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Archive for February, 2009

My sincere apologies for regular readers of this blog. I know I’ve been rather erratic of late. But, as the headline suggests, I am under a gun here.

The publishers are breathing down my neck, urging me to finish the MS and send it ASAP. The reason: so they can work on the marketing plan.

It’s all my fault really and the rather rash promise I made to them about finishing it comfortably by end Feb. And now there are only three days left and I’m still at least a week away from finishing. If not two.

As you can imagine, I’ve been staring at my computer screen for up to sixteen hours at a stretch. So, please excuse any typos you see out here. My computer is rather small. And while it looks sexy, it doesn’t really facilitate comfortable writing.

On a more upbeat note, I should be able to start posting excerpts from it in about a month from now.

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Over the past few days I’ve been preoccupied with my novel. Actually I’ve not had a single thought outside of it, so perhaps, consumed would be a better word.

I was jogging along nicely, writing leisurely while also taking the time out to watch tennis. You know, stopping to smell the roses type of thing. Then my publisher wrote to me saying she’s coming to Bombay for the Kala Ghoda festival and would like to meet me. She was (this is exactly how she wrote) VERY KEEN TO TALK ABOUT MY NEXT BOOK.

That threw me into a panic. I had nothing to show her. But if I told her that she wouldn’t believe me. Like all good editors she constantly suspects her authors of changing camps. Now I don’t know where she got the idea I’m holding out on her while peddling my work to others. I’m pretty certain that my indiscretion on an earlier occasion (I’d unwisely mentioned to a fellow author that I’ve had offers form rival publishers) didn’t find its way back to her.

Of course, her suspicions, however unjustified, are completely natural considering I’ve been promising to send her my next masterpiece since October last year. She won’t believe me if I tell her I haven’t finished it. She thinks I’m an author of prodigious and unflagging output. Somewhat like Camacho in Aunt Julia and the scriptwriter. Again, I’m pretty sure that my naive boast on an earlier occasion about sometimes churning out up to three half hour TV scripts a day had nothing to do with it.

Net net, I have to finish the novel. And fast. In a way, it’s good that she’s coming. That’s just the fire up my ass I needed. Since her email to me, I’ve finished re-writing six chapters. In six days. That’s pretty good going, even I say so myself.

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Listen to the x-rated emosanal atyachar. It’s hilarious.

Obscenity warning: explicit language used.

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