Tag Archives: fiction

The Erotics of a Queer Fantastique

Source:

Source: “Hallucinations” http://xkcd.com/203/

This came to me in a dream.

Sometimes, dreams hold the keys to your creative innards, the threads of which you must then pull out and knit together, make a boutonniere of sorts, and make a peace offering.

To cleanse the self. And, to gather your innermost self.

Sometimes, it is the only way to release that part of you, to release what is inevitably you, and yours.

My short fiction piece (my most queer piece, and I do not say this lightly), “Regular,” is in the last issue (themed: The Erotics of a Queer Fantastique) of LIES/ISLE. You can read it here. And, trust me, there is nothing regular about this one.

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Writing from a Stream of Unconsciousness

Am I a writer?

Why do I write?

Am I just enamored with the idea of being a writer, or is this more than just a self-righteous obsession?

These were questions that had begun to plague me lately.

You see, most stuff that I have/had written stem from some personal experience or the other. Some of it also comes from having overheard stories. But everything had been a reproduction of some sort, and even though I am proud of some of it, they seem to be missing some essential ingredient. Maybe, some inherent truth of life.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I was just stumbling in the dark.

So, I started reading/watching interviews of writers online. Why do writers write? Why do great writers write? And, what makes them write the way they write? I began to study the art of writing in earnest.

Most of them (like Sarah Selecky, who came to give a talk at the English department at Queen’s,) spoke about writing as a journey with unknown destinations. Some mentioned a plan with a possibility for uncertainty.

But one thing was clear.

To be a great writer, I had to trust my characters. I had to let them take me somewhere. And, I had to be open to whatever/wherever this “somewhere” was.

I began to doubt myself. I had never actually experienced this. My characters didn’t talk back to me. They did what I told them. Or, they were just reproductions of me and – what I began to realize later – derivations, at best.

If I couldn’t tap into this great unconscious where magic happens, then I could just pack up and quit.

But like the serendipity of all magic and miracles, I had a breakthrough. One of my characters spoke to me, and a story emerged.

I was working on my final assignment for Carolyn Smart’s fiction workshop. It was supposed to be a flash fiction piece under 500 words. We could play around with it, but it had to sit within the word limit.

I didn’t know what I wanted to write on, or where I wanted to go with it.

For inspiration, I turned to one of Sharanya Manivannan’s published shorts. Since I have been an ardent fan and a writer-in-progress groupie of Manivannan’s work for a few years now, I was already familiar with her stories. A particular story stuck out in my memory and I pulled it up. Her “Stream of Unconsciousness” in Fictionaut. The first two lines of the piece stared at me:

In his dream, he was choking on an ice cube. He didn’t know what would happen first — if it would melt or he would die. 

And, from those two lines, my first two lines emerged:

In his dream, he has a vagina. He doesn’t know what came first – the vagina, or his desire to have one. 

These lines would have never come to me a year ago.

Smart’s fiction workshop/class at Queen’s had helped a lot to open me up. I had begun to write without fear. I even put forward my full blown queer bildungsroman short story for workshop in class. A story that starts with a sex scene. Yes, me. Me who couldn’t even write about sex without being self-conscious.

And, there they were now. Undeniable. Waiting for something to happen.

Then, I heard it. The voice. A person, talking. In my head. Leading me somewhere.

And then, a narrative emerged.

A narrative that had absolutely nothing to do with my own lived experience.

So, this is what it feels like, I said to myself once I was done. This is why people write.

And, this is why I want to write.

Check out this article, “The Case for Writing a Story before Knowing How it Ends,” by Andre Dubus III (author of Dirty Love and The House of Sand and Fog), to get an idea about unconscious writing.

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Writing an Awesomesauce Novel isn’t easy. Please understand. OkayThanksBye.

Sigh. Story of my Life.

Sigh. Story of my Life.

It’s no secret that I haven’t been writing my novel. Okay, maybe it has been. Kind of. The truth is I have been finding this novel writing very cumbersome. It has been coming to me in spurts, like tetris blocks that do not belong together. Or, broken jigsaw pieces.

It doesn’t help when people who know about this novel-in-progress, ask me, “So, how is that novel coming along?”

How about you shut the eff up? No offence, but really.

Aunties, uncles, friends, friends-of-friends, foes, random person I just met, mom, dad, sis etc… I apologize in advance, but I am in no mood to kowtow with you on my novel, okay? It’s my novel. I am writing it. I will finish it when I think it is finished. So, if you will please bugger off until then, it will be much appreciated.

To boost my inspiration, I have started working on my short story ideas. It is easier to tackle the short form. For the most part, my approach is very clinical (very similar to my academic essay writing tactics):

1. Make an outline

2. Detail the outline

3. Follow the outline

It works every time.

Well, almost every time.

When it comes to poetry or flash pieces, I have taken the free form route. You know,  just write? Unlikely narratives have emerged that way.

But this novel… it already has a structure- in my head. The details, however, come in bursts.

Yesterday, for example, while in that zone of half asleep, half wakefulness, I wrote an entire excerpt. In my head, of course. Then, I fell off the edge (not literally). In the afternoon, I forgot all about it, until something I was reading triggered the memory. I sat and jotted it down. A novel excerpt, complete! Ta-da! You may clap, now.

I suppose there’s no method to the madness. The modus operandi differs from person to person. So far, this cut-piece method seems to be working. I have written more in the past two months than I have since September.

I have even joined an intensive writing group in the hopes of beating my quarter written novel into a recognizable shape. A shapely mass. A shapely mess?

Anyway, just a word of caution in parting. The next time you are compelled to ask me, “How is the novel writing going?”, don’t be surprised if I ask you to mind your own beeswax. And not too sweetly, either.

And this.

And this (for you-know-who-you-are).

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The Scar

Cartoon by Bruce Eric Kaplan, New Yorker

Sometimes, it is the most unusual that is the most attractive.

My flash fiction piece, “The Scar” (audio), is in 4’33” Magazine. Hear me read it here (check out # 56). P.S. It may not play properly on Google Chrome.

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Pulp! goes my Fiction

Yes, I actually own this book.

I am not pulp. Pulp is not me. What I mean is… I don’t do pulp, never did. Not even when I picked up Tamil Pulp Fiction Vols. I and II on my recent trip to India (out of curiosity, of course).

A contest, however, caught my eye. Challenged me not only by its word limit (100 words or under), but also by its genre. Yes, “pulp” it was.

My non-pulp pulp fiction piece, “Emerald Eyes” (which is exactly 100 words!),  for Dr. Hurley’s Snake-Oil Cure’s Summer Contest Series No. 1: “Hurley Pulp” can be read here.

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A Dreamer’s Dream

Dreams are for dreamers. Sometimes, they don’t come true.

My shortest short fiction to date (it’s exactly 3 lines long!), “Dreamer,” is now in One Forty Fiction. Read it here.

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Boys will be Boys

Challenging the oft-(mis)used adage.

My flash fiction, “Boys will be Boys,” is in Map Literary’s launch issue. Read it here.

(Oh, and guess what? I am featured alongside Diane Glancy. I read her novel, Pushing the Bear (1996), for one of my third year English undergraduate classes. Stunned into silence is what I am.)

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