So it’s the day before a big deadline, my first assignment for an international newspaper, and I’m nervous. Really nervous.
I do what every sane journalist does in this situation– I spend hours, days, almost a week, hunched over my computer, trying to knock out that perfect first sentence, that perfect second sentence, that perfect third sentence, before deleting all of it because it sucks, I suck, this sucks, and I’m never going to pull this off, they’ll realize what a hack I am, I’ll be laughed at, and I’ll never work again.
Five hours before deadline, I have the outline– fourteenth so far– and every paragraph has been outlined right down to the sentence. I’ve never outlined like this before, but I’m feeling a bit crazy. After all, I have managed to convince myself that this is the height of my suckitude, and it’s my last chance, because after this, after I’ve humiliated myself with this piece, and my editor has rounded up all her other editor friends and made fun of me, and they’ve put up pictures of me on their desktops so that they can take a break every ten minutes to mock me, I’ll never get work again.
All that’s left to do now, after all that intense outlining, fact-checking, and interviewing, is prettying it up and making it flow in a way that it makes sense. This shouldn’t be hard. It should take an hour at most. But I can’t do it. I’m blocked. I’ve been blocked all week. What the hell was I thinking pitching a story to this paper? Who do I think I am?
It’s not the first time I’ve felt like this or been blocked like this. The fear can be overwhelming, but once you get past it, you can do amazing things. I remember feeling like this when I wrote my first reported piece (two rewrites), and again, recently, when I started writing for Time (36 hours of no sleep). The bigger the publication, the more pressure there typically is, not because of the name, but because you know the sheer number of people who are going to be reading– and finding fault with– your work.
When you’re writing is possibly the worst time to think about all that, but let’s face it, we do. I do. I am.
There’s not much anyone can say or do to change that feeling, and given a choice, maybe I wouldn’t want that pressure taken away from me either. Now when I write for Time, there is the pressure, but rarely the fear. I had it, and I got over it. If I suck, I suck. If I make a mistake, I’ll learn. And I’ve already learned what works and what doesn’t, and received some share of love and loathing to be comfortable in what I’m writing. I know what I want to say, and my editor helps me find the right tone in which to say it.
At this new gig though, I’m still at the stage where I’m the new kid, looking around nervously, knowing I belong, but still feeling a little out of place. I haven’t been edited yet, and I don’t know how gentle or painful it will be.
“What does everybody else do to get through this feeling [of being scared]?” a character opening up a business asked another on a TV show I was watching the other day.
“They run in the back, throw up, pass out, and smack their head on the floor,” he replies. “At least that’s what I did on my first day. There is no button to get you through this. You just jump in.”
It’s exciting to have new opportunities and challenges as a freelancer, it tells you that you’re improving and getting somewhere. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel like throwing up. Any moment now, I know I’m going to pass out and smack my head on the floor.
The clip (and the paycheck) will make it all worth it.
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P.S. Happy Diwali, everyone! Light a candle for someone you love.
The story, which revolves around two cousin sisters Sudha and Anju and their three mothers, is an intimate portrayal of family obligations, of rifts, of responsibilities, of sacrifices, and mostly, of love. The narrative follows the two women, as they grow up together, fall in love, and get talked into arranged marriages. They follow their husbands– one to rural India, another to America. The plot is definitely worth a mention, but what is most interesting about this book is the way it intimately portrays the relationships among these women, and the choices they make because of it. Typically, books about Indian arranged marriages fall into the trap of cliche and portray very stereotypical characters. That was certainly not the case with this book, and I recommend it highly. It’s one of the best books I’ve read all year.
The first hundred pages of this sequel to Sister of My Heart were a disappointment. The next hundred showed potential. In the remainder of the book, Divakaruni was back in good form. For someone who hasn’t read Sister of My Heart, this could very well be a disappointing read. In fact, for someone who has, the first half of the book is sheer agony. You know what Divakaruni is capable of– you’ve read it, and you’ve rushed to the bookstore on your first day off to get more– but you can’t see it in these pages. There’s too much backstory, too many riddles, too much time taken to get to the point. But when she does get there eventually, she does it well. This one didn’t measure up to the potential the way the first book did, but it does carry the characters through changes in their lives, to new depths and meanings, in unexpected ways and with beautiful language. Though overwritten at times, the book is again, an intimate peek into the changed lives of characters you thought you knew so well, and who often surprise you.
I never thought I’d read this book, let alone enjoy it. I am, after all, a big critic of the mango chutney and spices kind of book that ignores the real India for the illusion and the cliché of it. What can I say? Sometimes, illusion can be good too. If you can’t stand Tom Robbins, you probably won’t like this book. While the novel is set against a backdrop of immigrant Indians in America, the culture, and of course the spices, the real story is about one woman’s lifelong quest for more than what she has, and finally finding the acceptance to take what life throws her way. The book is part poetry, part fairy tale, and part storytelling. The knowledge of the various spices and what they’re used for in India will go a long way with the understanding of some of the subtleties, though that’s not to say that you can’t enjoy it otherwise (or look them up). Good book, but I still think Sister of My Heart is Divakaruni’s best work.
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