For the past year, I’ve been sitting on a secret. Okay, so it’s not like absolutely nobody knows about this. This is mostly because of the magnitude of the whole thing, which made me squeal at odd moments and do little jigs without warning, making people ask what the hell was wrong with me.
Nothing’s wrong with me.
It’s just that I have a book deal.
Yup.
I’ve managed to write a whole book and it’s coming out some time in February.
Now, this is where it gets tricky.
See, for someone whose livelihood depends on how well she can sell stuff, I suck at self-promotion. I’m one of those people who when faced with praise gets all embarrassed and mumbles, “Oh, it was nothing, really.”
So I’m going to start by saying what this book isn’t. It isn’t a rags-to-riches story of extraordinary courage, of someone rising above their circumstances through a cathartic journey spanning three generations. It does not feature the starving, exotically hungry Indian masses, facing poverty and / or abuse in India / abroad. It isn’t one woman’s search for cultural identity in a foreign land.
Basically, it’s got nothing that’ll guarantee a Booker, an Orange Prize, a Man Booker or anything in my immediate future.
Thankfully, it’s not chick-lit either. Yes, there is a girl involved. No, her primary motive in life isn’t finding Mr. Right. Or Love. Or Marriage. There aren’t exciting monologues about how all men are bastards or an in-depth analysis of what jeans go with what top. There aren’t soulful exchanges along the “Will you be my boyfriend / girlfriend?” lines or long dissections of what it means to be young in India.
Basically, it’s not your typical run-of-the-mill bestseller.
No, it’s just a novel that won’t put you off reading. It’s set in an advertising agency so you can expect a lot of fun nonsense. It’s written by yours truly which means there are healthy doses of sarcasm all through it. You’ll also find a fair amount of polysyllabic words and a few literary references thrown in for good measure. You know, because I’m an esoteric snoot.
What else? Oh, I’ve read it over thirty times so far and I’m not bored of it yet. So basically it’s… ummm… it’s… er… it’s nothing, really.