What can I write about
my big fat experience on getting published? Firstly, it is so much more fun to
narrate it as opposed to actually living it. Working on your first book can be
an incredibly terrifying and challenging experience, especially when stringing
together every single sentence that goes into its making can be an arduous
ordeal that begins to feel like you are attempting to scale Mt. Everest armed
with nothing more than words (which have the alarming tendency to pull out of
your reach just when you need them) and wit (which you assure yourself is
something you actually possess not something you imagine you do). The torment
is exacerbated when it entails fighting debilitating insecurity, crippling
uncertainly and chronic fear every step of the way. Occasionally there is the
sanguine belief that a chapter you have just completed is pure genius but the
feeling vanishes after the first reread. I could go on of course, but
recollecting past traumas can oftentimes recreate the trauma resulting in an uncontrollable
urge to reach for anything that is sweet, deep fried or both and that is hardly
conducive for good health or an enviable body.
Of course, the terrors
and tribulations of the writing process pale in comparison with the horror show
that is getting published. In a nutshell, it feels like swaddling your new-born
whom you love to pieces in cover letters and sending it to reputed publishing
houses to be mercilessly scrutinized, desultorily examined, callously ignored,
and ruthlessly rejected. Rinse and repeat. Having been put through the wringer
once too often, with your self – esteem in tatters, you catch yourself
contemplating the merits of flushing yourself down the toilet and putting an
end to the unceasing misery.
At the precise moment
when dejection has climbed to dangerous levels, there is an email in the inbox
from a self-proclaimed self – publishing giant offering you the chance of a
lifetime! Which of course is to pay for the privilege of getting published. The
stink of fraud is a formidable thing and you fight the urge to sell your kidney
on the black market to raise the money demanded, having deluded yourself into
believing that you could be the next self – published phenomenon right behind
E. L James. Fortunately good sense kicks in and you decide to send temptation
into the spam folder and sign up for kickboxing classes instead. After all,
something drastic needs to be done to preserve the remnants of your sanity.
Besides shrinks charge a bomb and you can’t shake the feeling that Freud, Adler
and Jung would have retired in despair after being attacked by the bats in your
belfry.
Then one fine day, when
you are considering a change in career ruminating on whether waitressing in
Manhattan or joining the bomb squad would be a better fit, the Holy Grail is
suddenly within your grasp. An acceptance email has arrived from a legit
publishing housing and you are over the moon with unspeakable, almost vulgar
joy. Your belief in God and Satan, Astrology, Palmistry, Tarot Cards, Green
Parrot Fortune Telling, Voodoo, Black/White Magic, and Shamanism is fully
restored and you feel on top of the world. Nothing can stop you now! FAME,
FORTUNE and glorious SUCCESS are going to be your lot in life. You can feel it
in your bones! And to paraphrase Harry from Harry
met Sally - when you realise you want to spend the rest of your lives with
these three sultry sirens, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as
possible.
So you wait for the
magical change in your hitherto humdrum existence. Then you wait some more. And
wait and wait. Finally, the editing begins and studies had they been conducted
on this particular field would reveal that this is akin to having a root canal
and your haemorrhoids removed at the same time. Going over the manuscript with
a fine – tooth comb and discovering to your chagrin that no, the friendly
editor certainly does not think your baby is perfect, can be somewhat
disconcerting to say the least. Then there is the proofing to be done and you
go back and forth till you are convinced you are caught in a dastardly time
loop that is going to play out over and over again till the end of time.
Finally, the publishers slap on a beautiful cover which may or not be exactly
as you envisioned, since though you were told your inputs are invaluable it
turned out it mostly wasn’t and the book is off to print.
When the book/baby is
finally in your arms, the delivery pains fade into the dim reaches of memory
and all that remains is pure exhilaration. Your happiness is complete and you
are already toying with the idea of doing it all over again even though the
three sultry sirens are still being coy and playing hard to get. But you are
determined to seduce them and become a household name with their help even if
it kills you. That ought to be a sobering thought but it isn’t, simply because
you believe or need to believe with all your heart that ultimately it is going
to be worth it.
This article was originally published by Author's Channel.
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