The heartbreak of having written and published a first book is that the world then expected you to write a second.
– Author Unknown
For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to publish a book.
Not write a book. That part came naturally, almost accidentally, through decades in newsrooms, deadlines, columns and commentary, but to publish one. To hold in my hands something that is bound, permanent, and enduring. Something that outlives the day’s headlines, the next election cycle, or the fleeting buzz of social media. Something that says: this mattered enough to be kept.
Strangely, while many of my younger colleagues, especially journalists of 15 or 20 years’ experience, have already produced their own books, I have not. And that irony has never been lost on me. I have spent nearly 50 years in journalism, editing, writing, refining, mentoring, and polishing other people’s work, helping others meet their publishing dreams, yet I had none to show for myself.
Until now!
Early this year, God willing, sometime in mid or late February, I hope to launch my first book. A compilation of selected views from my weekly column, Gasak Ajak, which I have been writing since 2020. It is a book that has been years in preparation, decades in the making, and a lifetime in the imagining.
It feels strange to call it my ‘first’ book after half a century in the profession. I sometimes joke that I am still a baby when it comes to publishing, but perhaps that is also what makes this moment so special. It is not rushed. It is not driven by vanity. It is driven by reflection, gratitude, and a quiet sense of arrival.
Gasak Ajak began as a column, but over time it became a conversation. A conversation with politicians and professionals, taxi drivers, coffee shop uncles, market vendors, students, teachers, retirees, civil servants and activists. People would approach me in kopitiams, and say: “Hey Botak, (as much as I feel offended, I just can’t show it), I read your piece this week,” or “I disagree with you on that one,” or “Thank you for saying what we were thinking.”
That, to me, is journalism at its best. And I am proud of it!
I have always tried to be fair and balanced, giving credit where it is due, even when the recipient is not fashionable or popular, and ticking off authorities politely but firmly when they drift off track or lose sight of the people they serve. My columns are not written to wound, but to question; not to inflame, but to illuminate. They are meant to be constructive, to suggest solutions, to open conversations rather than close them.
That does not mean they are always comfortable. Over the years, I have been asked, sometimes gently, sometimes not, to tone down my writing. Some agencies and departments would prefer less scrutiny, fewer questions, more applause and fewer footnotes. But journalism is not public relations, and commentary is not courtship. If it is to be useful, it must occasionally be inconvenient.
My strongest areas have always been politics and sports, though societal issues have increasingly become my favourites. Politics shapes our future, sports reveals our character, and society is where both collide.
The book will be around 400 pages, segmented into six broad parts: politics and governance; opinions and commentaries; social issues and culture; economy and business; international affairs; and sports and entertainment. It is not a book about one subject. It is a book about a country, seen through the eyes of a journalist who is attuned to both state and national affairs, who loves Sarawak deeply but understands Malaysia broadly, and who believes that good journalism is not about shouting louder but listening better.
The title, for now, will remain a secret until launch day. But the spirit of the book is simple: it views the nation through a lens of belonging, resilience and humour; the quiet forces that sustain people between history and hope.
It is not a political manifesto. It is not a memoir. It is not a scorecard of who is right and who is wrong. It is a reflection; from one of Borneo’s enduring editorial voices, on how we govern, how we argue, how we celebrate, how we stumble, and how we keep going anyway.
What many people do not realise is how difficult producing a first book actually is. Writing is the easy part. Editing is harder. Selecting is painful. Cutting is brutal. Thankfully, I have a charming editor to assist me (a sweet young thing). Her name will be revealed at the launching ceremony. And then come the invisible challenges: structure, coherence, tone, transitions, permissions, proofreading, fact-checking, layout, design, printing, funding, distribution, marketing, and the terrifying question every first-time author faces: will anyone read this?
A newspaper column lives for a day. A book lives for decades. That changes everything. You are no longer writing to be consumed quickly and forgotten tomorrow. You are writing to be revisited, reread, quoted, and perhaps challenged by future readers you will never meet.
That responsibility weighs on you. Every paragraph suddenly feels heavier. Every sentence becomes more permanent. And every error becomes less forgivable. That is why my book has taken time. I wanted it to be right. Not perfect, but honest; not flashy, but faithful to the voice readers have come to know over the years.
No writer writes alone, and no book exists in isolation. I owe this journey, in large part, to three men.
The first is the late Datuk James Ritchie, a journalist, historian, author of more than 40 books, and a dear friend. I had the privilege of editing and proofreading several of his works, including ‘Bujang Senang –Terror of Batang Lupar’ and ‘Bruno Manser’. At his behest, I co-authored a sports book with his late teacher Y John, ‘Sarawak, the Sports Powerhouse’. Y John was not just a respected teacher and sportsman, but a founding figure in Sarawak’s athletic history, a man who believed sport builds discipline before it builds champions.
Ritchie was generous with opportunity and merciless with excuses. He did not tolerate procrastination or missed deadlines. He could be verbally ferocious, but intellectually fair. He took me under his tutelage, encouraged me to write for the Sarawak Gazette, and pulled me deeper into the world of book publishing long before I thought I belonged there.
When he passed away last year, I was entrusted with completing a biography he had begun on a leading Sarawak personality. It is a task I carry with humility and resolve.
The second is my boss, Datuk Dr Jeniri Amir, himself the author of 65 books and counting, a man whose private library contains over 11,000 volumes, and whose passion for publishing is as contagious as it is disciplined. He remains one of the most sought-after voices on book authoring and publishing in the country. From him, I learned that books are not just written, they are built.
The third is my friend of 50 years, former employer, and journalist-turned-entrepreneur Tan Sri Clement Hii, who was publishing magazines and books while most of us were still learning to file our first story. His early works like ‘Borneo Business’, ‘The Rahman Decade’ and ‘Headline and Highlights’ showed me that publishing is not only an intellectual act, but an entrepreneurial one.
Ritchie and Hii shaped my interest in books long before I dared to write one myself. This book is also made possible through the generosity and sponsorship of several kind individuals, whom I will acknowledge properly in the book and thank publicly during the launch. Without them, this dream would have remained just that, a dream!
So yes, after 50 years in journalism, I am finally publishing my first book. And yes, I still feel like a beginner. But perhaps that is the best place to start from; with humility, gratitude, and a sense of wonder.
Friends have been asking what comes next. Two books, in fact. The first is completing the biography James Ritchie began. It is a responsibility I feel deeply, not just to my late friend, but to Sarawak’s historical record. The second is far more personal: a book about my late wife. A story of love, loss, partnership, and the quiet heroism of everyday life. That book will not be written as a journalist, but as a husband.
The upcoming first book is therefore not a destination but a beginning. After 50 years of writing for others, I am finally writing something that will carry my own name on its spine, and I cannot wait to share it.
The views expressed here are those of the columnist and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at rajlira@gmail.com
