A look ahead, an adjustment, and a reintroduction

Indira Ganesan, Look, 2013

Indira Ganesan, Look, 2013

I just joined a thirty-day blogging course offered by WordPress, with the idea to learn something new about blogging.  I started back in January, 2010, not knowing much.  I thought I would post non-personal observations about, say, food, gardening, and books.  the first posts were erratic, but I have since settled into a twice-monthly format.  The blog has become more personal, to the extent a friend once asked me about an event, but commented she would probably read about here.  Of course this gave me pause.  Do I blog instead of calling, instead of writing a letter? Is a blog really an essay or a year round holiday letter? And should I not be seeking to publish this stuff, if any of it is interesting? Isn’t that what I do–write professionally?

I am an Indian immigrant who learned English in kindergarten in St. Louis, and took to writing because I liked listening to and telling stories.  My grade school teachers encourage me, even if I took things literally ( asked to write another story “just like this” In second grade, I went home, and copied my story in neater script.) My sixth grade teacher gave me discipline with deadlines, as she required a story every week.  I knew I wanted to major in English Literature in high school, dropped Drivers Ed in favor of Mythology.  At Vassar, after an intriguing year in India studying Fine Arts, I went back to English Lit.  A teacher at entered my work for a selective course in Narrative Writing, and I realized The New Yorker not only published reviews by Pauline Kael but also short stories.  I started my first novel in graduate school, and finished it three years later  in Provincetown. I did not learn to drive until I was thirty, but I had a publishing contract at twenty-seven.

Okay, that does make me proud, even if I dropped the ball on a promising career, and did not publish again until seven years had passed.  Another sixteen years would pass before my latest.  So what do I see ahead of me? More teaching, more writing.  Maybe a lessening of procrastination and doubt.  Maybe less silent comparison to this writer or that writer.  In my personal life, I have remained single for a long time, and I suspect that status will continue, though I have become a pet guardian. I will continue to make food, try to return to yoga, eat more vegetables.  I would like to make soup.  Eat more pickled things.  (Here is Mark Bittman on the subject of eating healthier.)

I hope I continue to have good people in my life.

The I in the Photo

Indira Ganesan, Grove Street, 2013

Indira Ganesan, Grove Street, 2013

This is the view across the street from Buvette, a cafe on Grove Street in the Village. It is a romantic view, especially that winter afternoon earlier this month as I drank a perfect cappuccino and waited for a friend. There is something about a cafe in a city when I am travelling that cleans my slate. It is as if I can step away from my placid life and be someone capable of anything, making a meaningful life out of art and life. I am so comfortable turning in at ten, or even earlier, after a day of teaching or puttering about, cleaning, making plans for the future, that I wonder at myself. I subscribe to Vogue, yet dress like Walter Mitty.

Can one make a dramatic turn in a life, or is one doomed to remain who one has become? Can I dress in bolder colors, wear beads and gems? Live in the present, a friend implored, and though my work involves sketching the past and the might-have-beens, I want to take this good advice to heart. What do I have right now? The sound of my brother on the phone with a friend from his college days; the kitchen smells of my mother and niece making pancakes, the voices of my sister-in-law and father conversing, and me, at the dining table, a stretch of space, a clean slate, goosebumps.

The new book will be a continuation, beginning again with news of a pregnancy. I have created a storyboard on Pinterest. It is about gardens, color, women and dreams. It is a kettle of water placed on a flame. Soon, I will pour a cup.

Near Year’s End: An Accounting

Indira Ganesan, Sunrise from Cessna, 2013

Indira Ganesan, Sunrise from Cessna, 2013

A quick, unstylish, and somewhat ungrammatical run-down of my past year:

2013 began with dancing in a roomful of relatives on New Year’s Eve to gangnam style.

A new job at Emerson brought me four classes and fifty-five students, a three hour commute, and more fun than I could have predicted.

I began to visit the local animal shelter and became a “pet socializer” which meant I played with kittens two hours a day a few times a week.

This led to fostering a family of four  kittens and  a mama cat. I dived head-first into a sea of cat-related websites, debating food choices and toys, scratchers and treats. I found an über stylish cat waste option that was not in my horizon, but acquired three mod litterboxes that fullfilled my designer dreams. Three kittens got adopted, and one and her mom are at home with me.

Mourning my yoga practice and sangha, I attended a three-day yoga weekend workshop hoping to kickstart my practice.  The sum of my non-workshop days of actually practicing yoga equalled, let’s say, seven. It is extraordinarily easy not to practice. This makes me sad, obviously.

I planted my second garden with a few new specimen’s: jupiter’s beard; delphiniums; and three small roses from the deeply discounted section of my local garden center.

What I am really supposed to be doing is working on a new novel. I came up with five possible titles to, all variations on the word “garden.” It is a sequel to the one that is out, because I cannot bear to part with the characters just yet. .

I applied for three grants, and three jobs. My third year at the FAWC residency has begun, making me wonder where I will live next autumn. This line of thought inevitably makes me wonder why I don’t abscond to Paris; why I don’t have a degree from Oxford; and why my new books are not stocked in bookstores.

The fall brought unexpected sorrow with the passing of a dear friend, and an aunt and uncle.

Soon after, I hit a deer in an accident that has me anticipating accidents everywhere on the road. My Emerson students were so sympathetic that they prevented me from being a wreck.

In an effort to change the energy, I cut my hair. It did not leave me looking French.

Random House became Random House/Penguin and asked for haiku written for City Harvest. I contributed nine, stopping when they quickly reached their goal of 2K.

The best part of the year was seeing As Sweet As Honey with a gorgeous cover. An edition in India soon appeared, and this fall, Vintage brought out not only the paperback but reissued my last novel, Inheritance, as well. I gave eighteen readings in eighteen cities in eleven months, and can do eighteen more.

Thank you, readers, for reading this blog, and posting comments. May the new year be joyeous.

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