Source of Inspiration
HOW, WHY AND WHERE OF STEPHEN GILL’S WRITING
*Partly
appeared in Something About the
Author, vol. 63,
page 35-37, Gale
I have often been asked why, how, and when I became a
writer, and I have always said go and ask any flower why it spreads its
fragrance around, or ask the moon why it delights people with its silvery
beams, or ask the birds why they sing
early in the morning. It is like asking
me why I breathe. It may be a compulsion or a deep desire to share my ideas,
knowledge and experiences with others. I don't know the answer in a simple and
straightforward way. However, when I began going deep within me to analyse this
question, I started sensing that it may be a touch of my parents which has
shaped me as a writer.
My mother was a school teacher and a good storyteller.
She was very particular about our education and, therefore, gave special
attention to our regular attendance at school and tried her utmost to keep us
away from the influence of the children who were disinterested in their
studies. My father, a good bread-earner, edited a religious magazine for a
while and was unusually interested in writing letters.
Yet, I hated school and played truant whenever I
could. I hated my curriculum and classroom, but that does not mean that I hated
books. Rather, I loved to read anything, except the text books. I loved to
read, especially fiction and poetry. Our home was full of books, and my father
was a zealous subscriber to several dailies and monthlies. In that environment,
I became a voracious reader from my early childhood. When nothing was
available, I would borrow or buy materials to satisfy my thirst. This habit
remained a part of me for whole life. l read the Bible
several times.
In the later part of my teens, I began to move among
writers and would-be writers; nearly all of them were older than I was. Some of them had published
material to their credit. Our chats often ended in discussing literary
topics. I always listened attentively to
their comments on a story, a poem, or an author. I still cherish some of their
ideas.
Due to my unusual zest for books and the protective nature
of my mother, and a few other reasons,
which kept me away from other children, I became lonely which helped to
sharpen my thinking and imagination. l never felt
loneliness because I enjoyed dwelling in the domain of my fancy, like Simon who dreams of the Snow King and
his castle in my children story Simon
and the Snow King.
My aloofness during my childhood and later, to some
extent also in my teens, may be largely responsible for my feeling ill-at-ease in
a dialogue when I am alone with a stranger.
I am reasonably
relaxed when I give a talk or a lecture to a crowd and more so when I am behind
a public- address system.
It may be a factor that has affected my writing in one
area at least. A reader may not be able to detect it. I am not reluctant to
admit that I find it difficult to develop a conversation in a story
between two or more characters. I have to do much thinking and rewriting to do
this. I lose my patience because I prefer to describe or
narrate. Consequently, I use dialogues or conversations sparingly,
enough to break the
monotony of any continuous narration.
On the other hand, ideas appear to me easily. They are
diamonds, rough in their original form; I have to chisel and polish them in
order to make them presentable. Though it is a painful process, I do not give up
easily. I keep revising and editing them till I am nearly satisfied; usually it
takes six to ten times
of rewriting or editing. My next step is to let my writing simmer or settle
down for weeks or months before I take it up again to read it afresh to polish
it further. I consider this to be an important stage, because it breaks my
emotional bonds with that particular piece of writing. Once I feel somewhat
happy over the outcome of my labour, I begin showing it to others-- two or
three friends--asking them for their blue pencilling. I enjoy doing revisions.
I believe that a writer for children should not forget
that his or her readers, the future citizens of their country, are passing
through a most formative period of their lives. This thought is ever present in my
mind when I write. Therefore, I do not hesitate to sprinkle hints wherever it
is possible for the self-improvement of my readers.
Subjects do not occur to me suddenly over a cup of
tea, or while driving, or having a shower. They remain in my mind for a long time. I carry their seeds as
a pregnant woman would her fetus. For instance, the story of Simon and the Snow King, a juvenile, began to take shape when my son Ajay, during
his childhood, insisted that I tell him a story every night. The well of my
imagination soon went dry. That was the time when I began to admire the fertile
imagination of my mother, who used to tell me always something new with a moral
before I fell asleep. Because my son was the source of inspiration for this
story, I introduced the real names of my children, Ajay and Rekha,
which blend very well with the ingredients of the tale.
The Blessings of a Bird , another children
story book, also contains a moral-- more obvious this time. The story was inspired by a newspaper
article about birds and flowers and their psychological impact on the
environment. The leading characters I modelled on the lives of some welfare
recipients who were my neighbours when I was a student and rented a cheap room
in
My friends and the people I meet even most casually,
often appear in one form or another in my writing. I am sure most writers do
the same. After all, we writers have to borrow material from somewhere to build our
worlds. However, the real persons have to pass through the chamber of the writer's mind where their clothes and costumes are
changed-- sometimes to such an extent that even the proto-types fail to
recognize themselves.
Among the influences, my mother is the one that has
shaped my development as a writer. Her stories, saying, morality, sense of
sacrifice for the betterment of her children has shaped my outlook in life as
well as largely my writing.
She is there in my all three novels Why,
Immigrant and The Loyalist City. I have dedicated my
collection Songs Before Shrine to her.
The book starts with a poem that is entirely about her. I am listing that poem
towards the end to share with my readers:
TO MOTHER
Years have gone by
still
I see your
tearful eyes
and catch the choking moans
coming from the crumbling pyramid
of pains.
When
dawn is dimmed
amidst dull clouds
and shroud is spread
on my despair
your name emanates
in pleasing designs.
Image of sacrifice
message of hope
you are highly prized.
The gift of this life
I owe to you.
A blind boy
shattered in destiny’s cage
I long for your loving care.
Mother dear
I wish you were here.
---Stephen Gill---
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