There are two things that have predominantly occupied my day today: the first has been reading up specifically on Shi’ism in the Indian Sub-Continent; the second’s been YouTubing inspirational/motivational commencement speeches at renowned academic institutions. You never know what may strike a chord with your own struggles. The one common theme you often find in these speeches whether it’s Steve Jobs at Stanford or Julianne Marguiles at Sarah Lawrence, is to pursue what you’re passionate about and then work your ass off to get where you want to be. Passion is the watchword in moments like these: when you’re at the brink of realizing everything you want to, out of the gilded cage of collegiate life. When I graduated, all I knew for certain was that I wanted to be a writer who made a difference; what sort of difference it would be, was unknown at the time. All of that came later. Principally, when I first read Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. But perhaps the seeds had already been sown all those years ago, in the ninth grade, when I read Orwell’s 1984. It should be noted, however, that I was graduating with a Computer Science degree, and knew that the next several years would be bordering on the perilous. The real desire was to get into an MFA program and jumpstart it all from there. I cursed the fact that I graduated at 19, two years too early than most college graduates, and still too soon for the mature world of creative writing programs.
I would have to wait for six years before I was bound for a program: a different one. Instead of flying across the Atlantic, I didn’t even come close to it. October 2010, as it turned out, saw me headed to the United Kingdom to pursue an MA in Creative Writing. The plan then, you see, was to reapply for the MFA now having the credible backing of British Royalty [Lancaster University was founded by Royal Charter]. But plans change. Those intervening six years between desired execution and actual execution bear witness to that.
But the fact is: I’m here now and that’s all that matters. The library here is great, providing some absolutely excellent research material for the novel I’m writing. The people are great: I’ve gotten to realize different things about my work that I never realized initially, not least of which is the fact that as a first drafter, I am an absolutely rubbish writer. It’s only in subsequent drafts that the shine starts to come through. But perhaps this should not be considered newsworthy, when I think about and remember a comment that was once made about my work. I had [foolishly, I might add] uploaded an early draft of a short story I was working on at the time onto an older blog. This was read by someone at the writing community I was then a religious part of: Desi Writers Lounge. Weeks later, I uploaded a more polished version onto said community. The comment came from someone who had read both versions and was something to this effect: when I first read this piece on your blog, I thought it was unsalvageable but with this, you have proven why you are you, Maryam. At the time, I am ashamed to admit that I took it as a bit of an insult. It was only much later that I realized its true worth…and insight. It was James Michener who said:
I’m not a very good writer, but I’m an excellent rewriter.
Sadly, another quote that was misunderstood at the time of reading [an evenly rounded decade ago].
I think the more you live life, the more there is to realize through re-creation. More importantly, though, [and pardon the dramatics: I did just see a whole lot of people talking about life after college!], I think the more you interact with different sorts of people, and the more you hold on to your reactions of those meetings and your memories of them, the more material you have to work with. I have not always been the champion of this statement: so many times I’ve been at social gatherings physically without ever really being there mentally. Always content to be lost in a world of my own making, subconsciously perhaps, using those interactions in my work but it was when I began noticing the people around me, that my work started to take on a whole different meaning.
Besides, if you are going to set yourself the impossible task of writing with an eye out to change status quo, you have to be a great lover of human nature.
Otherwise, anything that you do; whatever you set out to accomplish…will always fall short.
I have realized that a lot of Gray/Untitled Project has taken on a more personal significance and meaning for me: it is about letting others rule your life, it is about having the desire to push back, it is about knowing when to let go or permitting others to hold sway, it is about not knowing what your next steps in life are. Outside of the socio-religious elements that ground and centralize it, it is a story about people. The idea behind writing it and writing it well, is to appeal to the human beings in all of us. The fact that the people are Pakistani Muslims is beside the point in a way.
If I can capture that, there. There. My job is done.
If, being the watchword.
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