DWL pilots its YouTube channel

Exciting news! We've just taken a significant step to cementing our online presence as an international writers' community. With the soft launch of the new DWL/Papercuts channel on YouTube, we're looking to reach out to a wider audience and to promote our writers in a more diverse manner.

The experience of reading something, be it a poem, story or article, totally changes with some context or perspective. Audio-visual content provides both. We hope that supporting A/V material will make the content more accessible, easier to interpret and more interesting for readers.

Just to clarify: this is a pilot. We've only put two videos up so far and are gauging the response to them. If people like the concept, we will launch the channel formally and improve the production quality. The videos will always have an 'at home' feel to them, though, because we want to keep them real and to represent the true essence of amateur writing.

Go to http://www.youtube.com/user/DesiWritersLounge to check out the channel. AND DON'T FORGET TO CLICK ON THE 'LIKE' BUTTON!

Delusions of grandeur

The first time we were going back to India after moving to the States, in the summer of ’97, my father declared that I was allowed one pair of jeans, one pair of sneakers and a shirt to travel in. My attire after landing in India was to be salwar kameezes, lenghas and long skirts. As a fifteen year old and a part of the 1.5 immigrant generation growing up in NYC, I cracked a few smart ass comments at my father’s dictate, but didn’t fight it too much. See, this wasn’t worth beating my already sore hands on the drums of teenagedom caught in the middle of the immigrant experience. I could mouth off to mom and dad, insist on my independence, rail against the stereotypes they attempted to impose on me and generally be an Indian version of the bratty American teen (where, really, my parents got off quite easy) all in the safety of my life in Queens. Being on Indian soil, however, wasn’t reality; it was vacation, where what happened in India, stayed in India. For a month or so while we visited family, I could play pretend and be the Sati Savitri type if that’s what my family wanted.

While in India, I never made an attempt to explain my life in NYC to my family members. Maybe it was sheer selfishness on my part of wanting to avoid the lectures on how I’m still Indian even though I live in America that came with opening up with my conservative family about my life in NYC. Staying general usually worked best: yes, school was good; yes, I still remember how to speak Kannada; yes, I do have Indian friends. I smiled a lot, I ate a lot, I wore what they wanted me to wear and I wrote in my journal a lot. I was polite, respectful and most of all, just plain quiet. We never discussed anything deep and certainly nothing related to sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll.

My writing, however, has never been quiet. I will break my personality into pieces for the various different compartments of my life, but my writing is one place where I live, whole and complete with total honesty. It never concerned me in the past that when I get published (yes, I said it - when, dammit, when), as a creative non-fiction writer, I would be laying my life out for public consumption. With my immediate family, I began to hang the family’s dirty laundry out to dry starting at 16, so it would be nothing new to them. Everything else, I justified. My parents are so closeted about their lives that it’s not like their friends and acquaintances would recognize me as the child of someone they know. My extended family in India – well, I’ll just make sure the book never gets translated into Kannada and besides, how are one brown woman’s words ever going to travel across the ocean anyway? It’s tough enough getting published and being known locally.

What I hadn’t counted on was technology shortening the distance between my lived reality and the person I pretended to be to keep the peace with my extended family. Before, there were phone calls between NYC and India where surface words lay like sweet, sickly icing on top of a cake. Now, there are emails and Facebook updates between my life and my cousins’ in India. With the internet came Google and Facebook and off they ran, snatching my delusions that my writing and my life could be kept separate from my extended family in India.

While working with Noor to edit a short piece of mine for volume 7 of Papercuts, towards the end of the process, I realized I hadn’t changed one of the characters’ name. That realization broad-sided me as I realized I was telling quite an intimate tale that involved people other than myself. With Papercuts accessible online and subject to Google’s tentacles, there’s a possibility that my cousins in India would now have access to that part of me that I hid from them. (Sidenote: I’ve seen the re-designed website for Papercuts and it rocks. It’s shaped up to be quite a strong representation of the talent at Desi Writers Lounge. You all should be uber-excited!)

There was a brief moment where I considered breathing into a paper bag, but then the writer in me, the one who has always had the backbone, snarked, “Well, then you either better hope they never find it; hope that if they find it, they’ll understand; or if they read it and don’t understand, then you better get ready to deal with the fall out - because this story is getting told.” After another dirty look thrown at the hyperventilating pansy, the writer strode off to start penning the continuation of her story.

A Sombre Update

As an unimaginable disaster unfolds in Pakistan in the shape of massive floods, the Desi Writers Lounge community is planning an initiative to take part in the relief efforts as best as it can. We have several ideas brewing on the forums. Primarily we are focusing on ways to get the international community to take note of the horrific plight of millions of Pakistanis. The biggest source of distress right now is the weak response and media coverage internationally, and what that means in terms of aid money that is required urgently.

We have issued a call for articles and eye witness accounts from members based in Pakistan who have the means to visit relief camps and collection centers, which we intend to promote on international blogs and online publications. Another idea in the pipelines is that of a writing competition with an entrance fee in the form of a check made out to a specific relief organization (we have not decided which one yet). We are thinking of promoting this writing competition in universities outside of Pakistan, and roping in guest judges who are established authors and journalists.

These and other ideas are being discussed on the forums currently, and we would love to get feedback and input from you.

sincerely,
The Desi Writers Lounge Team

Austin’s Favourite Haunt

posted by Afia

Picking up from Shehla’s blurb from last week, consider this the first in a line of completely unrelated posts. Now that we’ve started our group blog format, you can expect to see a LOT of randomness in this space: fiction, news, comment, observations on life and, of course, DWL updates. The only common feature in these blog entries will be that the team behind Desi Writers will be penning them. We’ll get to yap on everything under the sun, and you’ll get a peek into the sordid minds that run this place.

Experimental? So was LSD, a long time ago.

Speaking of tripping, I have a delicious story to tell. About three weeks ago, my husband and I made a dramatic, weekend getaway to Austin. Alright, so we had our toddler with us – but it was the weekend and we did get away from Houston and anything could be considered dramatic as opposed to this city. Unknown to me, ye ol’ better half had set up a real experience for us on our arrival (if you’re still thinking this is about drugs, you’re about to be sorely disappointed). He had booked us into the swanky Driskill Hotel in the heart of downtown Austin – one of the city’s most famous historic landmarks, a living testament to the opulence and grandeur of the South’s past, and widely known to be Texas’ most haunted hotel. Eep!

No, really. There is something about the Driskill that makes it exceptionally susceptible to ghostly activity (some of the staff likes to joke that it’s better than Heaven, so the dead don’t want to move on). Whatever the cause, incidents abound. Grown men (as if that’s supposed to be some measure of rationality) have reported waking up in the middle of the night to find all the faucets in their bathrooms on. Sounds have been heard of a little girl bouncing a ball on the hotel’s main staircase – these have been attributed to a US Senator’s daughter who fell to her death while playing with her ball on those stairs in the late 1800s. Even celebrities have had their share of ghostly experiences at the Driskill: Annie Lennox stayed at the hotel while visiting Austin for a concert, and apparently received some paranormal assistance in choosing what to wear for the performance (she laid out two dresses on the bed and went in for a shower; when she came out, one of the dresses had been neatly put away in the closet).

The story that really caught my attention was a classic case of unrequited love resulting in tragedy. It took place in Room 427, also known as the bride suicide room. In 1989, a young socialite from Houston had been all set to get married when her fiancé broke off their engagement at the eleventh hour. Heartbroken beyond consolation, she escaped to Austin, where she checked into the Driskill and then took the ultimate revenge: she went on a huge shopping spree on her ex’s credit cards and spent every cent of credit he had to his name. Amongst the many expensive purchases she made that day was a gun. The last time she was seen alive was when she walked through the hotel lobby to the elevator, laden with shopping bags.

Her body was found a few days later, crumpled in the bathtub of Room 427. She had clutched a pillow to her chest and shot herself with the very gun that her lover had unknowingly paid for.

Ten years later, two women on a vacation checked into the hotel and requested a room on the 4th floor of the Historic Wing. Some of the Driskill’s formidable array of ghosts were thought to make appearances on that floor. They were disappointed to find that the Historic Wing was closed for renovations. Not to be deterred by logistics, however, the two adventurers took the elevator up in the middle of the night, hoping to catch some paranormal activity. They found the floor dark and completely deserted, the walls swathed in black plastic sheets. A little unnerved, they reconsidered their plan and decided to return to their room.

This is where it gets really interesting. At the elevator, the two ladies were stunned to bump into a young woman who was evidently returning to her room after a full day of shopping. They called out to her and asked if the renovations had been bothering her. The woman stopped in front of Room 427 with all her bags, turned around slowly and replied, “No, not at all.” Sensing that their presence was not welcome, the ghost-hunting friends returned to their room for the night. They were determined to take on the hotel management the next day for refusing them a room when clearly other guests were being allowed to stay in the Historic Wing.

When they did return with the baffled concierge the next morning, not a soul was to be found on the floor (pun intended). The room to which the mysterious guest had gone was empty, save a ladder and a few paint cans. No one could explain why anybody would be returning from a shopping expedition at 2 am.

I’ve heard a lot of spooky stories in my lifetime (who hasn’t had those late-night, giggly assemblies with cousins where everyone’s terrified out of their wits but still strangely compelled to recount one ghostly incident after the other?) but somehow, this one really affected me. The thought of a jilted bride who took it upon herself to die by her own hand, alone in a hotel room, knowing that the only way she could touch the love of her life was through his wallet… it signified such terrible loneliness and absence of hope. Could it be that her spirit actually roams those corridors, reliving those final terrible moments over and over? Could she still be keeping watch over the last door she ever walked through?

We’ll never really know… but there are two women out there somewhere who have their suspicions.

New Chapter, New Goals

posted by Shehla

In the interest of preserving my reputation as a writer/blogger, a disclaimer: I have not blogged in years, and never seriously.

As we undergo a management change, there are many new ideas and plans in the pipeline for Desi Writers Lounge. This post is meant to introduce the blogosphere (see, I know all these bloggy words, I'm legit!) to some of the developments that are scheduled to happen at DWL over the next few months.

First off, we’re revamping the Lounge’s blog. Previously, this space has served as a place where DWL-related announcements go up. We are now trying to morph the blog into something a little more... meaty. We are switching from a primarily solo authorship to a joint one. The purpose is to introduce people who haven't registered on the forums to the kind of topics, debates and discussions that make the community that much more enjoyable for writers. The less noble motive, of course, is to kick ourselves back into writing mode. Over the last few years, the editing and forum moderation, though pleasurable responsibilities, have taken time away from most of the founders' writing. We are hoping to get our butts back into the writers' seats again, so from now on you will see us posting on a host of different topics, reflecting the diversity of our experiences but always seen through the lens of a writer (or something to that effect). We are also hoping to give the members a chance to get to know the team behind DWL.

Many of you may not know me at all, as my involvement with Desi Writers Lounge has mostly been behind the scenes. Being away from Pakistan has also made it harder to interact with the members offline. But DWL has been a big part of my life since 2005, and on most days, my main link to "back home". I think this is a big reason why DWL is so important to me. As I navigate cultural assimilation and the constant sense of detachment that is the core of the immigrant experience, DWL allows me a forever-open window into my Desi-ness :)

Last night, a few of us founder members were discussing some of the changes that you will all see unfold at DWL in the near future. In the middle of the discussion, one thing struck us. We started as a collective dream of 12 individuals. When it came down to practically implementing that dream, it faded down to five. Now, as life brings new possibilities and challenges, we have essentially whittled down to three.

We have achieved a lot in the past half-decade. We have all grown, as individuals, and most of us also as writers. But we have also been guilty of many mistakes - one of those being not setting achievable goals for the community. There were many wonderful ideas, many strokes of genius, but not many implementable ones. The result was a loss of interest in the project for many of us. There is so much potential in this platform, and we never fully explored it.

I am not here to be Debbie Downer. I am simply admitting that DWL, for all its glory and unique strengths is far from where it can be. And that is what the new administration is hoping to change, with your help. For starters, we are planning on being a lot more stringent with writing samples from now on. Second, we are hoping to recruit more by word of mouth. That is where YOU come in. If you know someone who writes really well, tell them about us. Tell them how a group of random strangers will take time out of the day and give detailed feedback on their writings. Tell them about this wonderful writing workshop that will cost them nothing, but give back plenty (and of course, tell them about the joys of venting about anything and everything on the vengeful B*tch Letters thread, or having the coolest writing prompt in One Day Two Minutes).

We are also planning on taking things to the next level for our writers. Papercuts is going to change significantly from its current format. We’re hoping to build a serious readership and to ensure a broader exposure for our members. And while it's great to aspire for Papercuts publication, we are now also contacting publishers about a potential DWL poetry anthology to come out in print. We are also going to be on the lookout for competitions and other opportunities for our members regularly, an effort spearheaded by Noorulain Noor. Along with the workshopping of material that goes on in the forums, we’ll also be introducing several exercises, a teaser of which you saw in the shape of the 2010 Desi Awards Competition. (And we do need a better name for that, don’t we? Alright, add that to the list).

These are all things that we have already started the groundwork on, and if things stay on track, there is a lot more coming. Achievable goals to help this community of writers grow. That is the promise, and it’s one we intend to keep :)

p.s. How was that for a "welcome to the new and improved DWL blog" post? How did I do? Good? Terrible? Don't care?

p.p.s. This is where I shut up, right?

p.p.p.s. Ok, thought so. Bye then.