Krishna Shastri Devulapalli
Haven’t you heard? The novel is dead. At least, that’s what you’d believe if you read its recent obituary in a reputed journal, where it was given a quick and comprehensive burial by the people who matter in Indian publishing.
Krishna Shastri Devulapalli
In the last thirty years, I’ve been an illustrator, graphic designer, cartoonist, greeting card writer, children’s storywriter, textbook illustrator, art director, teenage painter specialising in portraits of teenage girls in the hope of dating them, part-time model for an anti-fungal cream, pseudonymous provider of erotic drawings for a soft-core magazine, unsold film scriptwriter, graphic novelist, novelist, playwright and non-fiction writer at different times.
Krishna Shastri Devulapalli
Today, everyone is a writer, wants to be one or is doing a phenomenal job pretending to be one at a lit fest near you. For instance, when my first book came out a few years ago, I was the only writer in my neighbourhood. Today, my wife, her octogenarian great aunt who lives next door and our watchman Selvamani have books out. And unlike me, they’ve all gone into reprint. Selvamani (now going by the moniker Salve A. Money) in fact, is off to London to talk to his agent and hasn’t noticed that I’ve slipped in my book into his dust jacket because he’s getting a foot massage from the great aunt. So – doesn’t it make sense you keep abreast with key publishing terms? Who can tell? Tomorrow, it may be your turn.
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