Drowning Fish by Swati Chanda: book review

Drowning Fish by Swati Chanda

Reviewed by Divya Dubey 

Publisher: Hachette

Extent: 328 pp

Price: Rs 399

ISBN: 978-93-5009-890-5

(Published by Livemint: April 4, 2015: http://www.livemint.com/Leisure/LuxYcRtq4Ff82Ycyc5i7qL/Book-review-Drowning-Fish.html )

An essay on diasporic literature by Amit Shankar Saha illustrates that ‘despite peculiarities there is an inherent exilic state in all dislocated lives whether it be voluntary or involuntary migration’. Swati Chanda’s debut novel, Drowning Fish, brings this exilic state to the fore – through the story of Nayantara set in East Pakistan in the 1950s – the time of Independence and mass massacres; and next through the story of her granddaughter, Neelanjana, initially a student of English Literature on a scholarship at a university in the United States, who later takes up employment there as a modern expat teacher at various institutes.   

As exiles, experiences of grandmother and granddaughter are completely different. While Nayantara’s exile is forced due to war, that of her granddaughter is self-imposed and welcome.

Amidst a riot-ridden atmosphere Nayantara manages to migrate to Calcutta as a refugee with her two daughters, Sucharita and Niharika, leaving behind her beloved home, Narayanbari in Bangladesh, with her precious teak-wood furniture in it, which is later restored to her. This heavy teakwood Victorian furniture – the massive claw-footed armoire, the spinet, armoires with arabesque doors and intricate carvings – is the legacy Nayantara leaves behind for Neelanjana to claim when she comes of age. Meanwhile, it is left in the custody of Neelanjana’s aunt, Sucharita.  

Sucharita takes her job seriously, not only because Neelanjana is her favourite niece whom she looks upon as her own daughter, but also as a form of atonement for her past sins, her failure to protect and speak up for the girl as a vulnerable teenager brazenly molested by Nirmal Bondhu, her husband, under her very nose. Both aunt and niece share a tacit understanding and guard this secret for personal reasons.

As Neelanjana grows up she overcomes her fear and shame watching her aunt and uncle grow old and shrivelled, but her aunt’s sense of guilt and self-loathing keeps growing stronger – so much so that she eventually begins to lose her mind.    

On the other hand Neelanjana happily embraces the freedom, especially sexual liberty that life in the United States offers her. As she says to Phil, ‘I’m just exploring myself, being myself. Trying to figure things out for myself….’

She makes friends with two Indian boys, Kedar and Ratnam – the latter who makes the mistake of falling in love with her. Though aware of his feelings for her, Neelanjana finds it impossible to reciprocate his sentiments but they remain good friends.

In fact, at this juncture Neelanjana is not prepared for commitment at all. She is satisfied with her flings with Alex, Phil, Dakota and later even Tim, her student, before she receives a rude shock that changes the course of her life on foreign soil.

Ratnam, whom she had snubbed earlier as a lover now reenters her life, though it is out of necessity rather than choice and he knows it. Yet he makes the compromise willingly – and, eventually, pays for it.

Neelanjana does not share the diasporic angst of Jhumpa Lahiri’s characters. Throughout the novel her role vis-à-vis her ancestors and the history of Partition is that of an outsider-observer. She hears the narratives of exile from her parents and relatives, especially her aunt, Sucharita, but she herself has never been and can never be an integral part of that world. Even Jamshedpur, where she spent her life after her grandmother moved to Calcutta, loses its charm for her following her migration to the US.

Swati Chanda

 As Neelanjana becomes accustomed to her adopted country, every visit to India makes her feel more foreign. Finally, while waiting for her flight back to the US on such a visit she understands that she is ready to break away from her past – the stories about the Gangetic plains and the lush green East Bengal, the delta, the alluvial islands and all the geographical and natural delights, apart from tales of border crossings between different cities and refugee camps with their indigence and privation:

Neelanjana no longer wanted any part of it. She was going to free herself from her family’s narratives, the burden of their history. The tragedies of Partition. The trauma of exile. The loss of home The betrayals of family. The nostalgia for desh, her land. When she came here next, she would be sure about which was ‘home’ for her and which ‘back home’. 

By this time Neelanjana also realizes that the ‘idyll of rural East Bengal’ she grew up with had been erected from a position of privilege.

However, it is only after the incident with Tim and Ratnam’s reentry into her own life that she grasps the meaning of ‘drowning fish’ her father had mentioned to her – fish that cannot breathe, that suffocate and drown if there is a depletion in the oxygen level of the surrounding water, if the environment becomes too poisonous for them.

Neelanjana, though, emerges a survivor. Like Gone With the Wind’s Scarlet O’Hara, for Neelanjana too tomorrow is another day.

At times the novel tends to be too repetitive and overuse of the past perfect tense can hinder reading, but these ‘defects’ are rather minor given the merits of the story. 

***

Bicycle Dreaming: Mridula Koshy: book review

Bicycle Dreaming: Mridula Koshy
Review by Divya Dubey

[Published by Hindustan times: Aug 20, 2016: http://www.hindustantimes.com/books/review-a-girl-dreams-of-owning-a-green-bicycle-in-mridula-koshy-s-new-novel/story-x5rfJf5Xfrl0Vqd7QKOykO.html]


After complex works such as If It is Sweet and Not Only the Things That Have Happened, Mridula Koshy returns to simple linear storytelling in Bicycle Dreaming. Rather surprising, since Koshy is a veteran at abstract writing and known to revel in it. Her stories, replete with heavy symbolism, tend to challenge the intellect and imagination of her readers. In this novel, however, she has chosen an easy confluence of form and subject that works pretty well. She told Tishani Doshi in a recent conversation (The Hindu), ‘I wanted to test the theory that I could tell a not-simple story simply.’ And this experiment seems to have succeeded.

Mridula Koshy

The book begins with the thirteenth birthday of Noor (or Nooren), the daughter of a kabaadiwala in Chirag Dilli, who dreams of owning a green bicycle and riding it like her father through the streets as India’s first ‘kabaadiwali’. She shares her hopes and fears with her best friend, Haseena, who, midway through the novel, falls out with her and is immediately swallowed up by her own problems. The girls reunite much later, almost towards the end of the book – and close to Noor’s fourteenth birthday. In the meanwhile Noor develops a crush on her classmate, Ajith, a bright spark in her class who belongs to a Dalit family and is well aware of its significance in a clearly stratified environment. Eventually it is he who teaches her to ride a bicycle. At home Noor is torn between her parents; her mother has a soft corner for her elder brother, Talib, who is an ambitious young man looking to better his prospects in the world, while Mohammad Saidullah, Noor’s father, is incapable of seeing eye-to-eye with him.

A few pages into the novel, one wonders if Koshy is guilty of the kind of writing many Indian writers writing in English are accused of – serving India’s filth and poverty to a mostly Western readership, on a platter (There are long graphic descriptions of muck and grime right at the beginning). But as one treads further, one realizes that the action is as much internal as it is external. We are looking at how heredity and a constantly changing environment impact the protagonist in the course of a year.
Right from the start Noor has been portrayed as a non-heroine, whose own thoughts and feelings find perspective first through Haseena and later through Ajith. And yet, like Erica Jong’s Isadora (Fear of Flying), Noor’s femininity and feminism find expression simultaneously and are often intertwined. Her choices are always her own. She is tentative, yet decisive; fearful yet proactive. She is the one who hounds Haseena until the ice between them is broken. In Haseena’s absence, she is the one who visits her siblings and sets the household straight. She follows Ajith around and realizes her feelings for him much before he begins to comprehend his own; she chooses to stay on with her father to cook and clean for him when her mother follows Talib to his new home; and it is Noor again who decides to visit her brother and her mother at his new house all by herself in the metro when fancy takes her. Often daunted by her own desires, she nevertheless goes right ahead. In many ways this book reminds one of one of Koshy’s earlier short stories, ‘The Large Girl’ with its brilliant portrayal of conflict within oneself and outside.

It is interesting that Koshy, at forty, hadn’t learnt to ride the bicycle. According to her, ‘To move my body at a speed that was not given to it seemed to me to be the freedom to be more than my body.’ The book apparently also owes to P Sainath’s essay ‘on women and bicycles in Everyone Loves a Good Drought’ and ‘Kaveri Gill’s Of Poverty and Plastic’. But most important were the picture book reading sessions Koshy conducted for some teenagers in ‘a weekly after-school club’, from where the idea of the novel actually emerged.

In spite of Mohammad Saidullah’s dying occupation and the humiliation he receives at the hands of corrupt officials, he knows that he is not the lowest of the low. There are people in society worse off than him. Similarly, Ajith knows that his academic scores alone are not enough to pluck him out of his background. Both Noor and Ajith understand why the authorities turn a blind eye to students cheating during exams and why they cannot complain against it even though, in principle, they know it is wrong. Poverty, class and caste divide, gender stereotypes and overturning traditional roles, child labour, politics, corruption, urbanization and modernization, technological advancements and their implications, green initiatives (at government school level) are some of the major themes, apart from the more human and abstract ones such as differences between perception and reality, growing up and the turmoil of adolescence with all its love-hate relationships.

This book is not simply a commentary on social evils, but is also a deeply personal project. Koshy understands the people she is writing about, no matter how different they may be from her on the surface. Simple, sensitive, occasionally humorous, the style endears the characters to the reader.
**********

Alphabet Soup for Lovers by Anita Nair: review

Alphabet Soup for Lovers by Anita Nair
Reviewed by Divya Dubey

[Publsihed by Hindustan times, March 19, 2016: http://www.hindustantimes.com/books/alphabet-food-for-lovers-review-of-food-a-boring-marriage-and-an-affair/story-I3VejUuSih6bokiiyb0eyK.html]

Alphabet Soup for Lovers, Anita Nair’s most recent novel, was born when her Italian publisher commissioned her to write food-based short fiction. Since she refused to ‘write to order’, the book emerged as a slim novel built on the foundation stone of romance. However, despite its simplicity it is not an ordinary romantic tale. Nair has spiced it up with a character-cum-narrator and a sub-plot that make all the difference.

At the heart we have Lena Abraham married to the very gentlemanly KK. They live peacefully on a tea plantation in the idyll of the Anamalai Hills in south India. Komathi, their cook and Lena’s faithful guardian, begins to learn the English alphabet using the sounds of familiar cooking ingredients to help her remember the letters. As she makes progress with her lessons, she narrates the events at her employers’ home unfolding before her, accompanied by her own views and analyses. More often than not, she comes across as an astute observer. For instance, this is how she describes the relationship between the husband and wife: ‘That’s how they always are. Like two strangers in a doctor’s waiting room […] These two are like store-bought appalam. Seemingly perfect but with neither flavour nor taste.’

Incidentally, Arisi Appalam is the first of the ingredients with which she begins her alphabet journey. However, Komathi shares the space with another narrator throughout the novel – anonymous and omniscient, hence less interesting but equally significant. This voice has a perceptive comment to make on Lena and KK: ‘There’s an absence of messy emotions between them, the sort that can throw people off kilter. They don’t question and judge and this allows them to remain wedded to each other.’

The tedium of their lives is interrupted by the appearance of a well-known actor on the scene. Shoola Pani Dev, an aging actor and south Indian cinema’s ‘heartthrob’, rents the homestay the couple runs, seeking refuge from his own stardom, at the tranquil site. In her first encounter with him Lena finds his behaviour offensive and confronts him with the words, ‘Are you always this rude?’ – to which his response is an apology offered with a boyish grin. This section of the novel comes across as somewhat of a cliché, though not precisely an Elizabeth-Darcy charade, since there is an instant connect between them. 

Even though the lovers cannot yet understand what is transpiring between them, Komathi can read between the lines easily and quickly. When Lena returns from her routine visit to the actor in the cottage, Komathi observes a ‘gleam in her eye’. She says, ‘When she was a child, she often dipped into the honey jar with a large spoon when no one was looking […] My Leema is too old to find joy in the sticky sweetness of honey. What has she been stealing?’

Komathi’s intellectual acuity is evident here. Lena is not particularly fond of Daangar chutney (D is for Daangar chutney), yet she asks her to make it and takes it to Shoola Pani, who apparently tasted it last when his mother was still alive. The making of Daangar chutney also brings back to Komathi memories of her own unfortunate romance – that forms the parallel thread in the book. While on the one hand she is loyal to her charge and even fiercely protective of her, on the other resentment smoulders deep within her because somewhere she holds Lena responsible for the miserable end to her own love story.

Komathi can see and understand the romance blooming between Lena and the stranger, but her loyalties clearly lie with Lena’s husband, KK. Again and again her frustration surfaces at the extent of his blindness to the new developments in his life taking place right under his nose. Nair’s humour is at its best here: ‘And KK, does he see the transformation in her? [ …] But even he can’t be oblivious to the stars in her eyes. Or does he think filter kaapi put it there?’ (F for Filter kaapi, Nair admits, is her personal favourite in the book.)

Even though the actor-ordinary woman romance lies at the centre of the novel, while Komathi and her backstory stand at its periphery, it is actually the old cook, her candid and revealing commentary, besides her personal history that are far more interesting and intriguing than the characters in the foreground.

This book perhaps won’t qualify as one of Nair’s best works or a literary treat, but flavoured with the unique condiments it has, it is certainly a work that can be devoured with pleasure on a leisurely spring weekend.

********************

A Meeting on the Andheri Overbridge: Ambai (trans. By Gita Subramanian): review

A Meeting on the Andheri Overbridge: Ambai (trans. By Gita Subramanian)

Review by Divya Dubey

Juggernaut Books
216pp
Rs 299

[Published in Hindustan Times, Jan 7, 2017) http://www.hindustantimes.com/books/introducing-sudha-gupta/story-ELDPmccH9lpnjVCXgstg5O.html ] 

CS Lakshmi or Ambai – as the publishing world knows her – is a celebrated feminist Tamil writer, born in 1944. Some of her works have already been translated into English by Lakshmi Holmstrom: A Purple Sea (1992) and In A Forest, A Deer (2006). The writer and her translator together won the Vodafone Crossword Book Award (Indian language fiction translation) for In a Forest, A Deer in 2006. Ambai also received Iyal Virudhu – the Lifetime Achievement Award for her contributions to Tamil literature, in 2008, from the Tamil Literary Garden (Canada).

At the age of seventy-two she has come up with something new – crime fiction with a mature woman protagonist, Sudha Gupta, as a private detective working in Mumbai informally with her inspector friend, Govind Shelke. In the background appear Sudha’s scientist husband, Narendra Gupta; her daughter Aruna; her mentor, Vidyasagar Rawte from whom she learnt the tricks of the trade; and a more conspicuous assistant, Stella. A Meeting on the Andheri Overbridge is a collection of three longish short stories about Sudha’s cases, published recently by Juggernaut Books. 

In an interview with Mid-day Ambai said, ‘I have been thinking of writing mystery stories for a while; not crime thrillers exactly but more of the mysterious ways in which human beings act under emotional pressure or when forced by circumstances. The mystery stories I wanted to write were not ones where a criminal is finally identified but ones about human vulnerability, obsessions and love which take mysterious turns in life.’

This is probably the USP of Amabai’s crime fiction. The stories are not whodunits with sensational revelations, twists and turns. The three stories present a realistic social milieu that puts the crimes into perspective and establishes incontrovertible causal relationships. Another detective series that accomplished this task so well in terms of the human element was Derrick – a German television crime series (1974-1998) starring Horst Tappert as Detective Chief Inspector Stephan Derrick, and Fritz Wepper as Inspector Harry Klein, broadcast by Doordarshan somewhere in the 1980s.  

In ‘As the Day Darkens’ Sudha Gupta, enjoying her cup of cinnamon tea, is interrupted by a call from Govind Shelke, who asks for her help regarding a young woman’s case. On a family vacation at Madh Island, Archana’s three young daughters disappeared from the beach and the shock led to the hospitalization of her husband. Sudha steps in as a sympathetic friend and puts her brain to work. The non-linear narrative also reveals how she became a detective accidentally, following her closest friend’s movements once.  

In ‘The Paperboat Maker’, Chellemmal, Sudha’s cook and Aruna’s nanny, approaches her to investigate a prospective bridegroom for her daughter, Mallika. Sudha’s sense of humour is apparent in her exchange with the woman as she enquires why she feels the boy is not suitable:

‘… I believe he writes poetry.’ [Chellammmal]
‘You’re saying that as if he has some contagious disease.’
‘And he writes in Tamil.’
‘That is indeed a fatal disease!’

In the title story, ‘A Meeting on the Andheri Overbridge’, Sudha runs into an aging woman, Sandhyabai, on platform no. 4 at the Andheri station. Seeing her all by herself at the same place even in the evening Sudha worries about the stranger and manages to persuade her to tell her her story. Once she has all the information she requires, she sets out to right the wrongs she has perceived.  

Speaking from a feminist standpoint, Amabi made her intentions clear in her interview. ‘I thought it may be interesting to create the character of a woman private detective who does routine detective work but occasionally works with an inspector friend. I felt that the city seen from her point of view would present a different perspective of life and living in Mumbai.’

Dr CS Lakshmi

These traits are apparent in the stories, which have pretty simple plots, somewhat like Madhulika Liddle’s Muzaffar Jung series, but like Jung they keep the reader entertained and engaged. The book, however, seems to fall victim to some of the challenges of translation. In regional Indian language texts, quite often long blocks of dialogue replace paragraphs filled with descriptions and settings. While they work well enough in the original version, the absence is much more evident in the English translation. This factor makes these stories come across as lacking at times – like unfinished paintings – especially since the reader is used to well fleshed out narratives.   

But on the whole the lover of cinnamon tea and Bollywood music, Sudha Gupta, is an interesting character and certainly worth making an acquaintance with. 
   
******************

Dear friends,

Happy to share that a new edition of Turtle Dove has now been brought out by Juggernaut Books. :) It's a book of short short stories, mainly about forbidden relationships/sex.

You can download it from the app on their website. I have done a blog post on forbidden sex. You can also access the stories through their blog (Please scroll down to the bottom of t
he page). Special offer: Rs 10/story.

Blog post:

http://community.juggernaut.in/literature-forbidden-sex-divya-dubey/


Direct access to the book/stories:
http://books.juggernaut.in/#/details/2f4e71157197470ebb0175259a211a7d

What Authorz Coracle really means to me

When I started Authorz Coracle in 2011, I really did not know where it was headed. As the publisher of Gyaana Books earlier, I had been approached by several aspiring writers for help and feedback (especially, the rejects). I knew I wanted to help; I was confident I could, but at that time did not have the time or resources at my disposal. With AC I could address those people’s problems.

After a while I wasn’t publishing books any longer. I was already stripped of the halo ‘book publishers’ are often bestowed with – and it was apparent in people’s altered attitudes, words and body language. 

Initially, the idea of making Authorz Coracle a literary agency seemed appealing. Editorial services combined with representation made better sense. But I gave up the thought quite soon. I wasn’t cut out for it; it simply wasn’t me. I wanted to teach. I wanted to share what I had learnt simply because, as an aspiring writer I had been there, done that. I could identify with those writers. I had made exactly the same mistakes, done incredibly foolish things, learnt my lessons and moved on. Yes, of course it had been embarrassing for a while, but I proved to be good at two things: laughing at myself and forgiving myself (even if some others didn’t easily). I had learnt to recognize and embrace my flaws the way I recognized and embraced my qualities. Consequently, I had evolved – as a writer, editor, publisher, person. 

Even though AC was fully functional, I had decided against acting as an agent. I wasn’t going to represent authors to publishers and, despite repeated requests, stayed firm on that front.  I did not even bother to advertize my services properly. All I was offering was writing help and feedback to people who were willing to trust my judgement based on my own experiences.

Who would come to me?

Why would they come to me when there were so many other options available? More affordable? Better known?

What kind of a business model was this?

Relevant questions by well wishers, I cannot deny. Except that I had no answers then. I have none now. I did not compromise then. I do not compromise now. Perhaps I was counting on chance. I just knew I had to do it.    

I waited. I had to wait for a long time. The first client came through a friend’s recommendation. The second through another. And the third. It took a while. Months. A year. Two.

I was lucky with the clients who did come. They were not scintillating writers waiting to be ‘discovered’, but most had stories to tell – and they were serious about developing their writing skills. I knew I could help hone them. Few were worried about being published eventually, though of course each would have liked to get there. They simply wanted to write. And they wanted someone to read what they had written. I was willing to do that.

One of my first few clients was a not-so-young woman – an accomplished person in her own field (a scholar and professor), who was very keen on old Bollywood cinema. Unfortunately, the theatricality and histrionics of the films of those times reflected in her writing. She joked that she wanted to win the Nobel Prize for Literature someday. And to be quite honest, I seriously wished she would accomplish her goal.  The project took over a year. There was a great deal of back and forth. Sometimes she was diligent; sometimes childishly impatient. Sometimes I was well in control; sometimes rather brusque. We discussed, debated, argued. She would promise to do the rewrites and send back almost the same script all over again. Then we would go round and round in circles once more.

While she was still at it, her father fell seriously sick. The stories began to grow darker. They also acquired a seriousness that had been absent before. There was suffering, torment, misfortune. I could see a clear change emerging.   And then she vanished. For almost three months there was no word from her. But one day she wrote to say her father had passed away.

She returned to writing another month later – and completed her collection. Not all the stories were extraordinary. One, however, I distinctly remember, was. Not many were even closely enough related to be included in the same collection (speaking strictly from a publisher’s point of view), but I think writing for her had become a cathartic exercise. It was enough simply to be able to write. She talked a lot – about her father, her life, her experiences, agony and anguish. She said she would continue writing no matter where she was and what she was doing.

Over the years I have had several such experiences. Another young woman would keep writing to me again and again. She was a banker and very keen to write a novel with multiple women protagonists. She refused to slow down or compromise on the number of protagonists even though I pointed out the level of complexity it would require. Her novel had the familiar Indian clique most women can perhaps easily identify with: a married woman with childbearing issues; another married woman with marriage problems; a working professional with an ordinary life, and a single woman with her own troubles.

The author could certainly write if she put in the effort, but her mind galloped in too many directions at once. She could not maintain her focus. Humour came to her naturally. So much so that it became a problem. Sometimes, even the most serious situations came across as inadvertently funny the way they had been described. The arcs were scattered in every possible direction until we could streamline the plot and pin everything down.   

There were days when she wrote at top speed and delivered good chapters. There was much detailing. The characters were realistically drawn. At other times she wouldn’t write for weeks. Then she too disappeared without warning. When she emerged again, it was to inform me that she was going through her divorce and would be taking a break from writing for a while.   

Once there was a young woman who, while sharing a personal piece, revealed the story of her battle with her body clock and her deep dilemma and anguish at dealing with the consequences. It was an intense experience and an emotionally draining one.

It was a revelation the amount of their personal lives the writers invested in their writings and how cathartic the process of writing really was for them. It wasn’t simply a matter of writing a book and getting it published. Writing, to them, had much greater significance. And somehow I was playing an important role in that process: not merely that of an editor or instructor but of a friend, philosopher, psychotherapist and healer. It imbued the effort with much deeper meaning. It made the entire transaction far more worthwhile.  

Slowly I realized the difference between the writers who opted for editorial services and those who attended my creative writing workshops. The former were prone to be self-absorbed, reflective, even brooding. The latter were more firmly ensconced in the here-and-now, raring to go, looking for practical tips.

It has been about five years now. I still do not advertize my services actively, though projects keep flowing in somehow. Writers still come to me either through word of mouth or through the AC website they stumble upon (usually) by chance. Some connect instantly and form a bond; others take time to establish a rapport; yet others move away. I welcome those who choose to stay, let go of those who wish to go.

Only last night a very old friend from university reconnected online. At university, though we were friends we had never exchanged much information about each other. However, we began to talk and he mentioned a manuscript he has been working on. He had learnt about AC and wanted to take my help. Once he started talking about the project, perhaps some of his deepest thoughts, secrets and the most personal details simply flowed naturally. He never even paused to think.

I wonder – is this what the process of writing does to you? It seems to open up the ability and willingness to communicate and articulate the most intimate details about one’s life. And that’s a blessing.

It does not surprise me anymore. But it does amaze me.  With each new experience I too learn, grow, evolve as a professional as well as as a person. Authorz Coracle, though on the surface, is just an outfit that offers editorial services and creative writing workshops, but, at another level, is something much deeper, more substantial and rewarding  for anyone who chooses to form a connect with it.     

Guest post by Claire Holt

How to Write your Short Story

Writing a short story is always on the creative writer’s ‘to do’ list. Most will have a plethora of ideas bouncing around inside their heads for months before putting pen to paper, while others can sit in front of a blank laptop screen for days before an idea presents itself. No matter what kind of writer you are, writing a short story should be something to be enjoyed; something cathartic and creative to stimulate the senses – not an unwanted task, like laundry or paying bills. Therefore, these tips can help you in writing your perfect short story.

Keep a Journal

A lot of people shy away from keeping a journal – they find it too pretentious and bothersome. However, a journal can actually be a writer’s best friend. Keeping a note of ideas, thoughts, phrases, words and images that stand out in your head throughout the day prevents them from floating away, like most fleeting ideas, and can also trigger other creative thoughts to come forward. Use the journal like a creative scrapbook, pasting in doodles and pictures to help jog your memory later on when it comes to writing.

Write a Plan

The next step for any piece of creative writing is a plan. This may sound like a children’s school exercise, but writing out a point-by-point plan on the beginning, middle and end can be extremely effective in pacing the story and adding depth later on. With short stories, the word limit is just that: limited, so planning sections around the word count can stop you from running over and leaving out key events from the plot. It can also ensure that certain parts aren’t rushed or forced in.

Characterisation

One of the main aspects of an enthralling short story is the characterisation. The characters are who the reader relates to and what brings the words off the page; they make the tale relatable and more realistic so that the audience can really connect with the story. Make character sketches of each of your characters, no matter how minor. Write bullet points and lists about their looks, personality and lives relevant to the story. Then write lists about aspects of their character that aren’t strictly relevant to the story. For example, think about:

• What do they eat for breakfast?
• What’s their favourite pair of shoes?
• Do they have a phobia?
• Do they have siblings and if so, do they get along?
• Who do they have on speed dial?

All these seemingly irrelevant aspects of their character knit themselves in to your, the Author’s, view of them and ultimately helps you write about a unique person. You may decide to add these character traits into your short story, you may not. However, thinking about them will help you see your characters as living, breathing beings, rather than fictitious mass written to fill a space so that you can tell a story.

Finish Strong

The end of the story is often the weakest. This is down the several reasons; the writer will often attempt to write their whole story in one sitting, which is fine for the seasoned, more experienced writers out there but with others it can result in a weak finish. The creative juices have been used up around halfway by a critical point in the plot somewhere around the middle and now the writer is running off of the creative equivalent of dust. If the writer is determined to finish the short story then and there, this is where the planning mentioned above comes in to play. However, the ending has to create an impact, just like the opening. It’s therefore advised that the writer takes a break around this point so that they can come back later. This not only allows them to rest their eyes and minds, but to think up any additional details that can prove beneficial to the story that they may not have thought of otherwise. Leave the story overnight, or if this isn’t possible, go about your daily business; make a coffee; go shopping. This will wipe the slate clean and allow the writer to finish their short story strong.

Draft, Draft and Draft again

After completing the short story, the writer should leave it for at least 24 hours. This refreshes and resets the brain and allows the writer to come back to it with fresh eyes and a new perspective. This helps with the drafting process, as it allows mistakes, errors and plot holes that the writer may not have previously seen to jump out at them now they’ve given the story a break.

Draft several times; there’s no limit. The greater amount of drafts and the longer the writer drafts for, the stronger the story is going to be. Save each draft as a new document so that if you change an aspect of the story that you decide you want to change back, it’s easier to go back to a previous draft rather than trying to write it back into the story.

Ultimately, writing a short story should be a fun, therapeutic activity and not one that should be dreaded, or even avoided. Planning the plot, word count and characters thoroughly all make the process infinitely smoother and aid the writer in creating a strong short story that readers will enjoy and recommend.

Claire Holt is a freelance writer and mother of two. She enjoys being able to combine her love of literature with work, though when she gets some time to herself, she loves nothing more than going for a long walk to get some inspiration and fresh air.