Mothers play many roles, but it wasn’t until recently that it struck me -- writing is one of them. My children, it turns out, have been my target audience all the time.
My first book was a story I used to tell them as toddlers. The second was set in an archaeological dig that we visited, because they (and I) found it fascinating. (Unfortunately, they had outgrown the book by the time it was finished and I had to endure a lot of criticism of the morons that I wrote about.) Gind, the third book, was a favourite with the whole family from the start, and we had rollicking times plotting, writing and hijacking it. All this community writing rather went to my head and I bunged in whatever pleased us – gods, celestial beings, Tamil words, snow, rishis, islands, rabbits, strange foods, mountains, mythical animals, you name it.
Book four, a murder mystery, which lies languishing in the hard disk of my computer, was an aberration. It wasn’t for children; it was written to amuse my husband who had broken his leg and was feeling frustrated. We spent weeks arguing about the characters, the setting, the plot and everything else. He wrote 6 pages, killed off all the characters and called it quits, quite pleased with the day’s work. But my kanjoos soul wouldn’t let me give up after so much thought had gone into the book, so I muddled my way through it. The girls, now grown up, approved of it. My editor liked it too, but apparently it didn’t look like the sort of book that would sell. So there it lies. Not resting in peace, though – every once in a while it is exhumed and post-mortemed.
Now I am back to my first love – children’s books – but I no longer have a readymade audience. The question has got to be answered – who am I writing for? This post was to help me figure it out. Still figuring…
So, who do you you write for? I’d love to hear.
Published on August 06, 2012 09:19
Sharad Nalawade