“So, you’re back at last.”
I was only seated across the room from my wife. Had been for the past hour. But she was right. I had been far, far away, lost in a magical world woven from words.
A world where I laughed and cried, suffered and celebrated, hoped and failed alongside a tribal woman named Kuheli, the protagonist of “Another Man’s Wife”, Manjul Bajaj’s title story in a lovely anthology.
Read “The Woman In The Window”
I’m writing a new book. The first draft is done. That’s when I read ‘Wired for Story‘ by Lisa Cron.
It listed ten psychologic triggers to boost a story’s appeal and readability. I took notes as I went through the guide. And in the end, I decided to completely rewrite my manuscript, and create a fresh second draft with these triggers embedded within it.
Still, I wondered.
At best, I might include four or five of the 10 triggers. Was it even possible to write a book that incorporated all of them?
That’s when my friend Priya recommended A.J.Finn‘s debut novel, “The Woman In The Window”. I’ve just finished reading it.
Wow! It pushes ALL those buttons – and then some.
I am very fortunate.
For several years, I have been able to make a life by doing what I enjoy most – writing.
Winston Churchill said: “We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.”
My writing lets me give to a cause I support and have worked for – over 30 years…
Helping kids born with congenital heart disease (CHD).
Recently, I signed a check which will fund heart operations for 3 more little children with heart birth defects.
You start reading.
Within a minute, you’re sucked in. Deep.
You engage with the hero; know his friends; appreciate his situation; relish his activities.
The story progresses. Gets tangled. Nears a crisis.
And you sit up straighter, breathe slower; deeper. Your universe narrows down to just the lines you’re reading.
“If you want something badly, let it go. If it comes back, it’s yours forever. If it doesn’t, it never was yours to begin with.” – a Spanish proverb
One beautiful afternoon in late summer, fifteen years ago, two young men stepped into the hallowed portals of Madras Medical College.
They were quite alike, these two young doctors-to-be. Both had been brilliant scholars. Both were determined and driven. And both, as young medicos are, were filled with ambitious dreams for the future.
During the five years of the training, Kumar and Sanjay spent hours in the library hunched over textbooks, and in the wards examining patients. They were bright, eager and curious to learn. And they competed fiercely for honors.
But there was a difference.
