Ace Varkey's Blog: Cat got my tongue, page 3
October 25, 2016
Do we ever really know?
What a cat is really thinking? Take Kitty O, par example. When he turns around and bites me as I pet him, is he telling me never to do that again, or is he simply letting me know I am not to smooth his furs when he is resting? Sometimes he likes it when I pick him up and put him on my shoulder; other times I have marks on my wrist.
It's the same with books, isn't it? Do we really know what a book is telling us, or do we take from it what we want, which changes as we ourselves change. I recall a friend telling me how much she loathed reading "Romeo and Juliet" in school and yet, ten years on, she could not stop raving about the play. Shakespeare, of course, is in a league of his own; critics are still trying to pin down his exact meanings.
I write, and therefore, one would think that I know exactly what I mean when I set down words. But then someone reads my novel and suddenly I see something that person saw and I think, "Well, yes, this part could mean that." One reader said he could smell and taste India in "The Girl Who Went Missing," my first mystery in the Commissioner Oscar D'Costa series,and had gone to eat Indian food right after finishing the novel. I had no idea my words could promote such a desire. Another reader lamented there wasn't enough sex in the novel, something that had not crossed my mind because I was focused on creating a problem and solving it. Yet another reader, this one a friend, said she had the most difficult time getting over the missing sister. She loves her sister, and reading anything bad about a sibling made her extremely uncomfortable. I had no idea someone could have such a visceral reaction to my fiction. She confessed that she continued reading because she knew me.
And of course, I continue on with Kitty O because I adore him and because I sometimes, just sometimes, get it right.
It's the same with books, isn't it? Do we really know what a book is telling us, or do we take from it what we want, which changes as we ourselves change. I recall a friend telling me how much she loathed reading "Romeo and Juliet" in school and yet, ten years on, she could not stop raving about the play. Shakespeare, of course, is in a league of his own; critics are still trying to pin down his exact meanings.
I write, and therefore, one would think that I know exactly what I mean when I set down words. But then someone reads my novel and suddenly I see something that person saw and I think, "Well, yes, this part could mean that." One reader said he could smell and taste India in "The Girl Who Went Missing," my first mystery in the Commissioner Oscar D'Costa series,and had gone to eat Indian food right after finishing the novel. I had no idea my words could promote such a desire. Another reader lamented there wasn't enough sex in the novel, something that had not crossed my mind because I was focused on creating a problem and solving it. Yet another reader, this one a friend, said she had the most difficult time getting over the missing sister. She loves her sister, and reading anything bad about a sibling made her extremely uncomfortable. I had no idea someone could have such a visceral reaction to my fiction. She confessed that she continued reading because she knew me.
And of course, I continue on with Kitty O because I adore him and because I sometimes, just sometimes, get it right.
October 18, 2016
communiCATion
Ever experienced that look on your cat's face when you know he is telling you something but clearly, you are too dumb to get it? Last night as I was eating dinner, Kitty O cocked his head to one side, eyes alert, and I knew he was communicating with me. This time, much to my surprise, I got it. He wanted more food, so I dutifully followed him to his bowl and, ever the good parent, filled it.
Books often beckon inn the same way, communicating from the shelves, such that I reach out and start reading a novel I had long forgotten.
At other times, however, I am the one who has a question as I scan the titles of my growing library. Something is going on inside me, and I need a book to allay that feeling, answer that question, take me out of myself.
Every now and then Kitty O must have that exact feeling of want, and then I am at my wit's end, trying to calm him because he simply won't stop meowing. Those are difficult times indeed, and then I long for the days when all I needed to do was fill a bowl.
As a writer, I am often in quest of something to fill out a scene, flesh out a character, round out a chapter. Sometimes the answer comes quickly, sometimes it takes weeks. When it is the latter, there is nothing more daunting than the blank screen of my computer. I know it is waiting for me to fill it, in the same way that Kitty O waits for me to soothe whatever it is that is causing him to meow at the sun and moon.
Books often beckon inn the same way, communicating from the shelves, such that I reach out and start reading a novel I had long forgotten.
At other times, however, I am the one who has a question as I scan the titles of my growing library. Something is going on inside me, and I need a book to allay that feeling, answer that question, take me out of myself.
Every now and then Kitty O must have that exact feeling of want, and then I am at my wit's end, trying to calm him because he simply won't stop meowing. Those are difficult times indeed, and then I long for the days when all I needed to do was fill a bowl.
As a writer, I am often in quest of something to fill out a scene, flesh out a character, round out a chapter. Sometimes the answer comes quickly, sometimes it takes weeks. When it is the latter, there is nothing more daunting than the blank screen of my computer. I know it is waiting for me to fill it, in the same way that Kitty O waits for me to soothe whatever it is that is causing him to meow at the sun and moon.
October 11, 2016
Death, Be Not Proud
When a good friend lost her 17-year old cat, she wept for weeks. Her family wanted her to get a kitten immediately, sort of like getting back on a horse after falling off, but she could not imagine loving another feline. A sort of death of love. That feeling continued for months, and then, finally, on her birthday, she could not refuse the gift of a green-eyed, black-and-white kitten. And so, after a long period of mourning, she was back to talking, petting, and generally spoiling her new baby.
At this moment, I can’t imagine life without Kitty O, but in the back of my mind I wonder how I would react to that awful moment. I suspect I would be like my friend, partly because that overwhelming sadness is logical, and partly because I have that exact same feeling every time I finish writing a novel. A novel takes so much out of me, not necessarily in terms of years, but due to the fact that I put my all into it. I give it my every word, and fear that I will never again find words with which to write. It is, indeed, like a death.
I’m in that ‘will I write again?’ spot at the moment, and as I worry about the next topic for my Commission Oscar D’Costa series, I take comfort in Kitty O, who likes to curl up in a ball against me, given that it is October, and the light dies early, and the heat doesn’t warm like the summer, dying, as it were, between the sun and earth.
My first novel, “The Girl Who Went Missing,” can be found on Amazon Kindle. The next one, “While The Children Slept,” is forthcoming. The third one is….not yet alive.
At this moment, I can’t imagine life without Kitty O, but in the back of my mind I wonder how I would react to that awful moment. I suspect I would be like my friend, partly because that overwhelming sadness is logical, and partly because I have that exact same feeling every time I finish writing a novel. A novel takes so much out of me, not necessarily in terms of years, but due to the fact that I put my all into it. I give it my every word, and fear that I will never again find words with which to write. It is, indeed, like a death.
I’m in that ‘will I write again?’ spot at the moment, and as I worry about the next topic for my Commission Oscar D’Costa series, I take comfort in Kitty O, who likes to curl up in a ball against me, given that it is October, and the light dies early, and the heat doesn’t warm like the summer, dying, as it were, between the sun and earth.
My first novel, “The Girl Who Went Missing,” can be found on Amazon Kindle. The next one, “While The Children Slept,” is forthcoming. The third one is….not yet alive.
October 4, 2016
The Project of Projecting
Projecting: It's what all ailurophiles do with their cats. I've been known to say that Kitty O is smiling; another friend swears her cat is a philosopher; yet another friend confessed that her fur baby preferred it when she spoke to him in Italian rather than Russian. We need to do that because cats don't tell us, in words, what, exactly, a particular meow or scratch means.
Books do something similar. Though every page is filled with words, we readers project our meaning on those words. If, for example, a character is going through chemotherapy, those who have had that unfortunate experience, will feel differently than those who have not gone to an oncologist. At the end of the day, all our feelings, thrust upon a book, make us either like or dislike it.
As a writer, I have to always make sure that my words invite a reader to either bring an experience, or try and experience it through my telling.
A reader of my first Oscar D'Costa mystery noted that she connected much more with Thalia, the girl who gives the novel its title, "The Girl Who Went Missing," because her friends had recently returned from a trip to India and had, on occasion, feared for the safety of their two young daughters. Of course another reader might think I was exaggerating the situation.
I often wonder how much I exaggerate re Kitty O. Is he really happy or is he simply purring? Does he want the comfort of my company or is he cold? I'll never know....all I can do is keep trying to figure out his needs, in much the same way I keep trying to write better stories.
Books do something similar. Though every page is filled with words, we readers project our meaning on those words. If, for example, a character is going through chemotherapy, those who have had that unfortunate experience, will feel differently than those who have not gone to an oncologist. At the end of the day, all our feelings, thrust upon a book, make us either like or dislike it.
As a writer, I have to always make sure that my words invite a reader to either bring an experience, or try and experience it through my telling.
A reader of my first Oscar D'Costa mystery noted that she connected much more with Thalia, the girl who gives the novel its title, "The Girl Who Went Missing," because her friends had recently returned from a trip to India and had, on occasion, feared for the safety of their two young daughters. Of course another reader might think I was exaggerating the situation.
I often wonder how much I exaggerate re Kitty O. Is he really happy or is he simply purring? Does he want the comfort of my company or is he cold? I'll never know....all I can do is keep trying to figure out his needs, in much the same way I keep trying to write better stories.
September 27, 2016
The Cat at the Door
I know I have written about Kitty O's patience as he sits outside, waiting for someone to open the door. It's the sort of patience I yearn for when I am in a writing slump. But just yesterday he meowed, very loudly, and there he was, sitting outside, no longer the epitome of patience. He had let me know he was there and that he wanted in.
And then it struck me: as Kitty O's person I get to open the door for him, but as a writer, I need an agent, an editor, to open the doors of the world to my book.
I decided to self-publish "The Girl Who Went Missing" and am eternally grateful for this new platform that does not have me sitting outside a door, writing an agent, calling said agent, hoping to be noticed. You see, agents are inundated with requests for representation and they are very picky, so picky, in fact, that most say they have to 'love' a book before they take it on. I ask you readers, how many books do you really, truly, and fully, 'love?' I like a lot of books, yes, but in the course of a year, I can't say I love twenty, thirty novels. And the agent has to feel the love in order to push the novel at a publishing house.
So I will continue to open the doors on my own, and will be self-publishing the next novel in the Commissioner Oscar D'Costa series. Right now it's entitled "While the Children Slept." And yes, it's still sleeping outside, waiting for me to open the door.
And then it struck me: as Kitty O's person I get to open the door for him, but as a writer, I need an agent, an editor, to open the doors of the world to my book.
I decided to self-publish "The Girl Who Went Missing" and am eternally grateful for this new platform that does not have me sitting outside a door, writing an agent, calling said agent, hoping to be noticed. You see, agents are inundated with requests for representation and they are very picky, so picky, in fact, that most say they have to 'love' a book before they take it on. I ask you readers, how many books do you really, truly, and fully, 'love?' I like a lot of books, yes, but in the course of a year, I can't say I love twenty, thirty novels. And the agent has to feel the love in order to push the novel at a publishing house.
So I will continue to open the doors on my own, and will be self-publishing the next novel in the Commissioner Oscar D'Costa series. Right now it's entitled "While the Children Slept." And yes, it's still sleeping outside, waiting for me to open the door.
September 20, 2016
The Cat's Whiskers
One doesn't often hear the expression, 'the cat's whiskers' these days. I wonder how that expression came to mean someone special, someone who thinks he/she is amazing. I was led to think of it as I watched Kitty O gauge the size of the open door before sauntering in. He, of course, let his whiskers tell him that I had pulled the french door ajar enough so that his capacious middle would not get stuck.
Do books have whiskers that let them know the size they should be? And by that, of course, I mean authors. I do think authors have an innate knowledge of just how large or short their work needs to be. Sort of like that line in "Amadeus" when Mozart tells the King his piece has just the right number of notes.
So when I finished "While the children slept," the second novel in my Commissioner Oscar D'Costa mystery series, I was sure it was the right length, not a page too short, not a line too long.
Well, you can imagine my surprise when my editor got done with what I thought was a completed manuscript. Apparently the whiskers I speak of are the property of editors!
I guess I'll never have a cat's whiskers, though I think I should try and be the cat's whiskers.... at least to Kitty O. It might ease the pain of knowing the manuscript is still becoming.
The one I did finish, "The Girl Who Went Missing," is available on Amazon.
Do books have whiskers that let them know the size they should be? And by that, of course, I mean authors. I do think authors have an innate knowledge of just how large or short their work needs to be. Sort of like that line in "Amadeus" when Mozart tells the King his piece has just the right number of notes.
So when I finished "While the children slept," the second novel in my Commissioner Oscar D'Costa mystery series, I was sure it was the right length, not a page too short, not a line too long.
Well, you can imagine my surprise when my editor got done with what I thought was a completed manuscript. Apparently the whiskers I speak of are the property of editors!
I guess I'll never have a cat's whiskers, though I think I should try and be the cat's whiskers.... at least to Kitty O. It might ease the pain of knowing the manuscript is still becoming.
The one I did finish, "The Girl Who Went Missing," is available on Amazon.
September 13, 2016
The flaw with claws
I understand that Kitty O needs his claws in the outside world, in case he has to defend himself. But inside the house? Turns out Kitty has a way of using his claws chez nous, as he showed me the other day. I was petting him and suddenly he turned on me, bit me, and to make sure the hand that was petting him would never make the same mistake again, dug his claws into my skin. Let me tell you, it hurt.
So I did what I had to do: I clipped his claws. As I was counting, "one, two, three," as if he were a child who would understand that the ordeal was soon to be over, I discovered that some of the claws didn't need clipping. They had filed themselves or fallen off on their own.
And as always, it reminded me of my writing life, in this case, editing. Sometimes I remove segments so naturally I forget they were ever part of the manuscript. Other times I have to put my editing mind to work, the same way I took the nail clippers and went after Kitty O's claws. And just like Kitty O didn't make it easy for me, the process of editing can be quite painful. After all, Kitty O likes his claws. And often times I like a certain section and it takes discipline for me to realize it is not necessary.
And like the claws that always grow back, it's amazing how the manuscript, despite being clipped, reaches its original numbered state.
My first novel in the Commissioner Oscar D'Costa series, that I clipped again and again, can be found on Amazon and Goodreads. "The Girl Who Went Missing."
So I did what I had to do: I clipped his claws. As I was counting, "one, two, three," as if he were a child who would understand that the ordeal was soon to be over, I discovered that some of the claws didn't need clipping. They had filed themselves or fallen off on their own.
And as always, it reminded me of my writing life, in this case, editing. Sometimes I remove segments so naturally I forget they were ever part of the manuscript. Other times I have to put my editing mind to work, the same way I took the nail clippers and went after Kitty O's claws. And just like Kitty O didn't make it easy for me, the process of editing can be quite painful. After all, Kitty O likes his claws. And often times I like a certain section and it takes discipline for me to realize it is not necessary.
And like the claws that always grow back, it's amazing how the manuscript, despite being clipped, reaches its original numbered state.
My first novel in the Commissioner Oscar D'Costa series, that I clipped again and again, can be found on Amazon and Goodreads. "The Girl Who Went Missing."
September 6, 2016
The privacy issue: Cats v Writers
I was watching Kitty O take a bath the other day and while it occurred to me that yes, he could absolutely pose for Degas, I also realized that he was blissfully unaware of the fact that a bunch of my friends were watching this very private moment. He had gained a certain amount of comfort in their presence and, as we kept talking, decided to tongue on with his ablutions. One friend who has never been around cats, was particularly amazed by Kitty O's legs-apart exposure and attention to detail.
"That's exactly what writers do," I announced, much to their surprise. And then went on to explain that a book contains our entire life, as it were. I'm not talking about a memoir; I'm talking about how the details in a novel are the result of the life a writer has lived. It is full on nudity --in words. If critics can spend years trying to figure out who Shakespeare really was, and how he lived, based on his writings, it stands to reason that we writers pick analogies, topics, etc, from what we know and have experienced. A writer is really putting herself/himself out there, naked, as it were, saying, "This is how I think and this, in a way, is who I am."
And just like my friend could not stop commenting on Kitty O's ministrations, readers can share their opinions about a book on any number of media outlets.
It's scary, really, to be a writer. So why expose oneself so willingly, you might ask. I guess we writers keep on writing because we need to, in much the same way that Kitty O keeps on cleaning himself, no matter who is in the vicinity, because it's in his nature to do so.
"That's exactly what writers do," I announced, much to their surprise. And then went on to explain that a book contains our entire life, as it were. I'm not talking about a memoir; I'm talking about how the details in a novel are the result of the life a writer has lived. It is full on nudity --in words. If critics can spend years trying to figure out who Shakespeare really was, and how he lived, based on his writings, it stands to reason that we writers pick analogies, topics, etc, from what we know and have experienced. A writer is really putting herself/himself out there, naked, as it were, saying, "This is how I think and this, in a way, is who I am."
And just like my friend could not stop commenting on Kitty O's ministrations, readers can share their opinions about a book on any number of media outlets.
It's scary, really, to be a writer. So why expose oneself so willingly, you might ask. I guess we writers keep on writing because we need to, in much the same way that Kitty O keeps on cleaning himself, no matter who is in the vicinity, because it's in his nature to do so.
August 30, 2016
Conundrum/Catundrum
Just the other day, my friend, another ailurophile, and I, were going back and forth over the outside cat/inside cat conundrum, or, as she put it, catundrum. Inside cats are supposed to live longer, which, of course, every ailurophile wants. Outside cats face any number of threats, but, on the other hand..er paw, can loll in the sun, chase a butterfly, and dig in real dirt, not kitty litter. We decided it was best for her to let her new kitty, named Pindar, be an outdoor one, with the hope that Pindar would never cross the street or do anything remotely dangerous. My friend sighed and said, "I'll be worried sick, but he will have a better quality of life.
A while later, as I was sitting down at my computer, it occurred to me that I face my own conundrum as a writer. Should I write what I want to write, without thought of marketability and readership? Or should I consider those aspects? It's a tough call, really. On the one hand, a writer should absolutely write what a writer wants to write. On the other hand, if you can't place a book, then you can't be a writer. Sigh.
I decided on writing mysteries because it is a genre I enjoy, and it also happens to be a popular genre. I then decided I would set it in India and write my mystery around a current social issue, with the hope that readers would enjoy being steeped in a foreign country even as said reader learned about human trafficking, which is what "The girl who went missing" is about. I originally wanted to set a mystery in every Asian country, but was reigned back by an agent who explained that readers love continuity, ie, keeping the same detective, Oscar D'Costa. I went back and forth, agonized, actually, over whether I should keep D'Costa, which meant keeping the locale, or whether I should keep to my original plan of a different country for each new mystery.
Well, D'Costa won, partly because I really like him, and wanted to see what else he would solve, and partly because I would love to grow my readership. Maybe one day, like Pindar who stalks the outdoors during the day but spends the night on a bed, I can have D'Costa hop from India to Singapore to Japan. Meanwhile, D'Costa is firmly on terra India, and has just solved a case involving missing children. I'm hoping to publish "While the children slept" before the fall is over.
A while later, as I was sitting down at my computer, it occurred to me that I face my own conundrum as a writer. Should I write what I want to write, without thought of marketability and readership? Or should I consider those aspects? It's a tough call, really. On the one hand, a writer should absolutely write what a writer wants to write. On the other hand, if you can't place a book, then you can't be a writer. Sigh.
I decided on writing mysteries because it is a genre I enjoy, and it also happens to be a popular genre. I then decided I would set it in India and write my mystery around a current social issue, with the hope that readers would enjoy being steeped in a foreign country even as said reader learned about human trafficking, which is what "The girl who went missing" is about. I originally wanted to set a mystery in every Asian country, but was reigned back by an agent who explained that readers love continuity, ie, keeping the same detective, Oscar D'Costa. I went back and forth, agonized, actually, over whether I should keep D'Costa, which meant keeping the locale, or whether I should keep to my original plan of a different country for each new mystery.
Well, D'Costa won, partly because I really like him, and wanted to see what else he would solve, and partly because I would love to grow my readership. Maybe one day, like Pindar who stalks the outdoors during the day but spends the night on a bed, I can have D'Costa hop from India to Singapore to Japan. Meanwhile, D'Costa is firmly on terra India, and has just solved a case involving missing children. I'm hoping to publish "While the children slept" before the fall is over.
August 23, 2016
Ruffled furs
Ever had that experience of sitting beside your cat, your fingers petting him, your ears listening to him purr, when suddenly he turns on you and....nips you, gently, but with enough teeth to make you realize you have clearly done something wrong. I can't tell you how often Kitty O has done that to me. It's not as if I am rubbing his furs in the wrong direction (there is a Norwegian warning to that effect), it's not even that I have suddenly applied more pressure. So what gives? I have no idea.
All I know is that the same thing happens when my writing is going well. I wake up excited to face the blank screen of my computer, I have ideas that work, the words come, all is well, and then suddenly....nothing. I scratch my head wondering why? What happened to make my fingers freeze on the keyboard?
And just like there is no point asking Kitty O what I did wrong, I have, after years of experience, given up trying to figure out why, one day, I sit at the computer, my mind as blank as the screen.
And just like I do with Kitty O, I get up and leave....and hope for better days ahead.
If you want to read what I wrote when my fingers pounded the keyboards, you can find "The Girl Who Went Missing," the first mystery in my Commissioner D'Costa series that is set in India, on Goodreads and Amazon.
All I know is that the same thing happens when my writing is going well. I wake up excited to face the blank screen of my computer, I have ideas that work, the words come, all is well, and then suddenly....nothing. I scratch my head wondering why? What happened to make my fingers freeze on the keyboard?
And just like there is no point asking Kitty O what I did wrong, I have, after years of experience, given up trying to figure out why, one day, I sit at the computer, my mind as blank as the screen.
And just like I do with Kitty O, I get up and leave....and hope for better days ahead.
If you want to read what I wrote when my fingers pounded the keyboards, you can find "The Girl Who Went Missing," the first mystery in my Commissioner D'Costa series that is set in India, on Goodreads and Amazon.
