23 October 2011

Making of a fantasy author

Dear readers & bloggers,

I won’t say that I always wanted to be an author. To be honest, I was dragged into this whole write-a-novel thing. Well, it’s a long story and I don’t intend to pen down another book explaining how I became an author and Blah! Blah! Blah! So, I shall keep it short and try to explain the entire journey in a few simple words.

I was a crazy blogger (but I hardly blog nowadays) and I’m an avid reader too. I love reading fantasy fictions and paranormals, and I also daydream a lot. Entrapped is just a product of those daydreams. I imagined a girl haunted by a dream and every-time she dreams, someone calls for her help, “We are trapped. Please, free us…” The idea intrigued me and I decided to spin a story around the same. I named the girl Myra Bose and penned down the prologue of Entrapped in no time. Few of my friends, who read it, encouraged me to continue. It took five months to finish the initial draft. After my exams, when I was waiting for the results, I got enough time to polish the initial draft. I prioritized Entrapped over other things and to be frank, at that moment, I didn’t have getting it published on my mind.

12 October 2011

The Storyteller of Marrakesh

I did it again. I read another Indian author and I will never again tell anyone that I prefer reading only foreign authors because the author Joydeep Roy-Bhattachraya changed my perception about Indian authors and their writings. Well, I must accept that I was prejudiced but thanks to Joydeep, I am a changed person now. He had my attention from the first to the last page of the book “The Storyteller of Marrakesh”. And when it ended, I was left wanting more-so was the thirst that the story evoked in me. It was an open ended story. The story has an ending alright but I'm not sure whether I got what the author had in his mind when he wrote those last two pages or was it meant for the readers to interpret it the way that suited them. Whatever it was, however it ended, I wished it hadn’t ended so soon. I wished that the night at Marrakesh had never ended so that the storyteller of Marrakesh, Hassan, would continue narrating his brother’s story that he recounted every year at the square of Jemaa el fna on the day the two foreigners had disappeared.