Writing the First Draft of My Travel Memoir, Journeys Beyond and Within…, While Traveling

Writing the First Draft of My First Book, a Travel Memoir, in Pondicherry, Kolkata, and Siliguri

This post on writing the first draft is the second one in my larger effort to share the entire process of writing my first book, Journeys Beyond and Within…. I would suggest to first read: How I Started Writing My Travelogue, Journeys Beyond and Within….

The publisher needed book ideas, and when we had ideas, she needed chapter skeletons. So, all the possible chapter titles we could have in the book. This is for them to confirm if we synced over our understanding of the memoir. For two months we went back and forth, discussing what I could expect from the publisher and what they would need. Some major terms of the contract, such as no advance, 8.5% something royalty, etc., were told to me. I thought those are things we will discuss when we come to the book. For now, I have a book to write.

I didn’t start writing a first draft until the end of March (2022), though I had promised my publisher a chapter skeleton by the beginning of April. I sent them the tentative chapter titles – a whopping sixty-five of them – by mid-April.

Why didn’t I start writing until the end of March and waste those three weeks? Well, I was sorting out some issues with a local host in Pondicherry. I was doing things, reading books, running, making good fresh food, and writing newsletters and articles. That’s always there, my two first babies. So this third one had to wait.

I wrote a sixty-five-thousand-word doc from which I sieved sixty-five titles. After sending the skeleton, I took a week or so off. Now my editor wanted a few chapters to see if I was headed in the right direction. So, in May, the writing of the book began. I picked up the sixty-five-thousand-word first draft and started working through it. I took out the sections between tentative titles and expanded on them to make them full-fledged stories. You can say this is not writing the first draft. For me, I was on a first draft because I was still putting out all that I wanted to say without worrying about grammar, details, or structure. Just that I did the writing in phases.

First, three chapters rose out of the big draft. They sat with their mouths closed, happy to be dug out but unhappy not to be able to speak freely. You see, the first draft of anything is a bit of a mess, an outpouring of emotions. As someone said, like a Christmas tree grown every which way that has to be trimmed. I disagree. No tree deserves trimming in a particular shape. All shapes are natural. But yes, the feedback from the editor was good. I had to elaborate a bit more and tighten the narration a bit more. She liked my writing style and replied, “It was simple and straightforward, a very positive thing.”

I edited the chapters. Throughout May, June, July, and August (2022), I worked on four pieces. First, I sent two chapters, then two more, and then all of them once again. Every time I passed over a couple of stories, I took a week-long break. I attended classical dances, plays, musical performances, met friends, went on even longer walks, runs or rides, and did yoga.

When I was writing, I would wake up early, around five or six, walk around the guesthouse’s lush woods and lakes, watch the snakes resting on the lake shore, and make myself a strong cup of black coffee and sit to write on an empty stomach. Sometimes by ten or eleven, I was so tired and flushed out (literally), I fell on the bed. My partner quickly fixed some breakfast, or I munched on fruits until lunch. Every Friday, we gave our room for cleaning and cycled out for shopping at the community’s grocery center. It had fresh organic produce, seasonal greens, delicious bananas, candles, jaggery, soaps, oils, cheese, chocolates, everything. We stopped at a bakery to get bread and breakfasted on dosa and tea or coffee at the same bakery. My partner and I cycled back in the heat, the sun glowering above us, the wind whipping in our ears, I upright on the bike, he sweating too, but not as profusely as I.

I worked every day. I cycled to the library often. Picked up and returned books, enchanted by the fact that my own will go into a library soon.

Thus went the four to five months. I was getting tired, in need of a break.

Not that I hadn’t done focused work before. My whole life has been about focusing. I am used to it. From beginning to prepare for the entrance of the esteemed Indian Institute of Technology (IIT), to getting into companies that wouldn’t let me sit in their campus hiring (my 7. something GPA), and studying for the tests such as GMAT, GRE, TOEFL, etc., that haven’t come in use until now. From working in software and finance and doing the dual work in a dual role at a high-pressure job, I focused hard. Science was my first love. But I also focused on small things such as sweeping the staircase, preparing bread rolls, and watering the plants. I liked doing things perfectly. That was natural for me.

Aiming for a goal was a habit. Concentrating on science differs from concentrating on words, though. I have been writing full-time since 2017 when I quit my corporate career and launched my personal development and travel blog, On My Canvas, and picked up freelance work immediately. Writing was harder than preparing for IIT or completing undergrad in computer science. Now there was no objective answer. No right or wrong, or a green light or red one. It was what it was. Now the readers would decide if they liked my work or not.

Initially, I didn’t know if my words were good. Slowly, I understood that when I enjoyed writing something, it was always good.

After a month-long travel break in Vietnam (here’s my narrative on Saigon), I sat down in my friend’s apartment in Kolkata (on the east coast) and picked up the initial chapters again. I put them all online for readers’ feedback. I expanded on more stories from the big doc in long hand. So, the good old ink pen and paper. Then I typed everything on the computer. I worked like a bee all day. After lunch, I brewed a cup of coffee and was back at my desk. I picked up the long, inked sheets, my fingers getting increasingly stained. I didn’t shove away any story. I wrote it all down.

From the beginning of my life until now, I thought of every place I visited and if it taught me anything or changed me in any way. This was my meter to see if the story was worth telling. It should be fun, yes. Entertaining, yes. A great adventurous journey, yes. But how do I look back upon it? Does the memory make my stomach sink and flutter at the same time? Then, YES.

From childhood to college, living away in a town on my own to study, and my first trips abroad and within the country, some with friends but mostly alone, I wrote them all down. I didn’t stop when I had enough for one book. The first draft of the book was ready. I kept writing.

There was a time after Kolkata when I was with my partner in Siliguri, a crowded city in the northeast, where the house was very disturbing. The tenants below, the host, loud music until midnight, the neighbors, and street dogs, no one ever seemed to quieten down. From dawn with just a cup of tea until lunch, and also doing all house chores and dealing with unwanted stuff like the host wanting to change the refrigerator, installing a geyser in our outdoor bathroom, someone using our bathroom, the host sending in electricians to change the wiring of the house, etc., was hard. Many unwanted things were a hurdle to peace of mind and deep work. I would sit to meditate; he would ring the bell five times. It was extreme.

I was in an external environment out of my control.

Also, maybe not every moment your family will walk alongside your dreams and take up their responsibilities. Sometimes I found myself fuming at my partner. I would get up from my writing desk to find the kitchen dirty, dishes unwashed, no food in the fridge, and he lost in his world in his room, unaware of lunch time, tea time, or that I existed. He would be on his earphones, unable to hear me, while I lost it outside his closed wooden door.

This happened a lot of times in that house. I think when external factors pressurize you, you start getting frustrated amongst yourself, unless you have a solid foundation. We do have a solid base, but we need to strengthen it more and strengthen each of us individually, too. Some external tremors could shake the house and us too, and then our whole world jolted feverishly.

In those times, the open grounds belonging to the Indian army around our home brought me comfort. To distract myself, I watched the people moving around on that land. Army men who were there to keep the squatters away, the squatters, their umpteen kids, the dogs, the golden and black puppies. Their life went on, unaffected by mine. Sometimes I went for a walk around the nearby water stream. Mostly to feel the light fading away, soak the last rays of sunlight, and see the animals retreat to their homes. Then I was back at my desk, wrapped in winter clothes. I peeped out of the windows before closing them for the night.

There were no weekend movies, no shopping sprees, no Netflix. Those fun Sundays, which I half spent outside and half writing or reading, the long walks, and once or twice reading a book in the sun, lying down on a bed sheet on the grass, such things were good and kept me going.

With all its noises, that house was still a source of inspiration. Through the morning sun shifting through the dried copper-bronze grass stalks, the foggy winter dawns, and early bucket-mug showers (you fill a mug and pour it over yourself), I had enough inspiration to bring the old journeys to life and give them a theme. I couldn’t focus on a story to bring it to the finish line. But long rough drafts poured out of me like milk over boils. I collected all of them and put them in a box.

I guess that was more than enough for then.

***

While writing, I watched the world from my window. A part of me says I shouldn’t share someone else’s pictures. The other part of me argues, then how else do I share their life that is as real as ours but so far from us?

I have a lot more to say, many more writing experiences to share, and to show how I brought the initial chapters to the final finished manuscript. More in the next post for this one is already long. Meanwhile, you can read about my three years on the road here.

Articles to Follow:

3 Months in Room 405: Writing in Gangtok, Sikkim

Writing From Rewalsar Lake, Mandi

Visiting the Seven Lakes of Mandi District, again

I was there the summer Himachal Pradesh (Mandi district) was being swept away by rain: Rationing Water, Writing, and Waiting in a Crumbling Himalayan Village. Water, water everywhere, not a drop to drink, was not true when it rained torrentially in our little, lesser-known village in Mandi district in the Himalayas of Himachal Pradesh. We stayed for four months with a family and, apart from cutting grass and milking the cows, did everything the way locals do. This post on plucking apples from trees is from the same home, though from an earlier year.

What I Did the Day I Sent My Manuscript to the Publisher

Taking a Break in Jaipur: Neel Gais, Broken Headlights, and Peacocks

Finding an Editor and Final Edits of the Manuscript at My Parents’ Home

Traveling and Hiking in the Lesser-Known Uttarakhand While Preparing the Manuscript for Publishing

Pressing that Final Publish Button of My 1st Book, Journeys Beyond and Within…

Books I Read While Writing Mine

And more.

Would you like to know how to write a first draft in more detail?

Also Read: My Best Creative Writing Tips for Beginners

*****

My much-awaited travel memoir

Journeys Beyond and Within…

is here!

In my usual self-deprecating, vivid narrative style (that you love so much, ahem), I have put out my most unusual and challenging adventures. Embarrassingly honest, witty, and introspective, the book will entertain you if not also inspire you to travel, rediscover home, and leap over the boundaries.

Grab your copy now!

Amazon India

Amazon USA

Amazon UK

Ebook, paperback, and hardcase available on Amazon worldwide. Make some ice tea and get reading 🙂