Due to the untimely demise of one of my characters, I was in mourning and could therefore not submit the story on time.
This is a real note I sent years ago. A colleague had entered my name for a short story competition by the British Council. I was not terribly enthusiastic about such events, but since it required imagining, it was par for the course. I thought nothing about it and since I was not accustomed to writing for a reason, I wove the words at a leisurely pace.
A tap on my shoulder and a thick envelope served as reminders that I paid no attention to. The date of submission was gone. I folded the sheets of paper and put them in the envelope – the address and stamps were ready. My friends were still enthusiastic. I quickly grabbed a page from my diary and wrote down the note:
What else could I say? I am not good with formal letters. Besides, it was succinct and happened to be the truth. The cat in the story had died. Obviously, I had killed it. Yet, its death was a departure, a turning point.
Recently, an Indian media house gave an award to a novel and the jury used a curious phrase for its choice: one of the reasons was “for its non-judgmental attitude to the characters”. How does a writer not judge a character when s/he has created it? This is not immaculate conception. You sweat over it, love it and get suffused in it, for however brief a time. The judgement lies in the nature of the relationship. The writer is the initiator and woos the character. It is possible that the character might mirror the writer. Introspection is also judgement. You are pronouncing a verdict on your thoughts and feelings.
Any objectivity would be forced. The character is because you are.
Back to my old story, I had written it for myself. In those days, there was no audience I was seeking or speaking to.
A few days later, rather uncharacteristically, I got a note from the British Council. It said, and I will rely on memory and promise not to exaggerate, that indeed I had missed the date of submission and rules would not permit my work for consideration. However, my accompanying note was rather interesting and caused much amusement and they could not but let me know that although the story would not be included in the competition, it was noticed.
I wondered whether dead cats could lick the cream.
This is a real note I sent years ago. A colleague had entered my name for a short story competition by the British Council. I was not terribly enthusiastic about such events, but since it required imagining, it was par for the course. I thought nothing about it and since I was not accustomed to writing for a reason, I wove the words at a leisurely pace.
A tap on my shoulder and a thick envelope served as reminders that I paid no attention to. The date of submission was gone. I folded the sheets of paper and put them in the envelope – the address and stamps were ready. My friends were still enthusiastic. I quickly grabbed a page from my diary and wrote down the note:
“Due to the untimely demise of one of my characters I was in mourning and could therefore not submit the story on time.”
What else could I say? I am not good with formal letters. Besides, it was succinct and happened to be the truth. The cat in the story had died. Obviously, I had killed it. Yet, its death was a departure, a turning point.
Recently, an Indian media house gave an award to a novel and the jury used a curious phrase for its choice: one of the reasons was “for its non-judgmental attitude to the characters”. How does a writer not judge a character when s/he has created it? This is not immaculate conception. You sweat over it, love it and get suffused in it, for however brief a time. The judgement lies in the nature of the relationship. The writer is the initiator and woos the character. It is possible that the character might mirror the writer. Introspection is also judgement. You are pronouncing a verdict on your thoughts and feelings.
Any objectivity would be forced. The character is because you are.
Back to my old story, I had written it for myself. In those days, there was no audience I was seeking or speaking to.
A few days later, rather uncharacteristically, I got a note from the British Council. It said, and I will rely on memory and promise not to exaggerate, that indeed I had missed the date of submission and rules would not permit my work for consideration. However, my accompanying note was rather interesting and caused much amusement and they could not but let me know that although the story would not be included in the competition, it was noticed.
I wondered whether dead cats could lick the cream.
"How does a writer not judge a character when s/he has created it?" -- writer should contatct a mother to be familire with this art.
ReplyDeleteIn that case, all characters would be most beautiful, intelligent, caring, utterly flawless. And very likely, if it is a son in our subcontinent, live to believe that the mother is irreplacable. The latter analogy might do wonders to prevent plagiarists from prowling, though.
ReplyDeleteHi Farzana,
ReplyDeleteAs you may recall, I've mentioned that my Hindi is rusty at best. :)
I was once told -- or perhaps I read it somewhere; it's been awhile -- that the best translation for Ganga mere makah nam; bhap ke nam Himala is "One mother; many fathers" (the many fathers being the Himalyas; the one mother being the Ganges river).
At the time, I accepted the translation as being reasonably authoritative. However, having thought about it off-and-on since, I'm wondering now if there might be some sort of inscrutable South Asian subtlety to such a refrain. Is it possible that bhap or "father" is not meant so much literally as it's perhaps meant figuratively, say, as we might refer to an uncle as a "father." Thus, "One mother; many uncles"?
Mark
Ps. Have you seen the film The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo? Just wondering. :)
Mark:
ReplyDeleteI am lost here...what is the context of this to the post? I really want to know.
Or, wait, did you imply that characters are the many fathers of the writer mother? It's the viral fever, I tell you...
The S.Asian idea of father is both literal and subliminal, as in a father figure is more important. At some point the son takes over the role.
The flowing of the Ganges from the Himalayas could be akin to Adam's Rib, do you think?
PS: No, I have not watched the film. Your 'just wondering' with smileys really gets me concerned :)
The context is a little fuzzy to me right now, Farzana.
ReplyDelete>>It's the viral fever, I tell you . . .<<
I hear you. [sniff] :)
>>The S.Asian idea of father is both literal and subliminal, as in a father figure is more important. At some point the son takes over the role.<<
Ah. I knew it was something like that.
>>The flowing of the Ganges from the Himalayas could be akin to Adam's Rib, do you think?<<
Indeed, it could. The text states only that it was "one" rib -- 'echad. It doesn't say which rib. :)
As regards the Ps., no worries. The Girl's plot captured my interest at first; but then it got a bit too, ah, 'lively' for my tastes. I was kinda wondering if it turned out the way I figured it might.
Mark:
ReplyDeleteI guess the specifics of the rib was left out so that there was room for androgyny and to tap the woman/man in the fe/male?
Btw, your Hindi was awfully cute, and the spellings could make for some humorous moments :)
Here's too many smiles in the New Year...
. . . y tu, igualmente, Farzana. :)
ReplyDeleteMark:
ReplyDeletemi español está oxidado, como su hindi :) gracias al Internet!