It is early evening, late February, and I am sitting in a room at the Department of Humanities and Social Sciences, IIT Madras. About twenty people are here with me, waiting for the Research and Development lecture to begin.
IIT Madras. Humanities and Social Sciences. Research and Development.
Sounds very un-fun, not very much unlike writing research-papers, confronting[i] words flying by in a very this-is-not-english-nor-are-you-going-to-understand-even-if-it-is-in-english way. Definitely unlike eating greasy-spicy junk food. Or anything of that sort.
If you are reading this, chances are that you too, dear human, have been in similar situations. Chances are that you ran away as soon as things became clear to you, or that you fired up your messenger service and started typing away,[ii] or you must have dozed off.[iii]
But this time, the R&D lecture will be delivered by a young woman novelist — an American, living in California.[iv] She has written two novels[v] and the first one[vi] was long-listed for the HWA Debut Crown. She is working on her third novel now, about which she would speak at length later, and also with a production house in London, where the books are being adapted for television.
There is a short wait for the collar-mic to arrive, during which Emily Holleman takes off her hair-tie and adjusts her hair. She ties it back together, and we all wait. Professor Srilata introduces the speaker to us, reading from what might probably be the bio circulated to us through e-mail.[vii] Emily Holleman begins. We listen.
Writing is hard work, she says. Then she adds, as an afterthought, that it isn’t as hard as manual-labour. Ask most writers about the process of writing, and they will tell you writing is hard work. I remember someone saying his father hated to sit in front of the typewriter but could churn out pages once he sat there. I read it somewhere in the Paris Review’s interview series. One should read how writers write and rewrite and rewrite their sentences to achieve the exact tone and texture they wish to convey. Every day, Hemingway read what he wrote the previous day and made edits before starting on that day’s writing. Some noted down ideas in index-cards, then wrote the story in longhand, and would later type it down, trimming and beautifying the text in every step. It is indeed hard work, because yourstruly can feel it as he writes[viii] this.
Expectations about the work is next in line. I came in expecting an incoherent, inchoate, and eccentric talk, taking roots perhaps from the stereotyped author-figure I had in mind. Unsurprisingly, the talk is delivered in a steady stream of words, most of which I cannot hear, partly owing to the fact that yourstruly finds her talk badly in need of sub-titles. How Indian of me!
She tells us how expectations about her work changed during her life as an author. When the first book was being written, she says, people used to give her glossy-eyed stares, thinking that she was not quite herself; she had quit the safety of her job at Salon.com to take up writing seriously. Once the first book was out and she felt the need to write another one, the pressure to succeed, to be consistent, had set in. By the time she got the idea for the third book—she says she had a vision of few campers at ground zero—despair and self-doubt had set in. She was not sure about herself and her ability to write another book.
At this point, Emily Holleman veers from her literary autobigraphy-ish narration to American politics. She talks about the big corporations, Occupy Wall-street, Donald Trump. I sit with half my politics-allergic brain hibernating. There are occasional smirks and sniggers from the audience every time she mentions Trump.
I decide this to be a good time to put to paper what had been told so far. I miss a good chunk of American politics by this decision. I am happy. I am sad. I don’t know.
Holleman resumes her literary autobiography. Facing writer’s block, as she put it, she tried to ‘lifehack’ her writing. Moleskine notebooks would be filled in early mornings, and she felt she was making slow but decent progress. Then she realized there was not much progress, and decided to start from the beginning, systematically. She is taking the book forward now, but needs a break, and that explains why she is here in India. This book is set in a not-so-distant dystopian future, a collapsed government, and big corporations and so on.
No writing is wasted writing, tells Holleman. Lack of readers does not mean one should stop writing.
She proceeds to read from her third book. I missed the working title. Here are some phrases picked up from the reading at random:
blinding white; sparse reality; desperate hopes; …she hadn’t slept in days…; I am so sorry; rhythmically not musically; barrage of concerns; linguistic anachronisms; …smashed headlights like empty eye sockets…; …dead drivers desperately…; …dust to dust and all that…; …strange word, potential…; …the mechanism refused to turn… etc.
At this point, most of the audience are busy scratching at their smartphone screens. The man sitting near me seems to be at a loss to control his sneezes.
She stops reading, and the Q&A session begins. There are three questions asked by the time I make up my mind to leave. I open the door[ix]. I am out.
Written by Ananthajith K.R.
Article 19 