I have Scars on my hand from writing a book

In the time between my last post and now, I have completed and published a book.

I wrote, edited, proof-read, paid for, and published this book all by myself; the design and layout was generously done by my friend, Kenta Chai of Kenta.Works. The book is titled I have scars on my hand from touching certain people, and it was debuted at the 2nd edition of the Kuala Lumpur Art Book Fair last weekend. It is a collection of stories and essays that I mostly wrote over the course of this year, at least when I realised that I was going to produce a book.

Lots of people bought my book and some have gotten back to me with their feedback. Kwai Fei had the most accurate interpretation of what I was trying to do by producing this book: when he shared my book in an Instagram post, he captioned it with a quote from Walter Benjamin: “Writers are really people who write books not because they are poor, but because they are dissatisfied with the books which they could buy but do not like.” In my case, I knew that if I wrote a book compiling my writings on art, it would be niche and boring and people would buy it to support but nobody would really read it. On the other hand, to attempt a work of fiction would have been too painful and the hypothetical novel would have emerged sounding like all the other contemporary fiction written by women these days: confessional, overly occupied with the self, dripping with self-loathing and embarrassment but also marked by a shrill self-awareness that’s supposed to cushion the public displays of self-loathing but ends up only making it that much more obvious. Sloppy dissections of some political phenomena, like class divides, as a way of masking the writer’s true preoccupation, which is analysing why none of her relationships work out. Errrr….. ANYWAY. Tangent.

Since the weekend, I’ve just been going through the motions of arranging consignments and fulfilling orders for people who weren’t able to come to the fair. I haven’t re-read my book, I avoid flipping through it every time I pick up a new copy to package for delivery. It is a product to me now and I am its fulfilment machine. Back to the grind. It’s something, it’s a moment, but it’s also not that big of a deal.

What I can foresee happening is that this book was just beginner’s luck. When I finally come out with a follow-up publication that is more considered, more difficult and demanding on me, and with greater things at stake, it will most likely sell to crickets. Hopefully I’ll still have all my friends then too, so that they’ll at least buy some copies out of support.

Will I keep doing it? This is what a lot of people have asked me and the answer seems self-evident: yeah I’ll keep doing it, duh, it’s what I do, write. I mean what else am I gonna do? I tell people that I’m a writer, so I have to write. But actually, the truth is much more ambiguous than that. Maybe there will come a time where I no longer find satisfaction in hearing and reading my own voice, and I’ll give up writing. Maybe I’ll have a child. It’s happened before to many woman writers since. I know I’m not special and that the contents of the book did not come from a special place; many have trudged the same paths as I and done it in a much better way, and these people are my influences. Actually I don’t know whether I’ll keep producing books, and this ambiguity is just something I’ll have to find a productive way of dealing with.

Yes, for a moment I deliriously had the thought that I could just give everything up and become a full-time writer. But that would be stupid. For one thing, I’d have nothing to write about then. Perhaps if I really committed to it, I could be like Slavoj Zizek, churning out a book every year, sometimes even two. But I don’t have his stamina to invest my energies into ephemeral bullshit in the news cycle.

They say that writing shouldn’t depend on your mood. Many writers recommend having a routine of writing every day, preferably waking up early to do your writing before going to work or replying any emails, and to just keep putting yourself out there regardless of whether anyone reads your work or not. But when I think about the way this book happened, it was not like that at all. This book happened because the timing was right. KL Art Book Fair announced their open call for applications on Instagram, and I chatted about it with Kenta when he visited the gallery for some exhibition, and then it was brought up again when I saw CC on a separate occasion at the gallery. And then we just decided to do something together and a WhatsApp group was set up. At first, I thought about compiling a bunch of my published writings on art and producing a compilation zine, something simple. But then the book became a bigger project as I felt that I wanted to put myself out there in a more dynamic and provocative way, instead of as the way I already appear to people. And so I dug through drafts in my Notes app and pulled out a few notes for pieces that I started but never completed; over the months, stray thoughts came to me and I fleshed them out for stupid little pieces of writing; and at the same time, I was slowly falling in love with my boyfriend and the psychological turmoil of this occupied me greatly. I had so many notes of analysis and revelation from this period that eventually went into several of the stories in the book. So, yes,  writing shouldn’t depend on your mood, and if it did the book wouldn’t have been completed at all, but the production of the book did depend a lot on coincidence. On the mood of time. Or what the astrologists might call the alignment of the stars and planets.

And as annoying as it is to say, I’m not particularly proud of myself, even though a lot of my friends are. But I don’t want to be unduly modest either. I do consider it a personal accomplishment to release the book, if only to prove to myself that I could do it. Now, I enter the fold of people in history who have created something of their own; for this, I feel proud, because despite the serendipitous timing of the circumstances surrounding the book’s publication, I think it takes a strong individual will to grab control of the circumstances, of time, of shifting events, and to mould it into something for your own benefit. It takes clarity to see the amorphous workings of time shifting in your favour, and then bravery to plunge into this haze with something definite; what more when that “something” is an output that’s not expected from you, but is still more faithful to your intentions and self. Willpower is what I am most proud of myself for, not so much the book’s contents.

From this level, I can see much clearer now that the first output of any creative (or perhaps this is only true about writers?) is likely to be less about the formal quality of the work, and more about the will to just emerge. Because of this, I will not give any readings or interviews or offer any interpretations of the book’s contents (not that I’ve even been asked to!) — for me, at least, my job is done. Consider the book already old news. The KL Art Book Fair weekend departed just as swiftly as it arrived, along with my high of momentary recognition. The banal demands of work have already started to pour in. Although I will admit that once you know this high, it takes a brutal self-trashing to get yourself back down to life’s everyday realities. I was nobody and yet I sold nearly 200 copies of my self-published book at a designer’s fair. I produced something that gave me four times on my return in a single weekend. People I don’t even know are begging me for copies. I’m somebody now, so why am I still getting all these work-related messages from people who have never produced a single thing in their lives? Why are these people Whatsapping and emailing me about their inane requests and lists and press releases?  Should I change my number like a true rock star?! Come on, let me have it. I’ll be back to normal soon; in fact, the high has mostly worn off already. I know it’s back to work now, but this vain mania should be any creator’s right, at least for a few days.

That all being said, if you are interested to own a copy of my book you may purchase it online at the ILHAM Gift Shop. I will also be consigning a few copies to Tandang Record Store and Bogus Merchandise.

Thanks for reading.