapdeal and so on and so forth.

And by the way you want to know what I do?

I am  writer :)

Why Writer's Block is a myth?

Writing is easy.

No, I am not saying that usual, soon-to-be-published kind of writing but yes when you are a writer by profession   the only thought comes to your mind is writing another book and somehow get this one to the best selling list. "Perhaps make it better than the one I had written before". A great thought indeed but it puts all the more pressure on your writing skills. Slowly, you make your way into the blank world of blank pages and the more you write then more the papers gets crushed and thrown into the bin (or in my cases all around the floor). The more plots you conceive, the more you hope that 'This is the one' but it doesn't happen overnight or rather it could be that 'Eureka' moment when you actually sit down and type the words out. 

The writer when suffering with the 'blank-page syndrome' should just feel more than you write then. You can only write if you are immensely happy or immensely in pain. And such emotions actually help you in making great dialogues and great scenes as well. So, sit down, think about that moment when someone broke your heart, someone who hated you or vice-versa, someone who made your life miserable, someone who gave your first kiss...

Still the fever on?

I once heard from a wise guy that writing a journal helps. The daily chaos in one's life always makes you want to vent out and could be onto something. Pen is a powerful tool and forever your friend. It doesn't give opinion but just writes the way you want it to. So, make an attempt to write at least thrice a week about your day and how you felt. You never know you can come up with a great plot by just referring to it. 

What Characters?

At times when I am done with writing and with loads of editing to be done, I ask myself why I end up writing a hero that is emotional and a heroine that is stubborn as hell. I know my mind mapping draws my characters depending on what they are feeling at the certain situation and not always do what they are supposed to be doing. They go out of hand very soon and I drag them to fight back...to win the love of their life and put someone else's priorities ahead. 


However, making characters is not always the easiest job in the world. It is always a struggle between who is the perfect guy for the perfect woman out there and what exactly do they want. The perfection begins to fade as their inner flaws interfere with their goals and I make time to hate as much as I love my 'Hero'. It almost makes a poetry of a sort and I think of the Greek Tragedy- The rise and fall. Only to Rise again, obviously. I dislike tragedies in Romance novels. But then without pain there is no resolution to find something better in lives and one has to know the value of happiness. So there it goes, I map it again- the rise, the tragedy, the fall, the resolution to find happiness and the rise again. Of course there is lot of physical chemistry going on to tie the hero and the heroine together in an invisible knot though faced with temptations. Perhaps this is what makes me want to go on writing Romances. What is making my characters tick depends entirely upon what makes them happy at first is affecting their love interest in the end. So there goes the vital combat between wills and the lifetime of love. 


The knowledge that I am responsible for making two very different people fall in love and in a way that they are bonded for life together is perhaps my way of saying- I believe in miracles (even love can forever, right?) 

Why a Romance?

I always thought reading a romance had great potential. I was sixteen, barely out of my Tinkle, Archies comics mode and it took quite sometime to actually like a full length novel. The first time i picked up a copy of a novel was the Mills n boons borrowed from a friend (n she liked my Archie comics). So I started my journey as an avid reader of romance, wanting to sink in all the romance I could because for my the idea of a perfect man still lay invisible and the perfect woman was obviously nowhere to be seen (after all where do you actually find a stunning beauty with little money who attracts rich guys like bees to honey?)

I later tried the Sydney Sheldon phase but after two fat novels i decided i was not cut out for the cynical side of the world. So after Susan Napier, Betty Neels, Carol Mortimer, Penny Jorden, Sandra Brown, Jude Deveraux, Judith McNaught...and I am still trying to remember all those names, it seemed like my collection just increased. One thing I loved about a romance...there was always the happy ending. Although one concept I rarely understood is the concept of loving a guy who was like ten times your senior. Maybe the the fascination of being with an older guy always makes its turn in their novels. Personally I cannot find the similarity between my characters having a huge age difference. I can take a ten year gap but more than that is just unacceptable. Diana Palmer always used this as a conflict in her novels. And more so a fair concept of the forbidden fruit. (Again I am back to thinking about conflicting themes for my next novel).

Perhaps the sweet hot romances where a hero just put you on a stand and worships you is a deliberative scene. Where as a reader we wish for things unpredicted but its the idea of the predictable that gives you a safe feeling...you know that the hero and the heroine will end up together, no matter how much of the differences they have. And in a world where everything seems so difficult, so chaotic where less than five percent of people even like you, it is better to live in a world of imagine for the next two//three hours. Reading a romance's good...almost good enough to tuck into your bed after a long day and end your day with a good ol' romance novel...

Diana Palmer- One of my favorite romance writer...

Another usual day for me and another novel by Diana Palmer just done with. A woman of my heart Ms Palmer always makes a strong impact on my writings. The way she carries forward a sex scene without making a reader feel like its another X-rated scene again, she manages to portray the characters with such multiplicity that you just cannot help but go with the flow. 

You find the protagonist, the hero with the same defining qualities...the tall, dark, handsome, cowboys with a vast experience in women. They usually have a shaded past, a deadly or useful job (a mercenary, a ranch owner, a doctor, a journalist...so on) and they feel more than they talk. Its the way they love their woman. And its not always sex that they think about. Obviously physical attraction is one of the main theme of a romance novel (a reader would probably bored to death if it was otherwise) but it does want you to be one of those heroines whose partner just couldn't get enough of them. They are the 'Diamonds in Rough' and here the heroine enters carrying attributes that makes her every bad boy's dream.

The heroine is almost always (and i mean always!) a virgin, independent, who loves to cook, keep house, great with children, usually wears glasses and dresses like a matron. So i wonder what exactly makes her so attractive? Here Ms Palmer focuses on the inner qualities rather than the outer ones. Maybe because the readers are mostly woman, housewives, who don't really think themselves as beautiful and wear dowdy clothes to hide all the wrong curves. So as i was saying, the hero enters, carrying forward an attraction he has for this virgin young woman who is almost fifteen years his junior. But its the forbidden that makes the hero crave for her more  and everyday the distance narrows and they come together as a couple in the end (usually in bed). 

Ms Palmer who also writes under the name of Susan Kyle has recently completed her studies in Native American studies. at the age of 45 she went back to school  and she graduated *summa cum laude* from Piedmont College, Demorest, GA, with a major in history and a double minor in archaeology and Spanish. A woman of great learning and a thirst for knowledge. If you look at her, she does look like one of her heroines and she wears the exact same glasses that she describes in almost all her novels. 

She has a stunning personna of a woman who knows that its romance that she wants to write about. The virgin brides and the bad boys controlling deep sexual desire for each other that could only be quenched in each other's arms. Somehow makes an interesting read for a reader who loves a good juicy romance without the trimmings. 

This must be my 30th novel of her and I still hunger for more.  

Here is a link to her website who would be interested in reading her...

http://www.dianapalmer.com/