Excursions

I watched Moneyball today and, as someone who doesn't fully understand baseball, I didn't like it as much as the ratings would suggest. Sure, it's a good drama, but not a good sports movie. It felt tailored-made specifically for US viewers.

Hello friend,

I took a brief time off in the last couple of weeks to reflect on what I have learned about me and you, the reader, as I published the first ten issues of this newsletter. Having recognized the challenges and the key aspects of the process that I need to focus on, I’m changing things up with the newsletter in this second outing, if I may call it that. With the promise of keeping the core the same, I just want to experiment with a shorter version of each issue - 3 wonderful works on and of writing.

Also, I would be sending out the issue every 2 weeks going ahead to lend myself ample time to read and word a brief commentary about each recommendation I’ve for you.

With the awkward announcement out of the way, here we go with this week’s issue.

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Uncanny the Singing that Comes from Certain Husks →

I have rarely read a more ornate description for a writer than what Joy Williams has in her brilliant essay. It’s a short read, but it makes you pause and ponder over each idea. Just for Joy’s fascinating interpretation of the tale of a man’s fate and what that represents for a writer, I would bookmark this essay and reread it occasionally.

A writer’s awareness must never be inadequate. Still, it will never be adequate to the greater awareness of the work itself, the work that the writer is trying to write. The writer must not really know what he is knowing, what he is learning to know when he writes, which is more than the knowing of it. A writer loves the dark, loves it, but is always fumbling around in the light. The writer is separate from his work but that’s all the writer is—what he writes. A writer must be smart but not too smart. He must be dumb enough to break himself to harness. He must be reckless and patient and daring and dull—for what is duller than writing, trying to write?

Thoughts on Writing →

Each time I read this insightful post from Elizabeth Gilbert, I find a new advice that I had missed earlier. Every paragraph, every statement is a nice reminder for each writer, aspiring and established, to focus on what matters the most to keep writing. Elizabeth talks about how she herself got started writing, how every writer should handle rejections and yet should keep trying with unwavering desire to write more. “It’s not the world’s fault that you want to be an artist…now get back to work” - I’ve framed this blunt, yet effective, suggestion from Elizabeth on the wall opposite to my writing desk.

Insanity is a very tempting path for artists, but we don’t need any more of that in the world at the moment, so please resist your call to insanity. We need more creation, not more destruction. We need our artists more than ever, and we need them to be stable, steadfast, honorable and brave – they are our soldiers, our hope. If you decide to write, then you must do it, as Balzac said, “like a miner buried under a fallen roof.” Become a knight, a force of diligence and faith. I don’t know how else to do it except that way.

The Ecstasy of Influence →

Jonathan Lethem succinctly and pointedly talks about the thin line between inspiration and plagiarism in the varied art forms. With an observation, that “literature has always been a crucible in which familiar themes are continually recast” and backing it by abundant examples, Jonathan goes on to speculate if there exists such a line at all.

Most artists are brought to their vocation when their own nascent gifts are awakened by the work of a master. That is to say, most artists are converted to art by art itself. Finding one’s voice isn’t just an emptying and purifying oneself of the words of others but an adopting and embracing of filiations, communities, and discourses. Inspiration could be called inhaling the memory of an act never experienced. Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not consist in creating out of void but out of chaos. Any artist knows these truths, no matter how deeply he or she submerges that knowing.

Postscript

Have any recommendations or feedback for me? I’d love to hear from you. Just hit reply, or you can even email me.

Thank you for reading and sharing.

-Amit

I enjoy reading books and essays in the humour genre the most. However, I find it extremely difficult to consistently find something funny that excites me. I look at the Goodreads recommendations for humour and all are memoir types. Or they were written a long time back. Is this genre just not explored anymore? Why do so few people write funny fiction?

Having written a few humour short stories myself, I understand that it is an extremely difficult genre to master. You can't write something that everyone will find funny. Some will like what's written, while some will consider it to be absolutely silly, or even garbage. Maybe that's the reason not many want to go through the trouble of writing something that won't find universal acceptance.

I do wonder, at times, that may be the issue is about discovery. Maybe a lot of good humour is written but I am not aware of it. If that's the case, I would like to know of them.

So what's the best humour that you have recently read, preferably something that's not memoir (because am tired of reading short essays that are only funny in parts). I would love if they are pure fiction. Or fantasy even. I am ok to read anything and everything funny. Especially in today's dire times.

I read this heartfelt post at McSweeney's by Jen Coleman, a high school English teacher, on children already returning to schools amidst the pandemic. It makes no sense to me that someone somewhere is making a decision that puts these budding souls at risk just so that the perception of "we, the leaders, are handling it well" can be maintained. I am happy in my developing country if that's how a developed one handles crises.

That Sharpie tells me everything I need to know about teaching through COVID. We could have poured resources into prevention. We could’ve spent all summer enforcing mask use and social distancing. We could’ve sacrificed small pleasures for the greater good. We could’ve kept this from happening. But instead, we’re blindly barreling toward reopening even though we know teachers and students will die. We’re going to treat COVID the same way we treat school shootings.

I finished reading the second book in The Rabbi Small Mysteries series, Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry. Though I enjoyed this story, the overall experience was a bit dampened by the political subplots and unnecessary chatters.

Sure, every discussion that Rabbi was involved in was, though repetitive, refreshing; it was a welcome lesson on Jewish traditions and values. However, unlike the first book in the series, the mystery and the rabbi didn't feel like the core of this one.

A good quick read, nonetheless.

★★★

If there's one positive change that the lockdown has brought into my routine, it would be that I am reading a lot more, both online essays & books. My Goodreads currently reading list is full of some wonderful books. It is a result of some intentional changes in my habit and the easy availability of a lot of free time.

I am "reading" a lot more books in their audio forms. The Audible subscription has been one of the best investments. I enjoy listening to books as I am doing other tasks. Be it the regular household choir or exercising. So if I am thoroughly involved in a book, it clearly shows in my walk/run times. I would go on long walks just to "read" more.

Additionally, I have since long stopped carrying my mobile phone with me - rather I keep my Kindle around. I always take it along as I move through my routine. This is my observation when I had first started following this habit a while back.

I take my kindle, walk to my balcony or to my terrace or to the garden and settle there. Without my phone. Or my iPad. Anyone needs my attention, they have to come and fetch me. And I realised I was back to being more earnest while reading.

This holds even today. So whenever my mind reaches out for some getaway, it's the list of books that is accessible. Not some social media feed. Or emails. No risk of doom-scrolling.

I have also realized that I can't read only one book at a time. What I want to read depends on a lot many external factors. My mood, the weather, what and who am surrounded by, the thoughts my mind is full of. So I have a list of 10 books that I am reading at any given time based on these factors. And I don't hold myself to add another to the list if none of these excites me some time.

Being a completionist has been a habit that I was proud of one time; that's not the case any more. If a book is unable to hold my attention, I will stop reading it. I will skip chapters if it is non-fiction to see if there's any other chapter that interests me. There are more pages that we can eagerly turn than there are minutes that we can breathe. Don't touch a book that doesn't keep you excited to turn to the next page.

Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!”

Hunter S. Thompson

I asked Alexa to set a reminder for 10 PM. She did, however for the next day. Then I asked Siri to do the same. She said there's no app that can do that. Well, Reminders app was offloaded. Because, storage. Then I asked Google. It did what I wanted.

Through some wonderful recommendations from folks I have learnt to trust now, I came across this brilliant mystery series featuring one of the most likeable characters I have read, Rabbi Small. I enjoy reading mystery as a genre the most - in that whodunit has a special place in my mind. It is the most difficult genre to write effectively.

This short read falls in the category that Agatha Christie had mastered -- the story unravels itself for both the reader and the central characters together. Everything is laid out in front of the reader with nothing being held back by the "intelligent" detective. I hate the I-knew-it-all-along sort of twists. The mysteries that don't employ such ploys can leave you with satisfaction that is of the highest order.

It is not the underlying mystery that charmed me though. It is the sincere presentation of Jewish culture in a small-town community of Barnard's Crossing, notwithstanding the humorous undertone that author Harry Kemelman maintains throughout. I loved the setting of the lovable town and the characters big and small - I connected with each one of them. I enjoyed the discussions that David Small gets into every now and then, for that matter right from the get-go when he untangles the middling mystery of a broken vehicle with his simple, basic yet effective method of listening. I knew right away that I was in for an enjoyable ride.

This is an intelligent book with a common, sincere central character. He is not the only intelligent being around - each supporting character is important and equally worthy. I loved Rabbi Small's bantering with Chief Lanigan on topics both related and unrelated to the mystery. The later, equally smart, is not there just to hear the detective unravel the mystery towards the end. He is involved too. In that manner, this book is special.

I haven't been this engaged while reading a book, or to find what happens next since a long time now. And I don't remember the last time when I rushed to pick the second book in the series this soon. I think it was when I read Christie for the first time.

I would recommend this to anyone interested in a light, cosy mystery and is ok to not be held up in the cleverness of the plot or presentation. The simplicity, then, will win you over.

★★★★

As I read this post that I wrote exactly 12 years back, I wish I could be more like that guy. He didn't care about how random the thought was. He was fearless. He may not make sense always, but he never let that hold him back. He didn't worry about what the reader might think about him. The thoughts and the writing sounds so immature, but am sure today I can write about the same idea a lot more cleanly. But then why don't I word such thoughts?

Well, I am no longer him. I wish I could be. I guess growing up has made me rigid and a lot more fearful.