Serendipity and After/7

a novel about publishing of a novel

Another serendipity for me. And I want to celebrate it in this chapter.

In one of my wacky moments last evening, I solicited opinion about this novel from four eminent writers on Medium. They all know me well, at least from conversations I had with each of them on some issue sometime or other. But only one of them has responded so far. He is Tim Barrus, arguably the best and the most prolific writer on Medium. He hooked me the very first day I read his story. What a fascinating style! And how loaded with life-experiences! A master story teller and stylist, I thought.

Curiously, I went on to check his antecedents on Google. I read his profile on Wikipedia. And I knew I was right: he’s a writer with a big W among writers.

I’ve been reading him for about a year. I’ve this feel that Tim Barrus has kicked away his writing career for ever. Far, far away from the glitter and glamour of New York, he is now kind of self-exiled and lives in a poor corner of the world called Appalachia and works for the hapless AIDS -afflicted young boys. He now uses writing with a different perspective, but you never miss that wit and sparkle.

I’m a big fan of his hubris. “Don’t recommend my stories,” he wrote once, “don’t send me responses, I’ll not reply to them.” He is against any kind of recommend. Then he does not care about his audience. Many of us follow him, but he does not follow back anybody. That’s the rule for him. He’s the contrarian. You may not like him, but it’s impossible to ignore him.

He writes like crazy almost everyday — sometimes several posts on a single day. And each post is worth it. But I’ve a sneaking suspicion that he sometimes hates his own writing. Some days he posts just an image or video with few or no words.

So I was naturally excited when I found Tim recommending fifth and sixth installment of this novel in quick succession. Apparently, he was done with reading them. Then he mentioned me in one of his tweets. “What do you think of my novel?” I asked in my reply to his tweet, not without a bit of trepidation. No reply. Then, to my delightful surprise, the response came in by way of a pretty long story in his inimitable style.

Read it. He talks about Serendipity/5

I love this part: “I’ve actually planned that way. Just think of me writing the last line of my novel and falling down dead over my keyboard!”

“You mean to say you will complete it and die?”

Yes.

There is never really an end.

I cannot read my books.

I would rewrite them.

They are not your children. What a silly thing for writers to say. The book one ends, is a guide book.

No editor is a guide book.

Editors are instruments.

If that.

Editors shepherd things through.

It zips along.

I can see that. Even if you serialize electronic right, you have in no way given up book rights, or even magazine rights. Agents know all this stuff, not that they share it.

I rather like the rich Indian milieu. You have painted a very specific sense of place. You weave that through another world, and it’s medical.

A hierarchy the voice is wary of. It just gets richer.

The writer dies with what they write in pieces. A strange grief.

People in your head who will show up on various kinds of doorsteps.

I do not recommend they stay for cocktails. In fact, you might not want to open the door, and let them in. Make the butler do it.

The writer grieves and recovers.

There is a cure, and I do not recommend that either.

It would involve writing another book. You will anyway.

You have a voice. It matters.

More soon.

Thanks to Tim Barrus and Todd Hannula for their responses.