Seema 4

Farzana and I go to the living room for a tea break, run into her brother. Too earnest smile, "I know that story of the duel is a lie."
I keep a straight face, "how is that?"
"No East Indian could beat an Afghan wrestling. So he cheated or it was just fake, so you could switch to him."
His deadly serious look clues me in, if I say the wrong thing a feud could well erupt.
Gently I smile, "very perceptive. There was no cheating, he staged the loss."
Brother's face relaxes, "so when's the Big Day?"
"Secret."
"Secret?"
"We don't have enough money for the honeymoon, too proud to take from parents."
"Yet his parents are rich, sounds like an honorable guy. Wish you the best."
"Thank you."
"Well, least he is the right religion, no problem there."
I nod.
"He is a bit wild still, take a few years to burn off."
I nod.
"But most young guys are, so nothing to worry about."
"Thank you."
"So you're writing a western?"
Farzan nods.
He smiles, "nothing like the old John Waynes. Seen some on the late late. Rent one, you'll get good ideas."
That's exactly what we do. I am surprised at the change that comes over Farzana. She has the look of battlefield intensity one would expect on a German para about to jump out of an Iron Annie into Crete. She's in the zone, will write ok.
I upload my novel onto our empty looking website, which now has one novel and promises of the delights to come in the other three.
I get a call from Homaira, "ah Seema, could I ask you something?"
I groan inwardly, three guesses, "ok."
"You helped Farzana, could you ah ..."
In for a penny, in for a pound, next Saturday.
"This isn't Survivor. So forget votes and people coming home in civilized fashion after losing. This is life or death. So forget those committee meetings on improving morale and think clans fighting each other over scarce resources. As it gets worse, you could hint at cannibalism."
She gasps.
"You actually think 300 pages of committee meetings is gonna be anything other than a snoozer?"
"OK, you're probably right. What do you suggest?"
"Want a good story chronicling the struggle for survival?"
"Yes."
"Read James Clavell's King Rat, from Classics."
She blanches, "I've heard that is gruesome."
"Either do it or switch story lines. Survival is rarely civilized."
"Hey I know, super-computer launches a coup, to take over the world and humans fight back."
"It's already been done, but so has every other conceivable sci fi story. Long as it's your own take, not copycat, it'll be ok."
"Last time it was done, computers were less advanced. So my take will be unique, original."
Zohra calls. This time I beg off, "I'm the last person on the planet anyone would ask for advice on romance."
"No experience?"
"None."
"Then that rumor of your engagement is false?"
"Yes."
"So why did you break it off?"
"I didn't break it off, it never was."
"Oh, so what do you suggest?"
"Neither Farzana nor Homaira has experience either. If you're out of ideas, read a Harlequin or two or three."
"That's plagiarism."
"No it isn't, all those stories are the same."
Sooner than expected, I get an excited call from Farzana, "it's on the web, read, tell what you think."
As I read, I'm in shock, I created the monster. Plot - there is none. Any true western fan would assert that before the shooting begins, you must establish a credible threat to the ranch. Her shooting starts Page One, Paragraph One and continues to the end.
They wipe out every Indian tribe, every Mexican bandit, every white male or female within a 200 mile radius. Only reason they don't run out of Afghan women, they keep sponsoring more through Immigration. When they aren't killing outsiders, they're killing each other over poker.
There is no characterization even - too busy killing to waste even a page or two on character development.
I feel a sense of shame and fraud. How can I honestly critique this? I created the mess. I told her to do this, just assumed she had a sense of balance and knew where to stop.
I put her off with the excuse I'm not done reading. As two weeks drag by, she's getting more insistent for my answer.
I notice a curious thing. The counter shows 3 people have been reading on my novel; but hers has ballooned to 15,000.
The phone rings, her caller ID and I shudder.
This time, she asks, "every heard of XYZ Publishing?"
Silly question, the flagship of the American fleet of publishers, "oh yes."
"They're offering a $25,000 advance on my novel."
I gasp, "you've just been hugetime flattered. That's an immense advance for a first time author."
"They'll send a contract. I'll have my cousin the lawyer look at it, just be sure it's on the up and up."
"So what did they say, other than monetary?"
"Said westerns had become stodgy, boring, were fading off into the sunset. They feel my book has the potential to quote wake up the whole sleepy genre."
"That's nice."
"You never did mention, finished your review yet?"
What else can I say, "loved it, makes Afghan women heroic, larger than life."
Next up is Homaira. She too wishes me to review her upload.
Again I am in shock. She has zero concept of what the average person has for computer vocabulary. It is unintelligible, pure geekspeak.
Again, I hold back. This time, it's the truth, I'm not done reading. Slow going when you need to use a dictionary so much.
Two weeks later, she too has earth shaking news. "Ever heard of On Spec, the Canadian sci fi mag?"
"Oh yes, they can't afford to pay much, but excellent publicity for new writers."
"I'll be in it, they're buying an excerpt."
"Which?"
"Where super-computer goes on the big killing binge."
I groan inwardly. That's two monsters I created. It was also the only passage I could understand without aid of dictionary.
The free weekly in this city loves to fill up pages with low budget stuff. The reviewer aims his poison pen at me, "work one would expect of a junior high girl. Chronicles the feud well and impartially; but zero concept of how to present clues or build suspense. This book is only slightly better than watching televised Parliament."
Ouch! So much for a crime writing career. Maybe another genre?
Zohra cashes in, the book will be serialized in a women's magazine.
I'm now odd woman out. My three co-writers dash off to pursue individual glory.
I get tired of paying for website hosting and take up residence in a blog.
So, when you see me in the coffee house, please don't just endlessly ask questions about my three now-famous friends. Please understand that I am a person in my own right, even if my parents have yet to admit that.
I thought Farzana was insufferable already. Yet when Hollywood announced filming of "Gulch of the Goons", she became even more so. Oy!