Sigh! Embarked on another painful re-write of "Mr. Bandookwala, M.B.A., Harvard," after a critique on a short story offered by a dear writer friend (whose name I shall divulge later, if she doesn't mind.)
Problem is when I write I go with the flow and leave out a lot of local colour, texture, smell, the whole sensory thing. I think a lot of writers make this mistake and some are even big and successful despite this drawback, or, to use a better word, shortcoming. However, my novel being all about colour and texture and mood I don't want to take this criticism lightly.
So I am off to the nearby Cafe Coffee Day (CCD) where I spending a few hours sipping coffee and editing the novel in the evening. It's not very crowded at that time because Belapur West consists mostly of offices and is empty after 6.30 p.m. I find I can hardly write when I am at home. Sometimes it is the fisherwoman (from whom I buy fish these days, as it has become a staple of late), sometimes it's the courier man, sometimes it is the credit card company which has come to collect. All I am doing these days is paying my credit card bills. Sigh! Wonder why I bought all those useless things which I no longer use. Anyone want a camera (14 MP)?