I met this friend of mine recently, telling her how bored I felt at times, to which she said,
“With the time you have these days, why don’t you write a book”?
I laughed it off as usual, thinking she was kidding. Writing a few blogs once in a while is fine, but a book? Later that night, I got thinking about it. What if I could really use my time writing a book? Would that work? What would I write about?
For years, I believed that I would grow up to be a writer of romantic fiction. I had grown up reading so many Mills n Boon (still do actually once in a while) that I knew the moment I held the pen, words would keep flowing. I thought I could write the same old stuff I read about a tall, well-built Italian dude falling in love with a plain Jane spinster material where sparks would fly and there would be undeniable chemistry. A few years ago, I grew out of the ambition of being a romantic fiction writer.
Coming back to the point, what would I write about if I wrote a book? I could write an autobiography, but then I don’t think I have lived half my life. So if I was planning to write something in the next few years, an autobiography would have to wait.
Instead, I could write about my childhood, since I have lived it all. Like the novel “First darling of the morning”.
I could write about the cultural divide between 2 different countries. Surely living in India and then the US will provide me enough substance. Like the “Namesake”.
I could write about all my travel experiences, given that I travel a lot. Like the novel “The ghost of Che” I have been trying to read for a while.
I could write about the field of public health I specialize in, and everything I have learnt till now. Like Robin Cook concocts fiction in the medical field, I am sure I could concoct something.
I could write a guide book to taking the GRE and the TOEFL.
I could write a stress management book to deal with unemployment and the visa hassles associated with it.
I could write about my teaching experiences from India.
I could write about the idiosyncrasy of the western world and the eastern world.
I could write about the struggles of everyday life, of learning how to cook and drive. Of learning strange accents and dealing with strange people.
Surely ideas are flowing in, now that I think about it.