Interview with Tim Gurung

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Books by the great TIM I GURUNGToday I’m interviewing Tim Gurung. A former Gurkha, Tim Gurung is the author of eight books. His latest is The Atonement: A Celebration of Women. I recently had the privilege to chat with Tim about his life, writing and his charity, ISSLCARE.

Tell me a bit about where you’re from, how you came to Hong Kong.

I am originally from Nepal, I came to Hong Kong as a 17 years old Gurkha soldier in 1980 and I have been living here since then.

What made you want to stay in Hong Kong?

After voluntarily retiring from the British Gurkhas in 1993, I got a job at an international firm in Hong Kong that required me to travel all over China and my future was firmly set for Hong Kong.

I personally think that Hong Kong is one of such places in this world where if you really want to work hard, enough opportunities will be given, and I happened to be one of the luckiest ones as a testament of that saying. My entire adult life has been spent in Hong Kong, it is my home and I have no plan to leave it anytime soon.

Do you visit Nepal often? Have you seen major changes since you were little, and if so, what?

Sorry, I haven’t been to Nepal for the last twenty years and I am sure that a lot has changed since then. But from what I have heard or read, especially in the actual development of people, society and the nation itself, sadly it said to be much more worsened and not much improvement. And that is quite predictable too.

You write to support your charity ISSLCARE. What benefits for Nepal have you seen firsthand, as a result of ISSLCARE?

ISSLCARE is still in a very early stage, it has ambitious goal but it still has a long way to go. It helps provide scholarship to poor families so more children can go to school, we support the children until he/she reaches on grade ten, and we are currently supporting 27 children through 8 schools.

My ultimate goal at ISSLCARE is to help spread the campaign in such an extent that one day it will be able to cover the whole nation and we will be able to help many children. Writing is my passion, helping others is my compassion and I do both from the bottom of my heart.

You publish your books yourself. Have you considered the traditional publishing route?

I am a very simple, honest and independent type of guy, I want to do things on my own way and I am really passionate about my works. I decided to go with self-publishing for that reason alone and I am to talk straight from my heart, I really hate dealing with people, especially to those condescending ones. I am also only writing for my charity, I don’t write for money or fame and I don’t have to sell millions. [pullquote align=”right” cite=”” link=”” color=”” class=”” size=””]I don’t write for money or fame and I don’t have to sell millions. [/pullquote]

Most importantly, I can afford it, I don’t have to beg anyone and do whatever I want to do with my writing. I have no plans whatsoever of finding agents or approaching big publishers, I am happy with what I am doing and I will keep doing it until I like it. It is the process not the final result that fascinates me and I am extremely happy with my current situation.

What advantages does self-publishing give you that traditional publishing doesn’t?

As a self-published author, we have full control along the whole process of publishing from manuscript, cover, what to put inside, printing, and distribution and to the launch date. We also have full control on marketing and do make necessary planning as we like. Of course, self-published writers have our own problems as well as limitations and we cannot move the market as the big boys do. But if your goal is simple and reasonable like mine, I think, it is the best way to move forward and that is precisely what I am doing and enjoying it.

Out of the books you’ve published, are any of them more personal to you than the others?

As the old saying goes, books are like our babies and I have no reason to see them differently. However, I am not sure why but I admit, I can hardly read my own books after they are published and I don’t have a favorite. Having said that, if I really have to point out, I would say a few – OLD MEN DON’T CRY is a book I wrote for Hong Kong, THE CURSED NATION was written for Nepal, and A TREE CALLED TENALPA was based on migration and discrimination that had been an integral part of my own life.

Which book was the most difficult to write?

Definitely OLD MEN DON’T CRY – it was not only a historical book which required a lot of researching works but it was also a very sad story to write and I wanted to pour all the pains and sorrows of my own life as well into it. It was also a very long book and it covers the entire life journey of the protagonist from his childhood to old age. I also had to memorize many events that had affected Hong Kong and I tried to present Hong Kong as one of the main characters of the book. Since it was also written for one main purpose, my humble gift to Hong Kong, it had a lot of emotions attached to it and I had to express them in the proper way as well.

Do you feel that writing a difficult book ultimately proves more worthwhile on an artistic level?

Yes, definitely. The harder you try for a book, the more satisfying it will be at the end and I think it applies to each and every aspect of our life. I read somewhere on the paper people were lamenting about lack of epic novels about Hong Kong and I decided to write one. My book OLD MEN DON’T CRY is for Hong Kong. Unlike other books written about Hong Kong, which are mostly either about tycoon, money and high life, and mostly written from a western point of view from top to bottom of the society, my book is about ordinary people like you and me and deal with our daily problems of the society. This book gives a completely different perspective of life in Hong Kong, it deals with our traditions and I have used real places and streets to give more authenticity to the story. I sincerely do hope that one day it will become one of the important books of Hong Kong and many people will be able to read and associate themselves with it. If I can achieve that, that will be greatest moment of my life.

Why did you start writing?

As I have been working really hard since 17, I never wanted to work for money after I turned fifty and instead I wanted to do something meaningful in the latter half of my life. Although I have spent my entire adult life in Hong Kong, I have never forgotten about my root back in Nepal and I always wanted to do something for my homeland. As I have already said above, writing was my passion and helping others was my compassion, why not I combine them together and uses them as a solution of my ongoing dilemma. Therefore, I decided to establish a charity and use my writing to help finance it. So, here I am and doing my utmost best to fulfill both all at the same time.

Which books/authors do you admire? Any in particular that have inspired you?

I am mostly inspired and fascinated by Nobel laureates, I have even tried to read at least a book from them and the pursuit is still going on. But to be honest with you, some of the books I read were just terrible. Maybe I chose the wrong book, I don’t know. The most books I read from one author was three and it was from Salman Rushdie. In other cases, I can only read one book from any authors and I wasn’t impressed by many authors either.

What are you working on at the moment?

Since I was fully preoccupied with book promotion for the entire 2015, I didn’t even write a single page for the entire year and I have to write 5 books all at once this year to clear it all out of my head. I am extremely busy writing for this year and hardly have time to do other things including book promotion. Hopefully I can finish them by end of the year and I have a big project for 2017. I am writing a true Gurkhas book, visiting Singapore, Brunei, Malaysia, Burma, India, Nepal, UK and Europe for research works and the book should be ready to be published in 2018. Then, I think, I will take a rest.

If I were going to write my first book tomorrow, what advice would you give me?

Start promoting your book at least a year before you start writing it, know your subject and readers well, hire professional editor and cover designer, and write it as a side job until you have become a well-known author. And if you don’t love or have passion for it, don’t write it.

In closing, is there anything else you’d like to say?

Writing is a very long, slow and assiduous journey, static shows only 10% authors make a decent living out of writing and the other 90% write for vanity. Books are not like other commodities like food, cloth and furniture, people don’t have to buy it as a daily necessity, and they mostly read books from famous authors. It is a novelty that people can live without and it needs a lot of hard work, perseverance and marketing to become a famous author. Self-publishing phenomenon also made dogs and cats authors and it is not that easy to stand out of that big crowd too. One must have a passion, heart and patience.

timigurung-07
Thank you very much, Tim, for giving me some of your time. You can find more about Tim Gurung and his books on the following sites.

http://www.timigurung.com

https://www.facebook.com/tim2gurung/

http://www.amazon.com/Tim-GURUNG/e/B00SQOI2MU

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13270239.Tim_I_Gurung

https://twitter.com/TimGurung

Thank you so much and all the best!
TIM I GURUNG/AUTHOR AT ISSLCARE – http://www.timigurung.com

A Step Ahead (from a WIP)

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William Benson, a United States Sailor, learns he can travel short distances into the future.

“Ice Valley,” William said. “From Metroid Prime.”

He crossed his legs. He and Mario — CTT1 Mario, a newly minted Petty Officer First Class — were listening to Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos on William’s iHome speakers.

“Everyone draws inspiration from the classics,” Mario said. “There’s nothing new under the sun. All music can be sourced to like four fucking songs.”

“We don’t know about ancient music.”

“Yeah we do. Go on YouTube.”

“Those are reconstructions.” William ought to know. In grad school, his thesis advisor had produced a reworking of Babylonian music. Here’s what I think it sounds like . . . and a man with a PhD in music, one of the lucky few to have tenure, had spent five years working on it, years William could compact into minutes.

“Well obviously they can’t hop in the DeLorean and — what?”

“Your age is showing.”

“My age? How old are you again, thirty?”

“Twenty-nine.” And William had joined the Navy at twenty-seven, after dropping out of the Master’s program in Music. Years spent toiling under old men who constantly told him “it gets better” with the sincerity of a late-night pitchman. Except it never did. Those years William hadn’t been able to speed up, and even if he could have, what would he have sped them up to? This? Waiting on a floating dumpster for the poor lower ranks to finish off-loading trash while the squadron assholes just sat around?

“Rough Riders this is the CMC,” came the voice over the 1MC. “We still have a lot of trash. If you’re just sitting there in the hangar bay, waiting for liberty call, we’d appreciate it if you’d help out. No one’s getting off this ship, repeat, no one’s getting off this ship until we get all the trash off, so I need everyone’s help. CMC out.”

William got up.

“Oh? Going to help out?”

He shrugged. “You know me. Super Sailor.”

William climbed the ladderwell to the next deck. The head was separate from the berthing, beside a hatch leading to the forward mess decks, and it had a lock. The combo used to be secret. None of the deck apes the Navy had rescued from the welfare line could go in and trash their head. Then one day the CMC decided that all head combos must be 1-2-3-4 because he didn’t believe in locked heads. Since then . . .

William put in the not-so-secret combo and went inside, bracing himself for the worst. William had come in here before to find all three stalls taken. He’d come in here and smelled smells not meant for human nostrils, smells to wilt your nose hairs, all because the CMC did not believe in locked heads.

It was one of the few policies he could create himself — usually he just enforced whatever the CO and the omnipresent Big Navy said — so the CMC was sticking to his guns. William understood. He didn’t hold it against the man.

William went into the last stall. He locked it, keeping an eye on the iron angle. One morning he’d banged his head on the edge, and the pain had lasted all day. When designing this ship, human comfort had come second to how much shit they could squeeze into one space, and God help you if you were tall.

William sat on the toilet, pants on. He clasped his hands, lowered his head and closed his eyes.

What a trick to learn, what a gift to have. If he’d known this earlier, how much tedium he could have saved in boot camp. He’d discovered his gift in A-school, and when the asshole in charge of barracks room inspections failed half the students over petty bullshit, it took no time at all for William to finish his extra cleaning duties. Clean for five minutes, then go sit somewhere alone.

Concentrate.

William concentrated. He felt slightly buzzed when he did this. He didn’t open his eyes — that would ruin everything. He was moving through a tunnel, and he heard nothing. The world quietly awaited his return.

William stopped moving. He opened his eyes and checked his watch. He’d sent himself ahead two hours. Was that enough? He went down to the berthing.

Everyone was gone but Mario.

“Figured you’d be out too.”

“They called E5’s?”

“Yeah, but I got duty tomorrow, so . . . ” He raised his middle finger up and down.

William nodded. “It’s alright. My speakers can keep you company.”

Book Passage of the Week (4/16/2015) – from Requiem for a Dream, by Hubert Selby Jr.

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Like Atonement, it helps if you’ve seen the movie…though the book Requiem for a Dream is far better than Atonement.

The writing style? Let’s say it might take some getting used to. It’s also brilliant. I haven’t read Hubert Selby Jr.’s other books, so I’m not sure if this is his regular style, but it works great in Requiem for a Dream:

They looked at Marions sketches of the coffee house they were going to open, but with diminishing frequency and enthusiasm. Somehow there just didnt seem to be time for it though they spent a lot of time just lying around and not doing much of anything in particular and making vague plans for the future and enjoying the feeling that everything would always be alright, just like it was now.

 

 

 

Quick Book Review – The Southern Reach Trilogy, by Jeff Vandermeer

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Where lies the strangling fruit that came from the hand of the sinner I shall bring forth the seeds of the dead to share with the worms that gather in the darkness and surround the world with the power of their lives while from the dim lit halls of other places forms that never were and never could be writhe for the impatience of the few who never saw what could have been.

Annihilation — creepy, well-written sci-fi/horror. A lot of questions raised.

Authority — boring, still well-written. Switches the setting from Area X to the Southern Reach, the organization looking over Area X. Raises more questions.

Acceptance — overly written, goes nowhere, answers nothing.

Read the first, skip the other two. There is no reason to read the next two books, especially if you think a trilogy might tell a complete story.

Death & 1997

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I had two family members die when I was growing up. The first was my grandfather. We’d quit going to see him after moving from Virginia Beach to TN. He died from diabetes. No one told me until after the funeral.

My mother and uncle attended the funeral. My uncle said, “I’m glad he’s gone.”

My mother told him he shouldn’t say that. But, my uncle had a right to feel that way. Death is not always tragic, and if someone treated you like shit, what is the point in pretending?

***

My great-grandfather died in 1997, when I was eleven. He was 68.

His death was more real to me than my grandfather’s. For one thing, I was older. We’d also spent more time together. A child thinks everyone is built to last forever. You’re going to grow up and you’re eager as hell to put on your big boy pants, but it’s all so far away it’s as much a fantasy as the playground games you play with your friends. Your great-grandparents are old, your grandparents are old and even though your mom might not be thirty yet, that’s fine. She’s old too and you’re just hitting puberty.

My great-grandfather stayed in a Catholic hospital in Cape Girardeau, IL. We spent a week in a hotel, commuting from the hotel room to the hospital waiting area where my family chatted and debated on whether to move him while I read Shadows of the Empire, sadly not the straight adaptation of the game I was hoping for. All of us were there: me, my sister, my mother and her husband at the time. My grandmother and her three younger siblings too.

We came home on a Tuesday. Saturday we heard the news: he’d passed. In between, I never saw him in his room. At first we weren’t going to; us kids weren’t supposed to see him like that. Finally, right before we left, my grandmother decided to take us in there. I declined.

But I did see him. I was on my way back from the snack machines. Nurses were rushing a man on a stretcher to the elevator. He needed an operation. I thought, That old man looks really sick.

***

A lot changed in 1997. I began the year by almost dying, thanks to a misdiagnosis. A doctor looked at the blooming rash on my stomach, ignored the urine test results and told my mom that I had stomach flu. Drink some Gatorade.

I puked stomach bile the next day.

My great-grandfather died in June, 1997. I went to band camp in August, where a friend of mine almost died from heatstroke. My mother took him to the ER. She saved his life.

His parents didn’t care.

Our band teacher didn’t care either.

***

I started junior high in September, which was a big transition because you were leaving East Robertson Elementary and moving to The High School, grades 7 – 12. They’d ask me, Are you ready to go to The High School? and I never knew how to answer the question. A lot changed there too.

The last time I saw my great-grandfather was on a hospital stretcher, being rushed to surgery. But my last memory of him was our first visit after my own surgery. He had called and talked to me when I was in the hospital, and my last memory of him is hugging him bye, hearing him tell me he’s glad I’m okay and seeing him and my great-grandmother wave to us as we drove away.

It’s my last memory of them.