Third World Writer

So NaNoWriMo is over and, wonder of wonders, I didn’t make it to fifty thousand. ^^ I started the month out pretty excited, revving to go right as the clock struck midnight on November 1st, but as soon as I realized that I was writing crap, it became difficult to keep up the word count.

NaNoWriMo’s motto seems to be something like Kill Your Inner Editor and just hit 50,000 words even if it turns out to be 50,000 words of crap, because crap is so much better than writing nothing at all. And I agree. But try as I might, I’m just not the type who can delay my cringe reflex long enough to write a respectable number of words. I have this almost obsessive compulsion to read and re-read every single word I’ve written, from the top, to make sure it adhered to a solid structure, a meaningful mood, and a sensible plot. Turns out my Inner Editor isn’t very “inner” after all, and every sentence I manage to type sets it loose to wreak havoc on my word count and my schedule.

Which is such a shame, really, considering that not only have I managed just 17,547 words, but because I’ve been constantly battling off my Inner Editor, it’s turned out to be 17,547 words of total crap.

*sigh*

Well, that’s fine. November is over, now I can go back to writing for fun. =) (I hate deadlines.)

The first thing I did after giving up on NaNoWriMo was enter this little contest of Jessica Zafra’s, a challenge to write a story explaining a mysterious piano in a forest. It seems short stories are more my forte, and I enjoyed my little submission immensely, so much more than anything I’ve written for NaNo. I lost again, sure, but the few votes I got made me so happy, and did so much for my self esteem that I’m forced to assess just how much of my art’s validation is dependent on other people’s opinion of it. I suppose I’m not nearly as self-validating as I used to think. I can’t seem to help but enjoy the feeling I get when people enjoy the things I create. ^__^

Oh, I did win a consolation prize though, for the best critique of another person’s submission. Hmm. Does that imply that perhaps I’m a better critic than I am a writer?

Emotions is an old manga Dust and I tried making back in college, about five gods who’ve come to Earth in search of a powerful artifact hidden in a highschool student. We based the characters on our classmates (who hasn’t written stories based on their classmates?) and of course casted ourselves as the two main bad guys/gods. ^__^ It followed the normal high school lives of three friends who soon find their world falling apart when a transfer student arrives, when honor students commit suicide, and when close friends start killing each other after school.

Each of the five gods represented an emotion (if I remember correctly: Sorrow, Love, Anger, Joy and Desire), hence the unimaginative title. Although I remember very little of the original story we made, and forgot all about it until Dust posted about it yesterday, it does have a bit of potential that I think I might want to try it again someday. ^_^

After numerous plot outlines and character design drafts and studies in paneling, Dust and I managed to finish only two pages of our manga before school events got in the way. But still these two pages, however noob-ish, convinced me that some things really weren’t impossible. =)

I am a pessimist, a skeptic, and maybe something of a cynic as well. I view the world as 80% evil and 20% good, and in the course of an average day I probably spend 70% of my time dwelling on negative things, 10% on positive things, and 20% on neutral. So when people call me a negative person, I can’t really disagree. This world, after all, is such a negative world.

I happen to know a number of happy, positive, optimistic people, and I do concede that they are indeed a more enjoyable bunch to be around. They’re lively, often wear pleasant smiles, and maintain an outlook on life that makes you wish they stayed happy forever. And I, too, once upon a time, was an optimist. I took steps to see the positive side of everything, I rejected thoughts that got me depressed, and I maintained a perspective that showed the world in a positive light. But reality never gave up, and before long I was forced to see sides of it that I had shunned. And as more and more of the world became undeniable, the more I found that I was no longer truly optimistic. I was just pretending to be.

Pessimism, in my particular case (I don’t speak for all pessimists), was never a matter of choice. Unlike optimism, where I had to consciously decide to see things positively and had to play down the negative aspects of things, pessimism was a more honest reaction to the world. I simply stopped forcing myself to smell the metaphorical roses while ignoring the metaphorical crap, I stopped looking solely at the metaphorical “greener grass on the other side”, and when I saw people who were worse off than I was, I stopped forcing myself to feel happy and grateful about what I already had, and allowed myself to dwell on the realization that these people have things so much worse than I could have ever seen with my optimistic perspective. So much worse.

I’m not going to presume that all optimists are as blind as I was. Neither am I suggesting that all optimists make conscious decisions to ignore some of the negative things in the world. But I have to wonder if there isn’t at least a little bit of ignorance about reality needed in order to be so optimistic, whether that ignorance is in the form of conscious denial or as an unintended consequence of focusing mainly on positive things. Because personally, the only way I think I can adopt an optimistic view of the world right now, after all the bad things I’ve read about, is if I forgot the worst of the things I know, if I ignored them, or if I just didn’t care. It is true what they say, after all — ignorance is bliss.

If I had to identify one specific event that made me abandon optimism, it would be the time I saw a man eating a mango. He was very obviously homeless, wore tattered clothes and went barefoot, and was rummaging through a garbage bin on the sidewalk on a busy intersection (of Gorordo Avenue and, incidentally, Mango Avenue). With a large smile on his face he pulled from the bin a browning mango seed and, after inspecting it, proceeded to suck whatever flavor remained on its fibers. He was happy, this man on the street, totally happy, and yet no matter how hard I tried, despite choosing to see the happy rather than the sad, I could not be happy for him. Any feeling of sharing in his smile was pushed away by a voice screaming that this isn’t right, no one should have to be happy with a discarded mango seed. And if I felt happy for him, knowing that I could do more, I was doing him, and everyone like him, a great injustice.

When I chose to be happy, I was happy, but I was hardly anything else. Now, choosing to see the worst of the world in order to know it better, I feel a profound sadness that this is the world we live in, yet I feel some relief knowing that I now live in the world my feet are touching, and not in a happier version of it conjured in my head. And now, having realized that this world is so very, very flawed, maybe I can see what I can do to help fix it.

It is an unfortunately common occurrence that people qualify all pessimists as dark, morose, depressing people who despise happiness. I have to keep explaining that you can’t generalize people into categories, especially if your idea of what the category means is inaccurate. Not all pessimists have resigned themselves to the idea that the world will never get better. I personally believe that if we recognize that there is a problem, there is a large chance that we can fix it. And not all pessimists are depressed. Depression is caused by an unrealistic negative view about the world, while pessimists usually provide arguments to suggest their views are justified.

And pessimists, myself at least, are not pessimists 100% of the time. Once in a while, even though the world remains so sad, I do allow myself to be happy.

In the spirit of a same-titled post by a former kouhai of mine, I’ve decided to write one positive entry about Christmas, a simple reminiscing of the traditions we used to enjoy as children.

Christmas in my family always began months early, with setting up the tree, pinning stockings (socks) to the wall and writing letters to Santa. We’d list all the things we wanted to receive, say thanks for last year’s gifts, and perhaps apologize for any misdeeds that might affect the number of goodies we got. I made sure to include “world peace” in my wish list, for extra good-boy points. =) We’d put our letters in out ’stockings’, and find a few days later that they’d gone missing (Santa got them), and then we’d get all excited and spend the rest of the year suddenly being polite and nice and doing different chores and favors.

As the weeks passed we’d start sleeping earlier and earlier in the evening, because time flew much too slow when we were awake. And then, on Christmas Eve, we’d go to sleep right after dinner, or skip dinner entirely and jump straight to bed if we were especially impatient. As we tried to force ourselves into as deep a sleep as possible, the grown-ups would stay up “to cook the food for our Noche Buena”.

And then at around 1:00 or 2:00 someone, usually a sibling, would wake us up all excitedly. “It’s Christmas!” they’d say, “The gifts are here!” and we’d all go to the sala all cool-like as if we hadn’t been waiting all year for this day.

And then there it would be, the most enchanting scene to our childish eyes, gifts and chocolates and apples and peppermint candy-canes strewn across the floor under the tree. Jose Mari Chan or the Chipmunks or APO would play in the background, and the table would be filled with spaghetti and palabok and bread and coke and ham and the dreaded queso de bola. Our parents would force themselves out of bed and act all surprised as we scrambled to collect all the gifts that had our names scribbled in Santa’s messy loopy handwriting. And then we’d stay awake, playing with our toys or boardgames straight until morning, while the grown-ups went back to sleep.

Christmas Day was always spent with family, that was the rule. We’d make a trip to our cousins’ place, or they’d make a trip to ours, and we’d spend the day playing and talking about how we seemed to always get the same kind of things, the same toys, the same brand of jeans, the same designed T-shirts, but how curious it was that Santa’s handwriting on our cousins’ giftwrap was always different from the one on ours. That and how Santa managed to go from house to house at faster-than-light speed were two of the greatest mysteries of my childhood. ^__^

Ah, those were the days when I still loved Christmas. It’s too bad we couldn’t stay children forever.

What’s your Christmas story?

Terrible, just terrible.

I should have 11,669 words by now, and I’m nowhere near that number. Worse yet, my plot seems to be falling apart. After getting stuck on a scene for more than an afternoon, I decided to outline my entire story, chapter by chapter, breaking things down to specific scenes and what happens in them. And then I realized that my characters didn’t really have much to do.

If I continue things as they are, pretty soon my flimsy plot is gonna rip, and even the characters will be wondering what the heck they’re supposed to be doing. They need a reason to be meeting, to be doing the things they’re doing, and the Devil (I have a Devil character) needs a reason for not just gobbling the world up and spitting it out (he can do that if he wanted to, you know). I need a reason for everything, and the reasons just don’t seem to be coming to me.

I’m considering changing stories. The Hand of God is a great concept, but trying to make it fit NaNoWriMo I tried putting the concept and characters into a forced plot that was bound to unravel. And now, 6055 words into my story, things are starting to make no sense. Hrm.

(Still, I love my characters. ^__^ I can’t wait to create a plot that they would fit nicely into.)

So. What to do, what to do? Should I proceed with this thing, try to make it work along the way, eventually either landing Gold or falling in Shite? Or should I go with a plot I’ve been working on for years that’s sure to have less kinks in its fabric but doesn’t have much of a theme? Or, there’s this other story I’m considering that I haven’t spent much time thinking about, but has the potential for a solid plot, some romance and really wicked action?

*le sigh* This NaNoWriMo business is tough.

I think for now I’ll work out the plot lines of these three things, and by midnight I’ll (hopefully) decide what to go with. And then, I’ll work like hell to catch up with the word count. I’m already more than five thousand words behind schedule.

Darn it.

(p.s. Shameless plug – I’m posting my nanowrimo progress here. Please nag me.)

Ending day three of NaNoWriMo, where I should have clocked 5000 words, I’m 1171 words behind schedule and just started Chapter Three. I must say, seeing the word counts of some people (at 9000, 10000) kinda makes me feel insecure. ^__^ But that’s okay, easy does it.

I realized today that I might be doing all this for nothing. I mean, I’m writing a story that will never get published, and probably no more than two people will ever read because, well.. without intending to be anti-Christian, it kinda is. (This is based on my guess that if you portray Jesus as an idiot human who was tricked by the Devil into thinking he was the Son of God, then you’re anti-Christian).

At any rate, I also realized today that even if no one will ever read this story, I think I’ll finish it anyway. There’s a certain satisfaction to be had when you see the ideas in your head actually flesh out into words and sentences and chapters.

“Hey, I wrote a whole chapter!” I want to say. “This one is about a boy who made a sandwich.”

Chapter Two – A World of Invisible People – DONE

So today was my first day with NaNoWriMo, and I must say, this is tough. My eyes are shot, my knees hurt from sitting in my bed for so long, brain is just about ready to shut down. But yes, I did it. Two hours late but I did it. That’s one chapter and 2027 words in the bank.

The story I decided to write is entitled The Hand of God. It’s about a group of people who find that they each possess one of the “abilities” of Jesus mentioned in the Bible. There is a country girl who can calm storms, a yuppie who can multiply food, a janitor who can heal the sick, a prostitute who can walk on water, a policewoman who can raise the dead, a priest who can exorcise demons, a family man who resurrects three days after being killed, an atheist who can turn water to wine, a homeless man who knows the future, a teenager who can command living things to wither, an old man who set foot in heaven, a young boy who talks like he knows everything, and a teacher who has visions of God. The story is about each of their personal struggles and internal conflicts as they deal with their unusual abilities, and as they discover the reason behind them.

This is not a religious story, to be sure.. If anything, it’s probably even blasphemous. -____-

Chapter One – Goodbye Mr. Timothy, DONE.

I’m gonna take a break from my faith-themed posts for a while (I was starting a trend, if you hadn’t noticed) to announce that once again, November is nearly upon us! This means that in a few days’ time, National Novel Writing Month will begin! Woohoo!!

If you don’t know what NaNoWriMo is, then you’re probably not a writer and so this post will not interest you. But since my zee got me a shirt that proclaimed me to be “Feeling Writer”, I feel obligated to at least try to write something this month. It’ll be my first time participating in NaNoWriMo (I signed up just today), and while the task does seem daunting – to write a 50,000-word novel in one month, that’s 1,667 words a day – I think I should be able to manage.

If you’ve ever thought for a moment that you had a story in your head that you wanted to see in actual words, I suggest you visit nanowrimo.org and give it a try. The goal of the activity is simply to churn out word after word, with little or no regard for quality, just to have your very own first rough draft. Don’t worry about your messed up prose, that can be fixed in December. The important thing is not to let the story stagnate in your brain. It could run out of food and die.

It is nice to know that the people at nanowrimo aren’t professional novel authors. They’re normal people like you and me, with regular classes and day jobs, trying to churn out the stories they fell in love with.They’re funny, supportive and admirably positive, even though a lot of them have failed at hitting 50,000 year after year after year. They vent their frustration with adorable little haikus, ask for mentors to nag them when they’ve been idle, and even have meet-ups and chat sessions for people in your region. (The Asia::Philippines region had a meet-up last Saturday, which I unfortunately missed.) If you’ve tried and failed at getting very far into your stories, there’s no better month than November to try again.

And if you feel like giving up along the way, check out the pep talk by some famous authors, like this one from Neil Gaiman. It’s nice to know that even the most successful writers feel like losers sometimes too. ^_^

So.

What to write?

I like writing dialogues.I like trying to express relationships and events through characters’ conversations. I especially like trying to project their emotions and personalities through their words despite the limitations of spoken language. I like writing dialogues because the things we say more often than not, and whether we intend them to or not, obscure the things we mean. And yet nothing has more potential for honest expression than words. A picture might paint the wrong thousand words and actions can be misinterpreted, but the right words, carefully chosen, can correct them.

I want to write honest conversations.

On weekends and after work, when I’m walking around aimlessly through random malls, I sometimes find an empty bench, take out my notebook and scribble a few lines of conversation. What would a cheating husband tell his lover? What would a man confide to his friend? What would a prostitute tell the customer who asks only for a story?

My imagination is over-active. It’s not very good, not even very productive, but it does like to imaginea lot of things. So if once in a while I manage to post something, please don’t mind the garbage. I need an outlet of sorts.