What is Suprose?

Welcome to Suprose.

Why Su-prose? "Su" in Sanskrit is a prefix for "good". This is a place where we will discuss and analyze prose (with a South Asian Connection) - that which is good, awesome, excellent, and maybe rant about prose that could be better.

Whether you love prose, are a prose expert, or want to learn more about prose, or to put it simply want to have anything to do with prose, this blog is for you.

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Saturday, October 29, 2011

Letting Go of The Fear Of Being Judged As A Writer

Read this article here
Writing a Mills & Boon novel rekindled a romance in Aastha Atray Banan’s life—the one with words. For, it finally allowed her to let go of the fear of being judged as a writer
BY Aastha Atray Banan
Aastha Atray Banan, 29, became a journalist because she knew that words were her best friends. She won the M&B Aspiring Authors Contest last year, and her book, His Monsoon Bride, will be out in December

I had always imagined my first book would be like Haruki Murakami’sNorwegian Wood—dark, gloomy, full of suicidal tendencies and existential angst. I’d had dreams of how it would havelonely hearts who look for love in many dysfunctional relationships, only to end up alone in their Delhibarsatis and Mumbai’s Bandra ‘bungalows’ with a cat for a companion. And then one day, it would win the Booker, followed by the Pulitzer.
At least, that’s what the plan was. But the powers up there, who had obviously been laughing at my delusions, chose a funny way to let me know exactly what would be good for me. And in retrospect, I humbly agree with them.
But let’s rewind to the day I came home after a tiring assignment in a far-flung corner of Mumbai, sure that the visit would be a waste, since the story would eventually not even be carried as it just wouldn’t be up to the ‘mark’. Forgive the bitterness, but being a journalist for nine long years can make Mr Happy just a T-shirt.
As I sat in front of a computer in a dark room, I knew I was meant for better and bigger things. On Facebook, I noticed that there was a Mills & Boon contest on—write a short story, win, and you could write a novel for them.
It was five hours to deadline, and in a wave of emotions that ranged from fury (at all those who said I wasn’t a good writer) to a renewal of self-esteem (I knew I could do this), I wrote a short story about a curvy, gentle, rich heiress with a heart of gold and a ruthlessly handsome, arrogant man who would fall madly in love with her. As I hit the submit button, I felt exhilarated. For the first time I had written something without the fear of ‘judgment’ hanging over me.
And it felt good.
It must have read good too, because I won. I was applauded, and newspapers mentioned me (oh, how lovely it was to see the tables turn). My detractors said “How lovely” in amused tones, all the while cringing inside. But my friends and family said things like “Oh, we knew you would win. It’s no surprise.” Wasn’t it? Had everyone seen the M&B romance writer in me, something that I had never imagined I could be? Had all those years of conditioning myself and my style according to what ‘intellectuals’ thought was good writing and bad writing killed the writer who once wrote only what she felt like (Enid Blytonesque novels about my friends in school, and sappy ‘I love him but he doesn’t’ short stories in college)?
But a lofty task lay ahead and there was no time to think. The short story had to be converted into a 40,000-word novella. And if I had ever thought that writing a romance was easy, I had another thing coming. The first month was spent in figuring out the characters. Why was Amrita (my heroine) so different from other South Mumbai brats? Why did she dislike her body so much? Why did she want to wait till marriage to have sex? Why was Mehtab (my hero) such a sour puss? Why didn’t he live with his family? Why was he so ruthless?
It had to be all there in my head, even if I didn’t use the information later, explained my able editor. Otherwise, how would I justify the independent Amrita’s decision to marry the arrogant Mehtab in a manner that made it seem like a business transaction?
Then came the time to write the first three chapters, and I waited for those much-heard-about M&B diktats. Now they would tell me when the first kiss was supposed to take place and when the first fight—it would all be planned out. But nothing happened. I was told to set the tone of the story in the first three chapters, or else I would lose the reader. But no diktats, no strict guidelines—they had just support and a deep understanding of my characters and their lives to offer.
There was one important, life-changing question asked, though. As an Indian writer, how much sex was I going to be okay writing about? I knew what to say—there would be sex for sure. After all, one of the challenges of being an Indian writer is to portray modern India, not one where flowers meet when couples kiss on screen. If Bollywood had progressed to long-extended smooches, some sex in a Mills & Boon novel was granted, right?
And so, the 10 chapters progressed, slowly at first, and then rapidly, years of journalism experience kicking in. I had never been this happy or free. Free to write what I wanted, free to experiment, innovate and create stories that had nothing to do with the outside world. Happy, because finally there was no one judging me. Or once again, that’s what I thought. Writing an M&B meant you were not a serious writer, people seemed to say to me through their eyes. Some more blatantly so. A recent magazine article on the ‘Mills & Boon strategy in India’ referred to my novel as ‘a cheesy romance with a cringe-worthy plot’ without even reading it. The writer, after having had a long conversation with me, didn’t even consider it fit to mention my view. After all, writing the ‘love conquers all’ kind of romance had to be the task of a silly, flighty, second-rate writer, they seemed to say.
But writing a romance meant that I had to revive the optimist in me—the one who didn’t bleed sarcasm and cynicism in the frenetic, fast-paced, dog-eats-dog world we live in today. I had to only look at my husband who sat with me as I guiltily watched Keeping Up With the Kardashians and know that love stories do exist. Some less perfect than others, but they exist all the same. I had to let go of my inhibitions and be the one who didn’t give a damn anymore about how she was perceived. And today, I can’t be prouder to introduce myself as Aastha Atray Banan, journalist and an M&B writer. Writing one has made me aware of who I am, and even more acutely of who I am not, and never could be.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

How To Write Fiction Collection from the Guardian

An excellent collection of "how to write fiction" essays from the Guardian is a great and inspiring read for writers at all levels.

How to write fiction: Jill Dawson on getting started
Mired in research? Fearful of failure? Procrastination is the writer's biggest enemy. Fight it: a series of false starts is better than no start at all.

How to write fiction: Meg Rosoff on finding your voice
Your 'voice' lies somewhere between your conscious and subconscious mind. Finding that place is a challenging exercise in self-confrontation, says Meg Rosoff

How to write fiction: Kate Mosse on the importance of plot
The concept of plot has its detractors – but every writer needs a taut framework of cause and effect on which to hang their words, says Kate Mosse

How to write fiction: Adam Foulds on description with meaning
You need to immerse yourself in the world in order to describe it truthfully. Choose your words precisely and they will propel your plot forward, says Adam Foulds

How to write fiction: Mark Billingham on creating suspense
More than any trick or technique, what makes suspense so enthralling is empathy – crafting characters your readers can truly connect with, says Mark Billingham

How to write fiction: Geoff Dyer on freedom
Writing is a natural process – we're all geared up to do it, says Geoff Dyer

How to write fiction: DBC Pierre on convincing dialogue
Dialogue is the lifeblood of your novel – the credulity of your characters depends on it. DBC Pierre shares his hard-won techniques for writing fluid, believable conversation

How to write fiction: Andrew Miller on creating characters
Strong characters are crucial to fiction. You can borrow traits from real life, but the best characters are born of a deeper human understanding

How to write fiction: Rachel Cusk on point of view
Learning to distinguish between point of view and objective truth is the writer's first step towards creating authentic, resonant work

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Tête-à-Tête with Tahmima Anam

Photo Credit: Zahedul I. Khan
When a review copy of "A Golden Age" arrived at my door a few years ago I was very impressed with artistic elements of the cover design. I hoped that the new author of this book would not let me down. The cover design paled in comparison with the mellifluous language and emotion in this debut novel. Shortly after, it came as no surprise to me when I heard that Tahmima Anam had won the 2008 Commonwealth Writers Prize for the Best First Book. 

Tahmima Anam comes from an illustrious literary family of freedom fighters. Anam was born in Dhaka, Bangladesh, and grew up in Paris, New York City, and Bangkok. She completed her undergraduate education at Mount Holyoke College in 1997. She trained as an anthropologist, earning a PhD from Harvard University, USA. In 2005 she completed an MA in Creative Writing at Royal Holloway, University of London.  

Besides writing fiction, she is also a contributing editor of New Statesman of UK. She was gracious enough to answer some questions for Suprose from her home in West Hampstead in London. 

1. Your degree is in Social Anthropology. How did you become a writer?

I decided while doing research for my PhD in Anthropology that I wanted to become a novelist. I wanted to bring characters to life, to describe a time and place and allow the reader to be transported to another time and place--in my case, Bangladesh during the 1971 war.

2. How did your first novel get published?

I wrote a short story which appeared in an anthology. The editor got in touch with me and asked if I planned to write a novel. I sent her a few chapters and she liked them. She is still my UK editor to this day.

3. Why do you write? What inspires you to write?

I am currently working on a story about a young boy who works in a ship-breaking yard in southern Bangladesh. I went to one of these places last year, and I was struck by the sight of these giant ships being taken apart by workers. I am inspired by human stories of suffering and resilience, and of course, by the landscape of Bangladesh.

4. Who were/are some of your role models?

Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain, the 19th century Bengali feminist and writer. Her novella, Sultana's Dream, is one of the first ever depictions of a feminist utopia. And my grandmother, Musleha Islam, who raised four children in East Pakistan in the 1950's after she was widowed at age 36.

5. Who are some authors that you like to read for technique, for inspiration and for relaxation?

Every time I begin a novel, I re-read Toni Morrison's Beloved, which I believe is a great modern masterpiece. I read it for style, technique and sheer brilliance.

6. Both your books are about the Bangladesh Independence movement. Did this affect you personally? What about it draws you to this Independence struggle?

My family were all very much involved in the Bangladesh war. Though I didn't witness the war myself, I think of it as a moment of protean possibility, a moment when people were imagining a new country, a new society. I wanted to invoke this sense of newness in the first novel, and in the second novel, I focused on some of the disappointments that people faced once the country came into being.

7. Have you written your next novel? How long do you take to write a novel? What process do you go through when writing one?

It takes me 3-4 years. I wish I could say I've already written the next one, but in truth I have hardly begun. I write my novels in longhand and then type them into the computer--it helps me to go through my own garbled handwriting and start the editing process at that stage.

8. What would you say to those who say that one needs a formal MFA in order to become a successful writer?

It depends on the person. An MFA can give you the confidence and the discipline to begin writing. But many successful writers have either just begun writing at a very young age, or turned to fiction after having a career in another field. I wouldn't prescribe a formula, but I would say that it's important to give yourself the time to get started, and to force yourself to sit down to your writing for at least a few hours every day.