Ready, Set...

The verdict is in.

1. Romance - 22% (4 votes)
2. Fantasy - 11% (2 votes)
3. Mystery - 67% (12 votes)

So a whodunnit it shall be. Thank you for voting, I am more grateful than you can possibly know for taking this decision out of my hands.

Now it is time to determine the setting in which the crime will occur. Starting from chapter 3 or so, our sleuth will be starting a new job. Where some bodies will start appearing. What job will this be?

I know there's a diamond industry in Surat... and there must be a Mumbai stock exchange, right? Haven't the faintest clue if Hyderabad has any sort of pearl trade at all. Which should conveniently answer all questions about whether I know anything about diamonds, stocks or pearls. (Hint: answer begins with N and ends with O.) But this is NaNoWriMo, and I am not letting any of that stop me from making up all manner of industry practices, ethics and in-jokes needed to give this novel that essential feel of realism. All I need to know is which industry I need to make these up for.

Vote!

A Halloween Plea

A week ago - Diwali (belated wishes, y'all) - I was on the phone with my dad when a lull in the conversation led me to make small talk with the question, "So, what did you do today?" He's temporarily living by himself in Calcutta, see. Between us, my dad, mom, sis and I have our feet in three countries and four cities. Social creature that he is, Diwali this year was not a cheery one for dad. So I ask him, "You didn't stay home all day, did you?"

"No," he says, "I got invited to a Kali puja in the area."

I paused. My eyeballs ricocheted off the walls, and by turning my head to just the right angle, I was able to catch them with my sockets again. "Kali puja? Like, with legions of dancing women with junglee hair?"

Dad laughs. "No," says he. "And look who's talking about junglee hair -"

Fair point - though these days the hair of yours truly, somewhat tamed by low atmospheric humidity, almost never scares the neighbourhood kids. I chuckle. "It would've been fun if it had been. Did anybody at least have neem leaves in their hands? Which they might have shaken -"

Dad sputters.

"- discreetly, appa," I add hastily. "Maybe you didn't notice."

"No," he tells me firmly and changes the subject. Bah. Just like him to ruin my delicious fantasies.

My life is lamentably devoid of the sort of weirdness that seems to be routine for TV characters, and I have always felt it as an acute loss. Nobody has ever told me he's being chased by the KGB (happened to my husband, the lucky dog). No childhood friend of mine has turned into a flaming lunatic who makes prank calls to my home for a year and a half, pretending to be a besotted stalker in true Ki-Ki-Ki-Ki-Kiran fashion (happened to an old classmate, the lucky pig - the best I've had is a disappointingly untenacious actual blog-stalker). Nobody has ever spoken to me while simultaneously exhibiting even mild insanity - say, swotting at invisible flies around their head.

But what do I know, right? I'm fairly unimaginative and unobservant. I take a book with me everywhere I go, and since I have often not noticed cars swerving dangerously to avoid me I might well have missed all manner of street weirdos - streakers, homeless women talking to lampposts, maybe even talking mice. When somebody says something absurd, I take it for granted they must be joking, depriving me of the opportunity to question god knows how many actual loons further.

This has to change.

On the eve of Halloween, this blessed celebration of strangeness and outcasts, I resolve to translate my hunger for wackiness into action. I will open my eyes and look. I will question all jokes. If you say, "that's what she said" I will faithfully ask you who, exactly, is the female nutjob in question, and could I get her phone number please. I will helpfully point out that my chosen monicker on this blog is Wendelin the Weird, thus encouraging you to let loose your inner madman while you are here, or at least share any stories from your life that might conceivably evoke the response, "That's mental."

So share. In the name of All Hallow's Eve, share!

Blogger beta has RSS

So I'm off Feedburner. The link on the right has been updated.

Swear On

So I'm thinking I will shoot the next person who speaks disparagingly of swear words, or at least give him/her a piece of my mind. These are people with smug smiles, clipped accents and tight asses who will tell you in a sing-song voice, "Oh it doesn't offend me, it just tells me how unimaginative and -" (cue theatrically lowered voice) "- really rather uneducated -" (voice back to normal) "- a person must be to possess such a tragically limited vocabulary." Good God. Unclench, already.

And then, predictable to the last drop, they will quote Shakespeare at you. "The f-word is so bland, it's practically meaningless. You'd make a much better impact if you called someone a 'reeky, beetle-headed measle', don't you think?" they simper, as they sip their tea from brittle bone china cups with their pinkies sticking out.

At least my parents' argument against swearing was that it's bad to say rude things to people - which, dude, does make sense. What the hell kind of reasoning is, "I just don't like the word you're using, here's what I think is a better one"? If you're going to be my editor and rewrite my lines, biatch, you should be paying me.

And that doesn't even begin to address the sheer imbecility of advising me to call someone any kind of "measle". My aim is to insult, not be cute.

Swearing is economical. Can you beat four - count 'em - four letters? It's economical, and it's universally understood, and its expressiveness is quite undimmed, thank you very much. Come up with a way to say, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn" in a G-rated fashion, and I might start listening to you.

Until then, beware my shotgun. Or flying shards of my mind directed at your inflated egos.

One Week to NaNoWriMo

This year I have three workable novel ideas competing for lightening-speed spewage during the month of November. Unlike the disaster of 2004 and the marginal success of 2005 (liked what I had but not enough), this year is going to be... cool.

For one, I already have a kickoff party planned with a fellow Wrimer in the area (Macaroni Grill on Wolf Rd, 7.30 pm, Wednesday Nov 1st - bring your laptop for the ceremonial 500-word write!).

For another, I have a fellow Wrimer to work with!

And last, I won't have to make any hard decisions concerning the novel, because, my dear blogees, you will do it for me. (Your reward, you ask? Free advance copy of the completed manuscript, delivered personally to your email inbox upon request. And the indisputable honour of having been of service to me.)

So get to work. Your first assignment is to pick my project on the poll.

Aaaaaah. *Sits back in easy chair and puts feet up. Sips margarita.*

The Mysterious Contracts of Halliburton

As a firm believer in the "they-invaded-Iraq-for-oil" theory, I seldom come up against any facts or even people who disagree with the essentials of my beliefs. After all, nobody wants to invade Sudan no matter how bloody its genocide gets; nobody wants to invade Libya no matter how much it spends (should that be past tense?) on its nuclear program or how dictatorial its regime... The only thing special enough about Iraq that would hold America's interest for fifteen years is decidedly not its nifty music industry (known for marvellous paeans to Saddam Hussein).

Today a statistic was brought to my attention by a guy who is convinced W's intentions in invading Iraq were pure. To wit: 94.7% of Halliburton's contracts from the government were garnered in full and open competitive bids.

If this is supposed to make me think better of either the government or Halliburton, people, then you must think me gullible indeed. Think what we know of who sits on Halliburton's board, who has fortunes at stake in its success, who stands to lose all their ranches and vacation homes should the company go down. And then tell me what's more likely: that Halliburton truly competed in an open and competitive bidding system, or that the "open competitive" bidding system is - surprise - corrupt?

Admittedly this is a case where I am buying into a conspiracy theory and interpreting all evidence against my theory as evidence for it, in true paro-schizo fashion. But, boy, did any conspiracy theory ever sound as plausible as "they did it for the money"?

Holy... Wolf!

If you only ever see one impersonation of Michael Jackson's "Thriller", let this be it.

Almost (but not quite) on par with this gem.

HP Poll

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Page 577 (UK Edition)

"[Luna and I were] outside Snape's office ..." whispered Hermione, her eyes sparkling with tears. "... We hung around for ages outside it and nothing happened... it was nearly midnight when Professor Flitwick came sprinting down into the dungeons. He was shouting about Death Eaters in the castle, I don't think he really registered that Luna and I were there at all, he just burst his way into Snape's office and we heard him saying that Snape had to go back with him and help, and then we heard a loud thump and Snape came hurtling out of his room and he saw us and - and -"

"What?" Harry urged her.

"I was so stupid, Harry!" said Hermione in a high pitched whisper. "He said Professor Flitwick had collapsed and that we should go and take care of him while he - while he went to help fight the Death Eaters -"

This is a question that has been plaguing me since I read HBP - as a firm believer in the Good!Snape theory, I have a hard time explaining this one little detail: the Stunning of Flitwick. Though nobody actually sees Snape do it, Flitwick is taken to the hospital wing later so something happened to him...

I confess this has me stumped. So do your bit: vote in the poll, and leave your thoughts in the comments.

Names Meme

Snagged from FernWithy; especially hilarious because the meme doesn't anticipate old-fashioned, uberlong south Indian names...

1. YOUR SPY NAME: (middle name and current street name)
The Vermont (I don't have a real middle name, so I used the fake)

2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME: (grandfather/grandmother on your dad's side, your favorite candy)
Nagalakshmamma Lindt

3. YOUR RAP NAME: (first initial of first name, first three or four letters of your last name)
N-Ses

4. YOUR GAMER TAG: (a favorite color, a favorite animal)
Orange Tiger (yawn)

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (great-aunt/great-uncle on your mom's side, city where you were born)
Indumati Bangalore

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (first 3 letters of your last name, last 3 letters of mother's maiden name, first 3 letters of your pet's name)
Ses Thy Chi (old pet, since I don't have one right now)

7. PORN STAR NAME: (first pet's name, the street you grew up on)
Chinky 10thCross

8. SUPERHERO NAME: ("The", your favorite color, the automobile your dad drives)
The Orange Maruti

9. YOUR ACTION HERO NAME: (first name of a main character in the last movie you watched, last food you ate)
Terry Tomato

Tell Me You're Joking, She Begged

There was once a guy who ran for the senate. This was his campaign ad.

And this was his opponents' ad.

Duuuuuuuuude.

Review: Tripping to Somewhere

Let it be known, first and foremost, that Kris Reisz's debut Tripping to Somewhere is a remarkably quick read even at 384 pages. True to my words in the previous post, I cracked the book open at 1:22 pm on Saturday, and I was done before five. I didn't look at the clock once, I skipped lunch: for all practical purposes I was dead to the world, this world, and off in a wicked trippy place... somewhere.

So here I am two days later (because I wanted to let it sink in) and Gilly and Sam are still with me. Sam more than Gilly, for some reason - without giving too much away, I can tell you that her story comes to a more open end. These two girls from unsettling families share a thirst to run away, catch a ride on the speeding world and find out what moves them, what makes them. So after a meeting with a voodoo guy and a quick stop to take in the crow entrails on a shop counter, Sam and Gilly are off in search of the legendary Witches' Carnival. This, I think, would be a good time to take back everything I said about the cover art - not only is it dark and edgy and whatnot, once you read this book there can be no question that this is the right cover for it. (Sorry, Orange. Maybe my book?)

All road trips are coming-of-age stories, and this one is no less so. Only, Tripping to Somewhere is Thelma and Lousie's spirit in the body of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas's drug haze, with a dash of darkness from Stephen King, a pinch of Neil Gaiman's fascination with magic that dances just on the edge of our world. Kris Reisz's voice, however, is all his own. His world of druggies and parties and the happy-go-lucky Witches' Carnival takes shape with minimal introduction and description, but it is as real as any daydream and certainly as haunting.

In case you can't tell, I really liked this book. For once, liberal cussing wasn't some stylistic stunt, but just evidence of Reisz's finger on the pulse of today's kids. I liked how Sam and Gilly aren't geniuses, they make stupid mistakes and what gets them through the day is nothing more than luck and a bit of guts - and if I was a little frustrated at real world professionals for not picking up on the liberal trail they left when they ran away, maybe that's just my delusion of professional efficiency speaking.

All in all, the verdict is a thumbs up on a great debut. Reisz's strengths are the enduring kind, and I'm looking forward to collecting the rest of his works.

Kris Reisz's Tripping to Somewhere

Simon Pulse YA paperback, 384 pages.

Some weeks ago, Kris Reisz made me an offer I didn't refuse, viz., would I please read and review his book in exchange for - hear this - a free copy. There are people who will drive three hours for a free beer, people who will crash a 10-year old's birthday party for the cake. I'm a book junkie, and free books, baby, are my version of winning the lottery.

Anyway, I just got this book in the mail, and boyohboyohboyohboy I feel this tiny jolt of excitement in the pit of my stomach because somehow, over the past few months I've been reading this guy's blog I think I have internalised his road to that most sacred and fantasised-about land, publication. It feels like I was part of this. It feels like I'm holding my own dreams in my hands.

Now, Kris did say I could say anything I wanted about his book, so I must tell you that I had grown very fond of his other book cover, the one that's ironically still on Amazon and other online stores, even though it was pulled and replaced with the one you see above months ago. I just think it's harder to say no to a book that has just actively ripped your eyes out their sockets.

This one might grow on me, though. It is darker, edgier, and who knows, maybe the book isn't about bubblegum-light parties on the surface of the sun.

Oh, and Kris? You look like Dobby in your author photo.

I'm cracking the book open now, a real review is coming up soon.