Ritu Lalit's Blog, page 10
January 1, 2015
Plotting a story Part 2
My first blog post on plotting a story was met with a lot of appreciation. Thank you. Plots are hard to come by since a certain damadji cornered all of them. 
Kidding.
I am currently living through a season of false starts. I write a few chapters of a novel and discard it because the plot does not inspire me any more. If I don’t find the plot inspiring, if I can’t live through the process of writing, how can I dish it out for readers? They’ll reject it in a fraction of a second.
Plots!
Even the old Hindi verse Ek tha raja, ek thi raani, dono mar gaye, khatam kahani is a story – with a plot. Loosely translated it means There once was a king, there once was a queen, both died, end of story. Weak plot, but plot, nevertheless …
Like I said earlier, every story has been written, there is no new story. The game writers play is vary the presentation, embellish it with the best prose they can, spice it up. More like cooks dreaming up fresh new ways to serve up a dish of new potatoes. I referred to it in my previous post as “layering.” Starting a project blind, without knowing where it is going to go leads to a lot of effort being wasted. I should know, my laptop right now is full of carcasses of dead novels, a few chapters here, some passages there and a completely obscure finished novel which confuses me. I was smoking some potent stuff while writing it, I guess, because even I don’t know what its trying to say.
This led to me thinking of a blueprint to chart my novel through. The internet has many helpful plot outline tools. Being a lazy human, I tried some of those instead of making my own. But finally I had to make my own tool kit. The one I have listed below is my basic one, based on the inputs I found on the net. The good news is it worked for me. The not-so-good news is that it may or may not work for you. You can download it. It is my New Year gift to my readers
Novel Construction 1
Working Title (You can change it, no sweat. I have named projects after my pet dogs. One memorable title was “Ajooba Baron, the saga of an astonishing canine.” Yes, I know I have a weird sense of humour.
Genre : This is non-negotiable, you can’t start writing a crime thriller and change it into a chic lit. Not unless you want to go back to the beginning and change everything you wrote.
Tense/POV : Again non negotiable.
Setting : Urban, Rural, Dystopian, Space, Combat, War, Ancient, Medieval or any other … Decide before you begin.
Plot structure : The set up
The thrust : All good books begin with a defining incident, one that propels the story forward and throws both the protagonist and antagonist on to a path of collision.
The internal conflict : This is a good place to fill in details. What does your hero or heroine want? What’s stopping her from having it. Now what’s she going to do to get it?
The external conflict : Enough of the emotions, now we get to the action. What does your hero or heroine finally do to get what they want? We can add the fun part – throw in the antagonist to stop the protagonist from getting what they want.
Back-story : Here we fill in the boring details. We can, if we are writing a mystery or a thriller, withhold some vital things which we can spring on the reader later. It all depends on the genre.
Note : Great stories often begin at the thrust, throwing the main character right into the thick of things, and allow the back story to develop along the way
The Confrontation (Middle)
This is the conflict part of the story. Some authors revel in the writing of this part. I find it slightly tough. The key point of the middle is the emotional growth of the character. It has to be built up gradually through a series of conflicts. I don’t mean fights. It goes somewhat like this:-
Internal challenges or obstacles : They should be more than two but definitely less than six. Gradual build up, keep raising the stakes with every challenge until the end of the Confrontation bit of your story.
External challenges : This is your antagonist or your obstacles. Make the ultimate prize or goal very important for your hero/heroine. Make the failure for the hero/heroine very expensive. That way we have clearly defined the goal and the stakes.
Internal Higher Challenge : Should the protagonist turn back now? Why doesn’t he or she?
External higher challenge : Who or what is stopping him? Why? Spell out the reason clearly. We have to make the obstacle or antagonist lose empathy.
Highest challenge (Internal) : The hero or heroine goes to the brink, nearly gives up, but the goal is to strong. Give a strong reason here to keep the character from giving up. It helps if we give the character a flaw that comes into play here which makes it easy for the dark forces to exploit.
Highest challenge (External) : Just at the turning point, make the character lose respect or something really dear, because of the fatal flaw. The writing should be compelling enough to make the reader cheer when the character snaps and goes back to winning the prize with renewed zeal.
This point is what I call the darkest hour. (Yes I love drama.)
Metamorphosis : Spell clearly how the character, after all that he/she has gone through will never be the same again. Make him/her redeem lost object or honour by staking all to win the prize.
The Resolution
Lesson learnt (Internal) &
Prize won (External)
Have these two play out simultaneously for the classic climax.
Like I said in my previous post “Characters drive the story.” Plot is just a series of events or an adventure. To write a good book, let your focus be more on the characters than the plot. The plot has to emerge naturally from the characters to make the story believable. I love it when an author makes me nod my head and murmur “But of course!” Yes, we are writing stories, but they have to be believable and retain the reader’s empathy.
A good book makes a reader live the events and often go back to them. A good book changes the reader.
Hope this worksheet helps you and Happy New Year
Plot Construction Worksheet 1
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December 30, 2014
December 29, 2014
Some photos from the Delhi Street-food Festival
Delhi winters are all about colour and spicy food. I got my fill of both this Sunday when I went to the Delhi Street food festival at Connaught Place.
The son next to the poster
Le HUGE sigh : The son when he saw me clicking
Winters are the season of flowers in Delhi. This was quite lovely
The dhinchak autorickshaw
More of the auto rickshaw
Starring Basanti and Veeru, and the auto as Dhanno in the Street food Fest wala Sholay
The car done up in the same way as the auto. Wonder if the kids will disown me if I get my room done up like this? Should I try?
Maybe I should paint it up myself
The Changezi chicken being cooked. This was served with khameeri roti. It was paisa vasool.
This bhopu wala record player and baiscope was doing brisk business
Oh, how I love this city, its vibrant culture and winter festivals
Book Review of Butterfly Season by Natasha Ahmed
marriage is a part of that, then it will come, but love and marriage are not synonymous. Every Pakistani girl knows that already.”
Book Blurb
On her first holiday in six years, Rumi is expecting to relax and unwind. But when she is set up by her long-time friend, she doesn’t shy away from the possibilities. Ahad, a charming, independent, self-made man, captures her imagination, drawing her away from her disapproving sister, Juveria.
Faced with sizzling chemistry and a meeting of the minds, Ahad and Rumi find themselves deep in a relationship that moves forward with growing intensity. But as her desire for the self-assured Ahad grows, Rumi struggles with a decision that will impact the rest of her life.
Confronted by her scandalized sister, a forbidding uncle and a society that frowns on pre-marital intimacy, Rumi has to decide whether to shed her middle-class sensibilities, turning her back on her family, or return to her secluded existence as an unmarried woman in Pakistan.
We follow Rumi from rainy London to a sweltering Karachi, as she tries to take control of her own destiny.
The genre of the book is romance. As romances go, this one is understated and touches very lightly on passion and emotion. We do not have teenagers and young people in their early twenties shouting their hormone fuelled emotions from the top of the roof. This is the delicately calibrated romance of a woman in her early thirties and a commitment phobic man in his thirties.
Rumi, as the daughter who was the prime care-giver to her ailing parents until they died, and is now on a vacation in London is extremely well etched and so are the other women in this story. The men play a wonderful role as supporting characters. Ahad is a charmer, urbane and sophisticated. The story is contemporary and shuttles between London and Pakistan. I would have liked to see more of Pakistan but most of the action happens in London. I would have liked to read more about modern day Pakistan.
The sub-continent is known for its meddlesome relatives and neighbours, for its restrictive social norms for the women born into the culture. All that is there, but kept a step removed from the reader. It takes away from the gut wrenching emotion, but at the same time it does not assault the nerves. So there is some good and bad in this method of portraying it.
I have not read this author. Frankly speaking I have not read contemporary Pakistani books and was completely unsure of what I was getting into. The book is extremely well written, the words flow and there are no editing mistakes that I could catch. That makes for a very smooth reading. I loved that.
You know what is the difference between books from India and those from Pakistan? In terms of family set-ups and social pressures – nothing. Rumi is so relatable, and I have met men like Ahad and even the others in the story. But in terms of tone and tenor, everything differs. What stood out was the lack of hyperbole. There is no drama. The emotions are understated, the tone is measured. Nothing is over the top. It takes the simple boy-meets-girl, boy-loses-girl and boy-chases-girl-to-her-country-to-win-her from the mundane to a heart warming tale.
This book is more than a romance, it is a journey of the characters towards self discovery.
The quote I have put on the top sums up the dilemma of every girl from Pakistan or India. And yes, that is what made me like the book. For the plot I would have given two stars, but the treatment of the plot and characters, I’ll give it more.
FOUR STARS FOR THE BOOK
Note : A Copy of this book was provided by Indireads in exchange for an honest review. I thank them for the opportunity .
December 26, 2014
December 25, 2014
The diet conundrum
People seem to be fascinated by my diet. I don’t mean the admiring kind of fascination. That I would lap up and ask for more, but it is more about the you-are-so-wrong-and-let-me-prove-you-wrong kind of fascination. Conversation normally starts with, “Oh you’ve lost weight!”and then goes on to ask me which program I have joined. When I tell folks I’ve joined no programs but have simply made life style choices, and give details, the interest becomes something else. It becomes hostile. People want me to be wrong. Why? Maybe because it is so easy and do-able.
Most people go on fad diets which is so wrong … Fad diets lead to deficiencies and one is more likely to cheat on them. I should know it. I have been there and done that.
My diet is very simple. I avoid grains and legumes. I do not eat sugar. I do not eat anything that is processed. It is easy for me, because I love to cook and I like to eat my own cooking. For sweetness I use dates and honey. For salt I use pahari namak or rock salt. And I do not eat anything that comes from a package.
I eat lots of salads and vegetables. My diet is predominantly non-vegetarian. I was counselled to see my plate as circle divided into three parts. One part is for uncooked foods like salads, one part for cooked vegetables, the third part for proteins. Luckily for me, I like all those things. And the thing about home cooked food is that one is sated and that makes it easy to stay on the program. My reports are good.
I don’t get this hostility. It is not as though I am snatching that packet of kurkure out of someone’s hands.
So chill, people.
And yes, I made the comic. I did not lift it from somewhere.
To know more about this diet which has had me loosing weight and inches at the ripe old age of fifty (yeah I am old) join me at http://cooking.ritulalit.com/
December 24, 2014
December 23, 2014
End of 2014 : Introspection
One lives and learns – with every breath one takes, every moment one lives, we are exposed to more learning. That is if we are so inclined. 2014 was that kind of a year to me.
Some lessons I can share. Others, of course are painful ones, that require a lot of balm and TLC before I can learn the lessons they have to teach.
I have an announcement to make :
I am a recovering Centre-Stage-Hogger.
I have finally lost relevance, both professionally and in my personal world. It is a huge relief. Let me explain. At 26 my life was really cool. I had a job where I was growing, learning new skills. There came a time when nothing ever happened in my company without my inputs. I felt important. My pay packet doubled, then it went up four times. I felt like a queen. At home, I was the parent-in-charge. My kids had lives that revolved around me. Again nothing happened without my inputs. Pretty powerful stuff all this is.
Do you know what happens? You have an ego the size of an amphitheatre and you are constantly looking for validation. That is what happens.
The downside is that you have less and less time to take care of yourself, since the world depends on you.
And then you burn out.
For me, the burn out was slow. I did not collapse one day, but I changed. I began to expect more, demand more. I looked for opposition in co-workers, in friends and family and I went up against it. If there wasn’t any validation, I took it to mean opposition. Funny how power gets to you. I began feeling I always had to be involved. No file could move without my meddling, no decision taken without me. At home, I was the main person in my children’s lives and that was non-negotiable too. If I was not centre stage, I was insecure.
I will not excuse myself. I have all the reasons, all the excuses. I had an abusive parent, I am the only survivor of my parental family. I am a single mother and the only earning member… Let’s push it further. Sob about it a bit, and sigh – such a lonely creature etc. etc. So? Truth is, I lost my balance and ran rough shod.
It took its toll on my health. I tried meditating, I tried to disengage. I hated it and like a lapsed addict I went back for more involvement, ferociously.
The final straw was when I suffered a minor cardiac infarction in the end of 2012. I discovered I was diabetic and had hypertension. That was the time of introspection. Oh how I love the term, introspection. It is such a nice way to say, You’ve screwed up, dumb shit!
When I got back to office, two projects I loved had been given away. It hurt a lot. I lost relevance.
The boss explained that since I was ill, I should take it easy. Logically I knew that he was being kind, but emotionally I felt demoted. I needed to feel important, I needed people poking their heads into my cabin or calling me every five minutes. I needed the validation.
At home I had been booted out of centre stage quite some time back. The sons had their own lives, one had a wife, the other had a rocking social life, his own women friends. I was the has-been, the ageing parent.
I wont lie. It felt like shit. I tried to jockey myself into centre stage at work but it did not work out. I could not handle the stress at all. At home, the boys firmly told me to take it easy. They would not allow me to do much.
I threw myself into books, even bought a huge 42 inch television to drown into. It did not work. I wrote a very complex book that made no sense – even to me. I still have it on my hard drive somewhere. I began to write, the real kind of writing, pen on paper. Small things, things that move me. I began to simplify my life, eat healthy, go for walks. I slept better.
And a week ago both the sons went to Panchkula for a couple of days for the Literary Festival. I was terrified, so scared that I nearly tagged along. They are all the family I have. Work does not matter so much to me, status does not matter. My little family does. I did not know if I could handle their absence. I nearly tagged along. I quashed my feeling of vulnerability down and waved them off with a smile. It was hard, and like a lapsed addict, I wanted praise for my courage. I even made a pact with myself that I would ring them up just once a day, not more. I am proud to say kept the pact. I can disengage, thank heavens.
These days, I go through the work day without losing my cool. My nerves thank me for it. I get home from work without my mind buzzing with who-did-what and what-did-I-miss. I do not agonize about other people’s pay packets and the cars they drive. I’m just relieved that given the fact that I have less stress and work load, I have not been asked to accept a pay cut.
At home I eat simple wholesome food, early in the evening. Then I sit and write. Or I meditate, do whatever I want to. I seem to gravitate towards calming stuff, peaceful stuff. News does not charm. Shopping does not bring joy. I spend hours talking to the dogs at home. They don’t get sassy or talk back. I listen to gazals, audio books, podcasts. The bone weary tiredness is gone, I sleep better. I also feel better. I like the person I see in the mirror, bright eyed and chirpy. I smile more. I’ve lost relevance, and I find I like the person I have become.
December 20, 2014
Yes or No to premarital sex
Sex
The moment one sees this word in print, the mind highlights it or puts it in large bold lettering. It is associated with something reprehensible and illicit. The birds do it, the animals do it, humans do it. But it arouses emotions in us, of unease, embarrassment, apprehension. So much negativity and secrecy is associated with a basic act of procreation, of pleasure.
Hard as it is to accept, our parents did it. We would not have been born if they had not. Our kids indulge in it. Mostly we refuse to accept the sexuality of our kids or our parents. No, they are not incapable of it, but we do not want to accept it. We’d like to infantalize our children and keep them cocooned. We’ve even raised the legal drinking age to 25. The DPS mms brought it to us that even school children know what sex is, they are not afraid of experimenting with it. Sex for the young people is unacceptable to us. The thought that our kids indulge can give us nightmares. We wish that they would remain babies until the day we get them married.
This brings to mind the rather funny incident I witnessed. One of my relatives got married. The next day the door to his room remained shut till lunch time. His father told his mother to go knock on the door, because the son and his wife had to be escorted to the temple for blessings. Red-faced, she refused to do it.
This conversation took place two steps away from the door to their son’s room.
The world our kids are growing up is an increasingly sexualized one, they are bombarded with erotic images, with twerking and suggestive song lyrics. It is not the prim and prudish one we grew up in. We have advertisements which are so sexualized. Katrina Kaif sipping a mango drink comes to mind. Scantily clad women churning oil out of herbs in a jungle in another advertisement also comes to mind. These advertisements are designed to titillate. Sex, pornography and erotic literature are the most googled terms on the internet.
Of course our education syllabus has not kept up. To this day sex education is rudimentary or absent in our school syllabus. Right knowledge about sex is completely absent. Our kids are growing up to think BDSM and rape are love making.
Pre-marital sex?
Why not? Let them go for it by all means. But first, let them learn what sex means as opposed to experimentation. Let them learn what making love means as opposed to being an animal in heat. Let them know what safe sex is.
And who will teach them?
Definitely not the parents who can empathize with my relatives arguing outside their son’s nuptial door!
