My debut literary crime novel,”You Beneath Your Skin,” published by the fab team at Simon and Schuster IN is slowly making its way into the world.
It is available in India here.
Reviews are appreciated–please get in touch if you’d like a review copy.
The last few weeks have been mayhem– a new town or city every new day, setbacks, workshops, book events. Been through it all, and all I can think of is a huge break from it all, but life goes on. More issues, this time on the personal front, but life and writing must both go on.
You Beneath Your Skin is a bonafide Amazon bestseller now (and there’s other good news in the offing), and that will help Project WHY and Stop Acid Attacks, but I haven’t sent out pieces for a while, and while I write this or that, I need to get back to the serious business of writing. Soon.
Today I’m sharing a piece published a long while back….
Jezebel owned a blue betta fish. She’d named him Moby Dick, hoping one day an Ahab would seek him, and find her instead.
Moby Dick swam about, flashing his colour, surfacing to check on Jezebel with his rotating eyes, begging for food from time to time. When he thought himself ignored, he curled up and moped at the bottom, behind a plastic rock and a lime green plant.
Moby Dick didn’t know Jezebel lived in a world of Picasso dreams or that she’d imagined him into being. A girl who liked appearances as much as she hated responsibility, Jezebel loved the bowl because its water never grew dirty, and the fish didn’t need feeding.
She could easily have given Moby Dick a large aquarium of his own, with a harem of betta wives, swimming in circles around floating plants, but she kept him alone, waiting.
Jezebel didn’t know she lived in someone else’s dream, a tousle-haired young man who sat chewing his pen by the window, waiting for his Muse.
He wrote about Jezebel, her betta fish, because he himself owned one. It swam around its bowl, mocking his efforts at poetry. He slammed the notebook down and went out to seek his writing friends. He needed to gripe.
He didn’t open that notebook again. Jezebel waited for Ahab. Moby Dick didn’t get fed. His scales remained bright, and their blue clashed against the lime green of the plant in Jezebel’s dreams.
I’m posting this because it went on to stand fifth among a thousand entries at the Bath Flash Fiction Award, and then was a semi-finalist in the Best Small Fictions. Thinking of it reminds me that the writing life has its ups, and I should not be concerned with its downs. You beneath Your Skin is doing well, and I’m grateful. The writing will find its way back to me as well.
As the year winds to an end, I need to find good cheer. India is in doldrums at the moment, and in all of the darkness I need to find a small good thing.
What is a good piece of news you’ve heard lately? Has writing or reading brought you joy? Has life? What little piece of goodness have you witnessed recently?
If you found this post interesting: click here to have weekly posts delivered to your inbox.
If you want to be heard by this community: click here to join Daily (w)rite on its Facebook Page .