A Christmas Song

On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me

1 anxious Maxine in a pear tree

On the second day of Christmas my true love sent to me

2 determined scientists

and 1 anxious Maxine in a pear tree

On the third day of Christmas my true love sent to me

3 crazy Germans

2 determined scientists

and 1 anxious Maxine in a pear tree

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love sent to me

4 ancient pills from the Indus valley

3 crazy Germans

2 determined scientists

and 1 anxious Maxine in a pear tree

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love sent to me

5 minutes to recruit Julian

4 ancient pills from the Indus valley

3 crazy Germans

2 determined scientists

and 1 anxious Maxine in a pear tree

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love sent to me

6 days to find who killed Max’s father

5 minutes to recruit Julian

4 ancient pills from the Indus valley

3 crazy Germans

2 determined scientists

and 1 anxious Maxine in a pear tree

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love sent to me

7 clues to decode some research

6 days to find who killed Max’s father

5 minutes to recruit Julian

4 ancient pills from the Indus valley

3 crazy Germans

2 determined scientists

and 1 anxious Maxine in a pear tree

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love sent to me

8 meals around the globe

7 clues to decode some research

6 days to find who killed Max’s father

5 minutes to recruit Julian

4 ancient pills from the Indus valley

3 crazy Germans

2 determined scientists

and 1 anxious Maxine in a pear tree

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love sent to me

9 encounters of the most dangerous kind

8 meals around the globe

7 clues to decode some research

6 days to find who killed Max’s father

5 minutes to recruit Julian

4 ancient pills from the Indus valley

3 crazy Germans

2 determined scientists

and 1 anxious Maxine in a pear tree

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love sent to me

10 kisses between Max and Julian

9 encounters of the most dangerous kind

8 meals around the globe

7 clues to decode some research

6 days to find who killed Max’s father

5 minutes to recruit Julian

4 ancient pills from the Indus valley

3 crazy Germans

2 determined scientists

and 1 anxious Maxine in a pear tree

On the 11^th of Christmas, my true love sent to me

11 th hour edge of your seat suspense

10 kisses between Max and Julian

9 encounters of the most dangerous kind

8 meals around the globe

7 clues to decode some research

6 days to find who killed Max’s father

5 minutes to recruit Julian

4 ancient pills from the Indus valley

3 crazy Germans

2 determined scientists

and 1 anxious Maxine in a pear tree

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love sent to me

12 copies of The Colossus

11 th hour edge of your seat suspense

10 kisses between Max and Julian

9 encounters of the most dangerous kind

8 meals around the globe

7 clues to decode some research

6 days to find who killed Max’s father

5 minutes to recruit Julian

4 ancient pills from the Indus valley

3 crazy Germans

2 determined scientists

and 1 anxious Maxine in a pear tree

Colossus- A book review

So I'm writing a review of my own book. It's sort of like asking someone to describe their child in an unbiased manner. Guffaw, guffaw.

Indeed.

Let's give it a shot anyway.

The Colossus is not the best piece of literature out there. Of course, it isn't. But it's not the worst either. Pithy beginning, eh?

This is how it came about. I wrote a much more literary book a few years before the Colossus was born. I thought it was pretty good. But it wasn't accepted by the publishing world. I didn't want to self publish it then so I set it aside.

Instead of drowning myself in drink, I started another book.

This time, I wanted it to be totally different than the one I had written before. It had to be the sort of movie I like to watch. World hopping, mixing of cultures, Nazi era German pharma (gotta have the Nazi era man), an Agatha Christie inspired mystery and a wee bit of code breaking.

I'd grown up on stories told to me by my father who worked for Bayer (the Aspirin people) in Germany. I had heard about their great position of power among the Nazis. How even up until the eighties, some of the top chaps at Bayer had Nazi links.

Then I read Jeffrey Diarmuid's fascinating book, Aspirin. Highly recommend BTW.

I thought, what if a Jewish scientist living in Nazi Germany (fact: many top Bayer scientists were Jewish) was driven to find an Aspirin of his own and instead found something quite different. Then I had to connect all this to India, ancient India and the Indus Valley (since it is still so shrouded in mystery).

Next was to have an interesting protagonist. Someone real, someone identifiable. Maxine Rosen was born this way. She is anxious, has a weight problem, boyfriend problem and is a chef (gotta have food thrown in there, no?)

Her romantic interest had to be very non Jason Bourne like. More Bertie Wooster. This way this couple could go around making mistakes all the way as they attempted to do something they really oughtn't. My inspiration was James McEvoy for Professor Julian McIntosh. He was so easy to write, since I saw him in my head the whole time. Then Mr. McEvoy goes and does movies like Filth. I mean really, I understand expanding your repertoire..but I digress.

So these two Max and Julian needed a mystery to solve with the background of German pharma, Nazi stuff etc. So Max has a scientist father and grandfather. And a coded research document.

It's a spicy masala curry with as many ingredients I could toss in that I liked.

In the end, its an interesting story. A quick read with a mystery that is not so straight forward (tip my hat to the genius of Ms. Christie).

What stands out in the novel though, above all, if I may say to myself, is Max. She is flawed, lovable and real. That might be my greatest triumph in this novel.

Please try it, dear reader.

I think you'd enjoy it. It's a great escape, a fun ride with two fun, unassuming, gawky, flawed protagonists that could easily be you and me.

Published at last

It has happened. Finally. After putting myself through the wringer with one novel that still sits on my hard drive, my second effort has finally seen light of day.

It is on Amazon and such book places, published by someone other than myself. I have my validation. This item is checked off my bucket list.

My reaction? I have a giant tension headache.

It's like the camel and sheik story. Now this is done, i must get reviews, find ways to sell it.

Stop I am telling myself. It is done. Sure, I will market the book as well as I can without being put on the do not call list and spam lists of friends and family. But I won't obsess.

I mustn't. Because trying to get rich writing a novel is like trying to get fit by running the marathon.

Too difficult. A mile or two will do.

I must make an effort and remember that.

Belonging--a journal entry

There's an old Blind Melon song called No Rain. If I recall correctly, a little girl wearing a bumblebee suit goes around looking for the place she will fit in and at the end of the son, she finds a group of people who look like her.

I've been that girl most of my life. Belonging often comes from inside like happiness does but sometimes one just wants to feel at peace with one's surroundings and the world.

Perhaps being a first generation immigrant precludes that from happening. Despite living in this neighborhood for over a decade, I still feel like the odd brown woman walking down the much pounded pavement, wondering if people are making comments about my foreignness.

It's not just about appearance. I look on with wonder at the modern Facebook way of living, of laying it all out for people to see. And I cringe. Am I just old? I always was an intensely private person so adopting to that lifestyle is impossible for me. As for being part of the Indian diaspora, seems there's two factions in the states--the Hindu faction and the Bollywood faction. Of the two, perhaps the Hindu faction would make sense.

I have few friends in the area. The people I like don't seem to want the sort of intense friendship and closeness that is my brand. I appreciate that too. I can be quite a pill, I suppose with my intensity. I see it in my little one so I get it.

But it would be nice to belong, to feel one with the surrounding. The moments are there but they're fleeting.

Questions about ethnic identity and race I used to think trivial if one felt at peace with oneself but I was wrong. As I grow older, I seem to crave the company of Indians. I crave the language, the phrases of comfort, the less guarded ways of communication. But I have no Indian friends in the area any more.

Going back to India was supposed to be my answer to all my issues but even there I didn't fit in. I was too American there. I am too Indian here. A total misfit.

Obviously the reader is rolling her eyes at this point going, "gf, this means the problem is with you." Of course it is, I know that. I'm a misfit not a fool.

The kind of people I would like as friends must be modern and yet old fashioned, open minded yet conservative. Liberal and down to earth. I find some older people that way. They have fewer hangups, fewer artificialities. They focus on the bigger questions. And so my best friend is 70 years old.

I won't be around forever, she warns me and I realize that.

I must try and get out there and find people I can relate to and who can relate to me. Good luck with that, I know.

And hard as it is I will try and keep up with the times so I'm thinking MeetUp. I have a feeling given the way I stipulate membership to my group, as always, I shall be its sole member.

Heaven and Hell

My mother always says that we experience heaven and hell on earth itself.

She is right. Hell I have seen in times of pain and illness and death of loved ones.

Heaven, I believe, is different for everyone. One of my ideas of heaven is musical bliss.

My son and I take piano lessons. In the past few months my son has developed a strong interest in his music and practices all hours he has free. I am plodding along, wondering why I'm not able to parlay my decades of voice training to the instrument. I'm not doing badly but the leaps and bounds I thought I'd make progress with is not happening.

A few days ago, though I had a chance to get a glimpse of musical heaven. My son was practicing a song--a simple but catchy song. I told him to jump up an octave. I then played the song in the lower octaves and he played in the higher ones.

We both had the song down and playing all across the piano, even that simple song sounded fantastic.

I felt a joy in my heart that was indescribable. The thought of playing songs like this with my son as we both make progress was one filled with such happiness that I could only describe it as heaven.

I walked on air the rest of the evening.

Perhaps if we are able to find such joy in more and more things, and simpler and simpler things,
a semblance of that nirvana, bliss etc etc would be more and more within our grasp. 

Bleeding edge trend

This is a term I heard while ago. Bleeding edge.

Now there's cutting edge which we all know. But bleeding edge, that is trendy that's beyond just trendy. Its way cooler. It's usually applied to technology but the words, so graphic, can be applied to everything else.

Now I am NOT a trendy person. My hair is in a style that went out in 1982. I still have pairs of shoes I bought in 1999. I never wore them when they were trendy but given fashion cycles, I know by the time I get to wearing them, they''ll be back in style again, as will my hair do.

No, this is about my eco-friendliness. Which is trendy nowadays. Carrying your own shopping bags to grocery stores, that sort of thing.

I am beyond that. Way beyond. Not showing off, its just who I am. I compost, I recycle obsessively. I buy and use local or organic food, cook only free range meats the rare times I cook meat, I use biodegradable garbage bags. I seldom use the clothes dryer. You get the idea.

I am not showing off. Thing is, all I do is not worth showing off because people don't praise me for what I do and don't do. They roll their eyes at me when I wince at their use of styrofoam plates and cups, they sigh when I collect their recyclables and bring them home with me. They shout out in despair when I turn off the taps as they wool gather instead of doing the dishes. These people are just not trendy in the eco-friendly sense.

Then there are my bleeding edge friends. They are so trendy that when they know I am visiting, they warn me sternly. No, none of that recycling rubbish you do at home happens here all right? So please don't give me grief. But--I say, only to be rudely interrupted, We don't have time for all that.'

Or another friend holding her dinner plate above my garbage cans. Now do i recycle this, or compost this or what? I can never tell with you.

I have found myself apologizing to them. I have felt myself near tears when I am around them for my country bumpkin like habits. Then I want to kill them. I mean, sure what I do isn't easy or pleasant. It is time consuming and painful.

But then I don't do it because I must or trendy. I mean what's stylish about putting your hand in the toilet to flush away your baby's poop when you have chosen not to use disposable diapers?

No, I want to tell these super trendy folk that what I am doing is saving the planet for their great grandkids.

That's bloody all. And if that sounds like I am showing off, well, that's just fine then!

A new blog title for new comedies

My blog was called 'Of unpublished novelist moms and other comedies.' Since I am soon going to be officially published, I thought it might be a good time to alter the title slightly.

After all, being published will lead to many new comedic situations. Dealing with nasty reviews for instance.

I get nightmares wondering what I will do besides curling up in a fetal position when those inevitable reviews rear their slimy heads; 'They decided to publish this drivel! Such amateurish writing, sloppy editing, flimsy plot. What has the publishing world sunk to etc etc.'

Then I wonder if getting no reviews at all (which would have been the case if I wasn't almost published) is better than the prospect of getting nasty ones.

There are days I am excited about having a book I have so enjoyed writing come out. And then there are the dark ones when I wonder who I am kidding.

I have heard even the best of us get these jitters, let alone unproven dithering writers such as myself.

And so, like it or not, this summer 'Colossus' will come out! My baby. My second effort but first to be published.

Perhaps it is best that my few dozen (I am not very ambitious) prospective readers read my debut work when its sweltering hot outside. That way they may not remember the flaws in it and merely focus on the fact that my book took them away from the hot sun to a cool, relaxing place and there, accompanied by a glass of iced tea, they read it.

Then again, there are days when I hope that the characters I have penned may find a place in my reader's heart, even for a short while. That the reader may identify with their flaws and foibles, their joys and triumphs.

And perchance that reader might put the book away when she is done reading it and with a sigh, say, 'That was a good one.'

If wishes were horses...