It’s the first Saturday in February and the coldest morning we in Connecticut have woken up to in more than a year. It’s -9°f (-23°c). The weatherfolk are all atwitter about the freezing cold spell we’re having, but it’s only going to last a day. We’ve lived through ten-day periods of sub-zero lows and single-digit highs, many times since I moved here. But, as we all know, weather is infotainment and the goal is hype, not perfection. Perfection is important today, though, as Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt would indicate?
“Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is ‘perfection.’’ Use it any way you like. Enjoy!”
As you’ve probably guessed by the fact that I handled the SoCS prompt in the opening, the remainder of this post veers slightly from the rules. Damyanti Biswas is our guest today. Damyanti and I spoke via Zoom and did so in a SoC manner, but substantial planning and some editing was involved.
If you’ve read any of my books, you know that Damyanti Biswas is mentioned in the Acknowledgements of each one. Before there was an “If We Were Having a Beer” series on this blog, before I was participating in “Stream of Consciousness Saturday,” I was following Damyanti’s blog and I was amazed by her fiction. I won’t repeat what is written in those acknowledgements, but I will say this is kind of a meta post. I was ready to stop my blogging experiment eleven years ago. Damyanti is the reason I didn’t—yeah, it’s her fault.
If we were having a beer, you’d be invited to join us.
“Dan, what time is Damyanti going to be here?”
“She’ll be here soon, David. She’s traveling back in time.”
“Huh?”
“She’s thirteen hours and about eighty degrees ahead of us, so I think we can cut her some slack.”
“I think she’s here Dan. I just saw her cab pull up.”
“Welcome, Damyanti. It’s so good to see you.”
“I am so happy to be here, Dan. David, it’s good to see you again, and Cheryl, wow, it’s so good to see you!”
“Thanks! I’m going to move us over to that table. Skippy will take over the bar, but I don’t want to miss this conversation.”
“Damyanti, the last time you were here was October two-thousand nineteen. I was still working for a living and ‘You Beneath Your Skin’ was fresh off the press. It’s been over three years; I have retired, and I am holding a copy of ‘The Blue Bar.’ Let’s explore what happened in between those dates.”
“Well, Dan. We can dispense with twenty-twenty—the year that didn’t happen. I began twenty-twenty-one looking for a new agent.”
“A new agent? I thought ‘You Beneath Your Skin’ was self-published.”
“No, David, it was published by Simon & Schuster India. I had an agent in the UK, but he wasn’t interested in the U.S. market, and I wanted to explore this market.”
“I’m assuming you found one because The Blue Bar has been published in the U.S. It seems like things came together quickly.”
“Things did move faster than I thought they would, but luck and timing played a big part. But you’re right, I found a new agent in June, two-thousand twenty-one, and I landed a two-book deal with Thomas and Mercer in August.”
“Excuse me, Cheryl.”
“Yes, Skippy.”
“Are you guys having something to drink?”
“Yes. I’m sure Dan and David will have their usual. I would like an Old Fashioned and Damyanti?”
“I’ll have a glass of Pinot Grigio.”
“And Skippy.”
“Yes, David.”
“Don’t forget the cherries. Damyanti, did you have The Blue Bar written before you had this deal?”
“I had a draft. I actually wrote ninety-thousand words in one month.”
“One month? Dan, it took you a year to write that many words.”
“David’s snark aside, that is remarkable, Damyanti.”
“I was fortunate. I was able to get away. I shut everything down. No blog. No social media. No family. I wrote in isolation and at the end of a month, I had a first draft.”
“How closely does the book that was published last month resemble that first draft?”
“The story is the same, the telling of it changed. And the ending is different. My agent wanted a different ending. I had four agents offer for the book; they all wanted a different ending.”
“What was the issue?”
“The original ending was very dark.”
“I just finished The Blue Bar. I can see where you could have a dark ending.”
“I hope you liked the ending as it was changed, David.”
“I did. I really enjoyed the story. The more I read, the more I wanted to read.”
“OK, here we go, a cold beer, a John Howell’s Special, an Old Fashioned and a Pinot Grigio”
“Skippy.”
“Yes David?”
“You forgot the cherries.”
“Oh, I got confused with Cheryl’s drink. I mean, your drinks are both bourbons.”
“Here, David. You can have mine. Damyanti, you say you had a draft written in a month. Did you start from scratch, or did the book evolve from an idea or an outline?”
“The first chapter came from a workshop in two-thousand seventeen. We were given an exercise ‘Write about a character who’s being watched but doesn’t know it.’ That vignette became Tara. I have lots of flash fiction vignettes in the drawer.”
“Did you reach into the drawer to start your next book?”
“I would have, Dan. I had proposed a second book, but my editor said they wanted a sequel, not the one I had proposed. I worked through two more drafts with my editor moving things around. The sequel has the same cast of characters, with a focus on religion, caste, castration, and violence against men.”
“Did she say castration, Dan?”
“Yes, David, I think she did.”
“Ouch.”
“Violence against men is a change for you. You Beneath Your Skin is certainly about violence against women. Was that something you wanted to write about?”
“Not exactly. When I was writing ‘You Beneath Your Skin,’ I had to learn how to write a novel. I was a short story writer—writing a novel requires a different skill set. The first draft of ‘You Beneath Your Skin’ started with violence against women. I wanted something to use as a plot point, but if you looked at the survivor after a month or so, you wouldn’t know the violence had occurred. I wanted something visible, but I didn’t want to exploit survivors.”
“I understand that dilemma. How did you get past that, Damyanti?”
“I went to India and met with the group ‘Stop Acid Attacts,’ Cheryl. I visited with survivors.”
“That had to be hard.”
“It was. It was scary at first, but they are still normal people. Once I talked to them, heard their stories, and got to know them, I couldn’t reduce them to a plot point. When I came back, the acid attack took over the novel.”
“Do you still keep in touch with any of those survivors?”
“Yes, Cheryl. We became friends. We shared stories. I still keep in touch with some of them.”
“Did you conduct a similar kind of firsthand research when writing The Blue Bar?”
“I did, David. I wanted the police work to sound authentic. I am lucky to have some contacts who could share the way things work in Mumbai. I shared the plot and worked to understand the training they get and talk about interpersonal connections. They helped me understand how organized crime works. I walked the streets. I even visited a Bollywood set. I am very lucky to have those connections, but I needed to work to get that firsthand experience.”
“Damyanti, when you invited me to read a pre-release copy of The Blue Bar, you mentioned that it was being marketed to women. I really liked the book. Is there something wrong with me?”
“No, Dan. I think there’s something right with you. In some markets, publishers think men like thrillers with lots of action, but not much change in character. The Blue Bar has a lot of action, but a lot of things happen to the character. That’s why the publisher felt it catered to women’s tastes.”
“I’m with Dan on this one. I like how authentic your characters feel to me. There were places I wanted to shake them and say, ‘why would you do that?’ Then there were places where what they were doing made perfect sense even though, in the context of the story, other characters thought they were making a mistake. I wanted to correct them, and explain that it’s what the character has to do.”
“Thank you, David. I want my characters to seem real. Not just people to whom the action is happening.”
“You said earlier that you had to learn how to write a novel. When did you get comfortable being a writer, in general?”
“I think it might have been that April A-to-Z blogging challenge in two-thousand thirteen when I wrote a story a day for twenty-six days. I was dealing with a major personal crisis—multiple deaths in family. I was in India, writing my stories each day close to midnight. I wrote those stories fast, gave them one proofread and then published them. People liked them, and that’s when it struck me that I could do this.”
“I remember going to work early so I could read those stories. You published them, correct? I think I own the book.”
“I did. ‘A-to-Z Stories of Life and Death.’ It’s available on Kobo.
“Damyanti, I’m not a writer. I have a hard time being a prolific reader. I know you’re working hard to promote The Blue Bar and I gather from some of your social media posts that you’re busy editing The Blue Monsoon. How do you do it?”
“It doesn’t always balance, David. It’s hard to find time to write/edit/etc. Sometimes I have to cut back on promotion to continue writing. The Blue Monsoon has been harder to write because of marketing The Blue Bar at the same time, and working on my author brand.”
“Do you guys want another round? Do you want any food?”
“Another round for sure, Skippy. Damyanti, are you hungry? We can get something to snack on.”
“Oh, Cheryl, I’m a sucker for French fries though I’m trying to cut down on calories!”
“Skippy, have the kitchen make some fries but hold the calories.”
“Damyanti, I want to ask about what might be a difficult subject. While most of the responses to The Blue Bar are positive, you have experienced some pushback from readers who seem to object solely on the basis that you are an Indian female author. I’ve read some of the comments. They make me angry, but you seem to be dealing with them well.”
“It was painful at first, Dan, but I treat this like a martial arts exercise where they hit you in the stomach to test you. The less ego I have as a writer, the better I can be the person who is in the world and see the world from the point of view of others.”
“In The Blue Bar, you’re asking us to make a journey, Damyanti, but I don’t see how it’s all that different from a science fiction novel or a fantasy novel. They’re all asking us to make a journey.”
“That’s true, David, but I’m asking a predominantly white audience to journey to Mumbai and experience a story that centers the lives of non-white characters. The reader has to be open to that experience. Some of the comments focus on Indian names being problematic.”
“That’s not really criticism. Again, we deal with foreign names all the time in literature set in different countries, different eras, and, if we move into fantasy and sci-fi, different worlds.”
“True again, David. I don’t understand it, but I have to draw strength from my roots. Eastern roots are not power of self but obligation as self. It’s about focusing on truth and compassion, not fear of the other.”
“So, this experience has made you stronger?”
“Yes, absolutely. Racism and negativity have shown me a different side of our shared world—given me practice as to what this world is like—it’s taught me to raise my voice. I have to be the most myself I can be.”
“David mentioned earlier that your characters feel authentic. I would point out that you are also authentic. I formed my opinion of you over ten years ago. I was sure that I knew who you were. Now, we meet, we talk and you seem just like the person I imagined. The character Damyanti is the real Damyanti.”
“Not pretending is important to me, Dan. Writers fall into a trap of ‘I need to sound like a writer,’ but I feel like I want to be me. I don’t want to sound different if you meet me.”
“I have mentioned many times that you have helped me move along on my writing journey. In addition to your books and stories, I think people associate you with the help you provide to other writers. Is that just one of the things that it is to be Damyanti?”
“So many people have been helpful to me, Dan. I sometimes feel bad that I don’t help others enough. The writing community is generous and makes writing not a lonely profession. When we’re sitting in front of a blank page, it’s lonely. I understand that, but I have those connections and they keep me going.”
“Do those connections filter into your writing?”
“Writing is a strange beast. I have to have empathy. I become the character. It’s like method acting for me. I have to understand their desires, weakness, flaws, etc. It’s not about the outline or the proposal—it’s about the people. Always has been. A chat like this, with wonderful company, feeds into my work, so thank you for that. I enjoyed this evening—here’s to many more at your fabulous bar!”
I’m going to add a few warm weather images from my archives to the gallery to help Damyanti forget the 80-degree drop in temperature. But first, in case you haven’t bought The Blue Bar or You Beneath Your Skin, lets have some links.
And, if you already own Damyanti’s books but still want to buy something…
All five of my current books are now available in audio book form thanks to Amazon KDP’s Virtual Voice process. The voice is AI generated, but I can honestly say, it’s pretty darn good. The audio books are reasonably priced (all below $7 US) and, if you already own the Kindle version and want to add an audio version, you can do that for $1.99. There is a five-minute sample on the book page for each book. If you’re interested, click on any of the Dreamer’s Alliance book links below the image or on the link below for my latest book.
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