One fine morning, very early, an idea dawned on me. Why not write a book on ‘How to Write books. I firmly believe that ideas come from Heaven. God made the atom, but left it for the humans to explore and explode. Ideas are sometimes like that — first we explore them, then they explode.
When you start something you are sure to come face to face with a few stumbling blocks. My first stumbling block was the realization that I had never written a “how- to’ book before. So what! I told myself. If I never wrote one, I must have read several.
Unfortunately, I could not remember reading one. Then I thought what libraries are for? I can always go there and find a myriad of ‘how to’ books.
“But those ideas will be the ideas of others and not your own. Your book should be written with your unique ideas,” said my self.
“Ok,” I replied.
So far, dear reader, we have come to two very important points. If you want to write something, wait until an idea dawns on you. Then, everything you write should be original.
I write humor about people and things I know closely. After all, Andy Roony became rich and famous by writing about his old clothes and shoes, the ones he dared not wear and did not have a heart to throw away. My true friends tell me that they like my humour and there are not many innovative humour writers in the country — only stand-up or sit-com humorists.
So, I decided to write a “How to Write a Humour Book.” When I explored a little, I came to the conclusion that I have a lot of interesting topics I can write about. So my imagination started working right away. Before I tell you something about my writing, let me tell you something about my imagination.
People usually think of imagination as a gift from God. Imagination is good for writing, for dreaming, for keeping your goals high. But, for a moment I would like you to imagine a different kind of imagination—-the kind I have. My imagination is frenzied and runs out of control like a wild horse.
When I see a movie, my imagination runs faster than the eloping couple in the movie. I start making up my own scenes, with my own dialogue, ahead of every scene, and soon, I lose track of the actual film and start watching the movie directed by my own imagination. Most of the time, I like it better than the actual film.
When I hear somebody praising a sight, my imagination makes it parallel to Paradise, a high mountain is no less than Mount Everest and a big lake is equal to an ocean. If somebody mentions that the grass was very green at Green Park, I imagine it to be the greenest green, even greener than the grass around Lake Windermere and Grasmere in the Lake District in England.
When somebody portrays a person to be beautiful or handsome, they become the symbol of beauty or handsomeness — the perfect height and perfect body with perfect features. If a person is mentioned as large-hearted, he becomes better than the legendary Hatim Tai who used to feed his guests at all costs. Once he killed his favorite mare to feed the guests, because he had nothing else to offer them.
So, naturally, when I see the actual people, places or things, they are never up to the mark. The mentioned mountain looks like a hill to me. The green grass looks russet if not brown. The handsome man is just plain, and the large-hearted person can only be large-hearted because his heart is enlarged.
I think my imagination is like a magnifying glass. It enhances everything many times over. It is not limited to good things only. If they are bad, they are even worse in my imagination. When I go to the bank, if the person in front of me whispers something to the teller, I assume that he is saying, “I have a gun, I’m desperate. Give me ten thousand dollars.” My mind starts working out how to alert the security and how to save the people who are soon going to be made hostages till I hear the words, “how can I help you, ma’am.” Then I realize that the person in front of me, whom I had imagined to be a bank robber, has long gone, and it’s me who is holding up the line.
When I hear my doorbell ring not expecting anybody, my mind starts making a scenario perfect for a thriller. But when I peep through the keyhole, there is a child selling cookies or chocolate bars. It also happens that I hear the doorbell ring, and even if I go immediately to the door, I find nobody there. My imagination tells me that this could only be a ghost. Then suddenly, I spot a box dumped somewhere in my front porch and I know who did it. The Federal Express people usually drop an ordered item in front of my house, ring the bell and vanish in thin air. I never see a van or any human face or figure carrying those boxes to my door.
My imagination has reached a point that when I get sick, I see myself lying on my death bed, my dear ones all around me. At one time, I saw myself lying in a coffin, hearing eulogies and crying over the wonderful things people said about me. I cannot decide whether my imagination is God given or my own doing, whether it is a friend or a foe. I don’t want to lose it either. I just want it to behave like a mature person not like a hyper kid. If it needs to run, it should run like a disciplined athlete not like a wild horse.
One fine morning, very early, an idea dawned on me. Why not write a book on ‘How to Write books. I firmly believe that ideas come from Heaven. God made the atom, but left it for the humans to explore and explode. Ideas are sometimes like that — first we explore them, then they explode.
