Monday, May 15, 2017. Yesterday I got on a call with a friend of mine and waited with bated breath on his verdict on Numbercaste. After a whole lot of very enlightening back-and-forth, I asked him the big one: would he pay good money for the book?

Yes, he said, yes he would.

There are no words for the kind of relief I felt. If there are I haven’t found them yet. Two years of scribbling has not gone to waste.


It’s been a pretty interesting month. On the 11h of April I published my first book – The Slow Sad Suicide of Rohan Wijeratne. Since then I’ve lined up two possible publishers for Numbercaste, written 5,000 words on a new story about a post-apocalyptic Colombo, and developed plot lines for another 12 stories.

Writing has, if anything, made me more sharply aware of what I spend my time on (and how). There are only so many hours in a day, and so many days in a week. Things that I used to do earlier – like be out drinking four to five days a week – now fill me with a mixture of boredom and dread. I can be reading instead. Even better: I can be writing.

I don’t know what to call this new mindset, but if it sticks, it’ll be a marked improvement in my productivity. Numbercaste took me two fonkin years to write (Excuse the Space French; I’ve been reading Barry Hutchinson’s Space Team).

This requires sacrifice. I have to drop the political commentary. Drop the side classes on astrophysics. I will have to read a lot more, write a lot more, take long walks at Waters Edge, preferably alone. People take up too much time. Incessant socializing is overrated.

But if it holds, I’ll have three published works out within the next three months, possibly five within the year. The Suicide, since launch, has been downloaded over a thousand times and and is being downloaded at a steady rate of about 18 copies a day. If the others enjoy the same kind of traction, that’s … actually, pretty good, actually. Writing is a pleasure all on its own. Having someone else read what I’ve written is the icing on top of the cake.

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