Missed deadlines

I love deadlines, especially the ones I miss.

I love the whoosh... sound they make as they leave me behind and disappear in the infinite limbo of the past, like a supersonic spacecraft lost forever in the endless darkness beyond the sky.

Missed deadlines make me feel empowered. Every time I miss a deadline, I tell myself that I shall live to fight another day, and the deadline is, well, dead.

At present, I am drinking the bitter-sweet experience of missing another deadline for my novel (The Derozian Delirium). I had imagined that I would finish writing the first part of the novel — comprising 10 chapters, around 42,000 words — by February 29.

This morning, I reached 40,000.

Sunayani, my lover, claims that is quite an achievement and I would like nothing better than to agree with her. But I have 80,000 words more to write before I finish the novel; so, I brace myself like VVS Laxman on the fourth day of the legendary Calcutta Test match of 2001. Yes, I have scored a lot of runs but there is still a long way to go.

Unlike Laxman, however, I can afford to miss the deadlines.

I may take an year more, as I probably will, to imagine my novel and then write it out. Great works take time; for, I need to chisel out every little thing before it can be perfect and nothing less than perfect is acceptable for my novel.

This can also be slightly frustrating in the contemporary publishing market in India, where anyone and everyone can get published. There is so much literature in circulation and so many authors peddling their trade that at time you don't know if the vocation of the writer is noble anymore. There was a time when most writers were antisocial, private individuals, who refused to speak on their work or communicate with their readers — i.e. Philip Larkin, J.M. Coetzee and may be even Anita Desai. What happened to those lonely souls?

Now, everyone is on the trapeze or jumping through hoops of fire.

I start to speculate: is there any metaphysical lesson to be gleaned from this experience? I think there is but before I begin, I must present a disclaimer: Don't follow my advice, there is nothing to be gained from it. I have never had any pragmatic thought in my mind, I have never planned to have a brilliant career, I don't know how to multiply my savings. When I have a little money, I go out with my friends for a drink or buy books.

To return to the lesson, albeit an unprofitable one, that I have acquired from this experience: I don't need to hurry because I have nowhere to go and nothing to prove. Most publishers will probably reject the MSS of my novel, it does not have a college romance in IITs or IIMs, the action in it is slow and cerebral, the sex too symbolic. So, it doesn't matter how many words are left, or how long I shall take to write. So, I may as well give myself the time I need to make it satisfactory for myself. I may allow myself to work on every little detail so that I love reading the novel.

I can miss as many deadlines as I want. My novel will not stop the next war.

After all, every artist performs first for himself, then for the audience. Sometimes, the audience doesn't matter at all.