Maybe people who make more important things happen will laugh at how I'm getting thrills being mentioned here and there for receiving the Arts Creation Fund (ACF) grant.
And the mentions aren't even really about the quality of my work. It's about my potential to produce. Hm. They're saying, here you go, I'm investing some faith and interest in you. They're not even saying, good job, you really wrote a good book or something like that. They're saying, here you go, you seem to have potential to write something interesting. Potential only mah.
But remember (well, if you had known in the first place) that I grew up in English remedial class. Spending some time during the most formative years of my self-confidence in bloody english remedial... it put me in my place alright. Luckily, the teachers were very good. Anyone knows where's Mr Goon (yes his real name)? He's a riot. And luckily I also made good friends there, one of my best - incredible is the bind of collective boredom to young minds.
I'm not brandishing my embarrassing past like it's an excuse for my bad grammar and bad sentence structure. (At least, not this time.) It's an excuse for my excitement in being mentioned here and there. :)
I mean, I'm in a Press Release!
Last week, NAC finally released information on the Arts Creation Fund 2010. And got my name inside, leh. With the Millie Project. Even in my CPFable job, I come from the corner of organisations that only ever release announcements to internal staff only - on updates to policies blah blah. So being in a press release... hee hee. It feels funny.
And just before, also on the ACF and Millie, 8 Nov 10, For Art's Sake, Today Online betted that I'm "gonna go places" leh.
Am I being self-indulgent? Then again, can it be like how some people celebrate getting a job. Or it's how... somebody celebrates getting selected for the national team of some sports? Maybe? Celebrating having potential? Probably?
Well, it's perhaps at least good not to take it for granted. Or at least to remember to treasure the opportunity and work hard. Write a good book eh. And get mentioned for having made "more important things happen".
Then maybe Mr Goon would be proud of me. After all, he got me out of English remedial. But then again, maybe he'd be unimpressed. But most probably he'd be nice. He's a little like Kurt Vonnegut you know. That is, who I imagine Kurt Vonnegurt to be like with the Mr Goon I imagine to have been like. I wish I was older when I knew Mr Goon. Not the unappreciative daft kid in English remedial class. The best of teachers waste their personality on stupid kids.
There are a lots of other people, besides Mayo Martin (Today) and Mr Goon (my imagination), who'd bet that I'm gonna go places too, I know. I'm very very grateful for them too. In fact I even wrote a long article on how I'm grateful - but it's a bit too personal to publish on the www. This essay is also personal. But less. I'm forcing myself to reveal more about myself you know - I came across some writer's advice to writers to dare to use "I", dare to reveal details about myself. So I'm training myself to be daring like that.
What do you think? Does it make me sound more interesting?
Let me know, please, I don't want to embarrass myself
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Where is Mr Goon? - the ACF 2010 announcements
Monday, November 8, 2010
Vacillating between Insecurity and Aspiration
I just came back from the park where I went to read two Akutagawa short stories. I wonder how long it took for him to write them. But I suppose it also doesn't matter.
The latter of the two stories was about a writer. No, wait. Both stories were about writers. The first one was about the passing of Basho, the haiku master. The second one was about Bakin, or something like that, a fiction writer, who took 28 years to write a 3,000 page long story about a eight dogs.
I wonder how big each page was.
In between turning the pages, I was thinking of my own story, The Millie, that I started drafting, 2 days ago. How much can I finish writing in the 10 days that I am not working?
Goh Poh Seng said that he finished what was said to be "Singapore's first novel" in two weeks. either two weeks or ten days. I dont' know how that's possible. Although I am hoping to finish drafting my story in the same span of time.
I feel like I need to finish drafting it in at one go - so that it maintains a consistent tone of voice. That sounds stupid. I have been "writing" for several years now, and only at the brink of completing a novel, am I trying to develop and maintain a consistent tone of voice?
A bit too late, isn't it?
I hope not.
As I went to the park, I passed by a delegate from N-parks, or a delegate of a delegate of theirs, i.e. a worker for the subcontracter, most probably. He was in a flourescent green vest (which by the way, who was the one who decided they should all wear flourescent green vests anyway?) and talking to an ah-ma (old lady) who wore a cool pair of very dark sunglasses.
He was speaking to her, in hokkien, something about how working to maintain the park and keeping it in orde so that people can come here and feel happy, then they (his colleague and himself) would be satisfied.
I stole these words - as I nodded my head respectfully in their direction, as I would with some strangers - and kept it at a back pocket of my head so that I could ruminate upon them, as I am ruminating now.
Simple, it is, an aspiration of a gardener, who probably did not receive high-level education, and so humble that it might even seem noble. I recognise it as that.
How is it that as a writer, who writes in hopes of readers coming to read and feel entertained, or dare I say "happy" (?), I can feel so insecure about my aspiration?
Maybe the worker was trying to sound good. To impress the ah-ma? Maybe not.
I started drafting 2 days ago, and have vacillated about twice between thinking this is not good enough - nevermind, just do your best, ju-lyn - this is not good enough - nevermind, just try your best, ju-lyn...
Last week, I decided to go on a long leave from work, at the last minute, because the "exigencies of service" suddenly permitted me to go. Because of the suddenness, I also feel rather ill-prepared for this long retreat. A bit being caught unaware by myself.
Having only a limited number of leave / year, I am obliged or pressured to spend it wisely. Ration it properly. Roll-over as many days of entitlement as I can roll-over to next year.
I'm worried, that since I'm a little unprepared, that in suddenly taking these several days off now, I am not investing my "opportunity to take several days off" wisely.
Not being at work this monday, or tomorrow, or the day after, also makes me feel out of place. Insecure.
I take breaks between reading the pages of Akutagawa to look at the trees around me in the park. It was so peaceful that I could count the number of different bird-calls if I had wanted to.
At one point, my eyes focused on a butterfly resting on a leaf (?) of a branch of a tree some distance away from me.
Recalling a book I had read recently detailed how the uncle of the narrator would encouraged people to appreciate good moments in life, I thought to myself, "Well if this isn't nice, I don't know what is." The book is Timequake by Kurt Vonnegut. I read it in the park too.
If I'm insecured, like a butterly resting tenderly on a leaf, then the leaf would then be my story?
No wait, a butterfly could easily fly away. The analogy doesn't work.
Maybe if I wouldn't be so out of place if I had booked myself a ticket to bali or Bangkok, to live for two weeks with my friend. Like, I wouldn't be here around familiar surroundings to feel unfamiliar?
Or maybe I would feel even more out of place.
I would have to wash my own clothes, and maybe helped to mop the floor. Worse is if I wanted to refer to a book that I knew was on the shelf in my room, but I couldn't because my home is in Singapore and I would be in Bangkok.
So I'd just stay here, I guess. And try to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that threatens to swallow me. Maybe.
And try to enjoy the process, or something. Or at least appreciating the butterflies I notice. Or whatever.
This insecurity is mundane. I felt it too when I quit my job sometime back. I wrote a lot then. Some of the most inspired short short stories, I think. I felt it too, whenever I considered the plausiblity of my proposed plot for Millie. But I think this is not a good time to delve into other things to be insecured about.
Okay. I can do this. Or I shall die trying.
See. I vacillate.
Notice how I do it so skillfully? It's almost an art, I tell you.
I wrote another essay about the progress on the Millie project about two weeks ago. I feel it required editing, but I didn't have the time to edit it to my satisfaction.
The latter of the two stories was about a writer. No, wait. Both stories were about writers. The first one was about the passing of Basho, the haiku master. The second one was about Bakin, or something like that, a fiction writer, who took 28 years to write a 3,000 page long story about a eight dogs.
I wonder how big each page was.
In between turning the pages, I was thinking of my own story, The Millie, that I started drafting, 2 days ago. How much can I finish writing in the 10 days that I am not working?
Goh Poh Seng said that he finished what was said to be "Singapore's first novel" in two weeks. either two weeks or ten days. I dont' know how that's possible. Although I am hoping to finish drafting my story in the same span of time.
I feel like I need to finish drafting it in at one go - so that it maintains a consistent tone of voice. That sounds stupid. I have been "writing" for several years now, and only at the brink of completing a novel, am I trying to develop and maintain a consistent tone of voice?
A bit too late, isn't it?
I hope not.
As I went to the park, I passed by a delegate from N-parks, or a delegate of a delegate of theirs, i.e. a worker for the subcontracter, most probably. He was in a flourescent green vest (which by the way, who was the one who decided they should all wear flourescent green vests anyway?) and talking to an ah-ma (old lady) who wore a cool pair of very dark sunglasses.
He was speaking to her, in hokkien, something about how working to maintain the park and keeping it in orde so that people can come here and feel happy, then they (his colleague and himself) would be satisfied.
I stole these words - as I nodded my head respectfully in their direction, as I would with some strangers - and kept it at a back pocket of my head so that I could ruminate upon them, as I am ruminating now.
Simple, it is, an aspiration of a gardener, who probably did not receive high-level education, and so humble that it might even seem noble. I recognise it as that.
How is it that as a writer, who writes in hopes of readers coming to read and feel entertained, or dare I say "happy" (?), I can feel so insecure about my aspiration?
Maybe the worker was trying to sound good. To impress the ah-ma? Maybe not.
I started drafting 2 days ago, and have vacillated about twice between thinking this is not good enough - nevermind, just do your best, ju-lyn - this is not good enough - nevermind, just try your best, ju-lyn...
Last week, I decided to go on a long leave from work, at the last minute, because the "exigencies of service" suddenly permitted me to go. Because of the suddenness, I also feel rather ill-prepared for this long retreat. A bit being caught unaware by myself.
Having only a limited number of leave / year, I am obliged or pressured to spend it wisely. Ration it properly. Roll-over as many days of entitlement as I can roll-over to next year.
I'm worried, that since I'm a little unprepared, that in suddenly taking these several days off now, I am not investing my "opportunity to take several days off" wisely.
Not being at work this monday, or tomorrow, or the day after, also makes me feel out of place. Insecure.
I take breaks between reading the pages of Akutagawa to look at the trees around me in the park. It was so peaceful that I could count the number of different bird-calls if I had wanted to.
At one point, my eyes focused on a butterfly resting on a leaf (?) of a branch of a tree some distance away from me.
Recalling a book I had read recently detailed how the uncle of the narrator would encouraged people to appreciate good moments in life, I thought to myself, "Well if this isn't nice, I don't know what is." The book is Timequake by Kurt Vonnegut. I read it in the park too.
If I'm insecured, like a butterly resting tenderly on a leaf, then the leaf would then be my story?
No wait, a butterfly could easily fly away. The analogy doesn't work.
Maybe if I wouldn't be so out of place if I had booked myself a ticket to bali or Bangkok, to live for two weeks with my friend. Like, I wouldn't be here around familiar surroundings to feel unfamiliar?
Or maybe I would feel even more out of place.
I would have to wash my own clothes, and maybe helped to mop the floor. Worse is if I wanted to refer to a book that I knew was on the shelf in my room, but I couldn't because my home is in Singapore and I would be in Bangkok.
So I'd just stay here, I guess. And try to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that threatens to swallow me. Maybe.
And try to enjoy the process, or something. Or at least appreciating the butterflies I notice. Or whatever.
This insecurity is mundane. I felt it too when I quit my job sometime back. I wrote a lot then. Some of the most inspired short short stories, I think. I felt it too, whenever I considered the plausiblity of my proposed plot for Millie. But I think this is not a good time to delve into other things to be insecured about.
Okay. I can do this. Or I shall die trying.
See. I vacillate.
Notice how I do it so skillfully? It's almost an art, I tell you.
I wrote another essay about the progress on the Millie project about two weeks ago. I feel it required editing, but I didn't have the time to edit it to my satisfaction.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Ceriph Issue 1
Seeing my stories in Ceriph Issue 1 - I realised that it's still difficult to read my work in print. Regardless, it's great. That my work is brought to new readers? Thanks, Ceriph.The stories featured are: Iced honey latte and Emotional Blackmail.
On hindsight, maybe I should have submitted stories that were more contrasting? Then again, with similarity there can be contrast...since the works were similar/parallel, both being caricature of characters/meekfreaks. Oh well. We'd see how next time.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
The Millie Project - an introduction
It's a little belated, to announce the news only now, on how I've gotten National Arts Council (NAC)'s support with the Arts Creation Fund on the Millie Project.
Who? me?
Recently, I'm "Lee Ju-Lyn (who) writes about how the imagination transforms reality. She is influenced by surrealism, existentialism, and Eastern philosophies. Her quirky and humourous style were likened to those of Murakami Haruki, Tim Burton, and Edward Lear. At present, her favourite writers are Milan Kundera and Akutagawa Ryunosuke."
I formally work in (i.e. receive CPF from) a corner of the public service, which I like being a part of for the idea of "serving the people (老百姓)" and from which I constantly day-dream about quitting to have more time to write more and better stories (I'd recently wonder if this might be a better way for me to serve the people).
So it's great, both in terms of receiving recognition of my potential (there must have been some serious literary people who saw the potential in my proposal), having been largely a self-taught fiction writer, and the opportunity to write something for the people. In that, being both a NAC grant recipient and public servant, I know that this is public service and I need to give it my best shot.
Now that i've committed myself, I must then try to forget the crushing sense of responsibility, other than holding onto the conclusion "i've gotta give it my best shot". Otherwise, I'd be paralysed by the sense of responsibility and fear of failure.
So, who am I? I am a person who has been given the much appreciated opportunity to write something.
Write what? The Millie Project?
That's my working title for now. I have a few titles.
It is a novella. About a girl, or woman, named Millie. Millie dreams, lucidly; as in, she is conscious in her dreams. And she got to know a guy, tentatively named Kwang Boon, or KB for short. Or rather, KB got to meet M. And she tells him about her dreams. And he writes the book, about her and her dreams.
I know my summary doesn't sound sexy. yet. It will, i think. When it comes to the point in time to make the summary sound sexy, I will worry about it. But now I have bigger things to worry about.
When? Jul 10?
I pitched the proposal in around Mar 10 (NAC submission deadline). The news came in around Jul 10, that I got it. Felt a bit blur for a while. Dunno what to do for a while. Got the contract, signed it, okay. Better start studying for a while. And have been studying since.
I only have about 1 year to complete the manuscript, including editing. So, it's really only about half a year. Can't start thinking about the time-line now i'd go crazy.
Where? on the blog?
I wanted to start blogging (it's really a blog blog) about this to update the people who want to be updated, and I want to develop ideas.
I'd be writing less regularly on meekfreak (so as to shore up the ideas - putting a dam and having a reservoir of ideas) - and in a way, blogging about Millie Project will be assuring my regular readers and supporters - whom are more commonly subscribing through facebook and readers - that I've not let go of myself. And I've taken my appreciation of your support and encouragement and I'm working hard.
As to where is my story? It's in my head. The big ideas, and the small ideas. I won't put up drafts on the net. But maybe some research questions and general progression. For now. See how.
Permit me to digress - Sometimes i realise, it takes me 1 hour to write a story, and then maybe half a day if i want to explain my story. Sometimes the idea of the story is best understood as a story, and not explained - if it could have been communicated better by explaining, then people shld be reading the explanation more than the story. It's perplexing. It's like, I can describe how to I char kway teow-ed, but never can my description replace the char kway teow itself - and you trying to understand my char kway teow vs understanding my description of a char kway teow are entirely different processes of understanding char kway teow altogether. my focus and priority should always remain on the char kway teow. So that even if you aren't a expert food taster, you can discern that it's good. If not good, then i'd have failed.
The story is set in Singapore. Because unlike my earlier (prior to 2008) works, I'm more ready to admit that I'm writing from my perspective. Of course, the grand hope is for the story to be universal. It's not written for a tourist, but can be understood by one. It's not a documentary. It's just a story (refer to Elif Shafak). I agree largely with what Elif Shafak articulated about setting, so I shan't spend time repeating or explaining how i've adapted it.
I concluded that I'm writing this story for my friends and their friends. Maybe this conclusion should be under the "Who?" and "why?". But nevermind la.
Why? Why write this novella?
So why write this novella? I should have an idea in my head why this story, but it's not firmed up. can't discuss it for now. until i'm more confident of it.
If this is too dismissive, there's a bit of "why" under the "who" section. I beg your pardon.
How?
I don't know how yet. Must study hard. And write hard. work hard.
Maybe I'm going to coup myself up - like a hermit - retreat into my own mind - try not to go crazy - then come up with something. That's what I'm thinking of, tentatively. difficult to juggle committments. priorities.
With your support, of course. and kind encouragement.
And hard work - good old hard work.
And Luck. Everything needs good old hard luck.
Wish me some!
After-note
After articulating the summary of the project. I'm underwhelmed by it. And feel that the rough idea or gist is stupid sounding. I am going to wallow around in a pool of wavering self-confidence and try to conclude that alice in wonderland also has a stupid gist of a story. Even better, that all gists of stories are stupid. sigh.
Who? me?
Recently, I'm "Lee Ju-Lyn (who) writes about how the imagination transforms reality. She is influenced by surrealism, existentialism, and Eastern philosophies. Her quirky and humourous style were likened to those of Murakami Haruki, Tim Burton, and Edward Lear. At present, her favourite writers are Milan Kundera and Akutagawa Ryunosuke."
I formally work in (i.e. receive CPF from) a corner of the public service, which I like being a part of for the idea of "serving the people (老百姓)" and from which I constantly day-dream about quitting to have more time to write more and better stories (I'd recently wonder if this might be a better way for me to serve the people).
So it's great, both in terms of receiving recognition of my potential (there must have been some serious literary people who saw the potential in my proposal), having been largely a self-taught fiction writer, and the opportunity to write something for the people. In that, being both a NAC grant recipient and public servant, I know that this is public service and I need to give it my best shot.
Now that i've committed myself, I must then try to forget the crushing sense of responsibility, other than holding onto the conclusion "i've gotta give it my best shot". Otherwise, I'd be paralysed by the sense of responsibility and fear of failure.
So, who am I? I am a person who has been given the much appreciated opportunity to write something.
Write what? The Millie Project?
That's my working title for now. I have a few titles.
It is a novella. About a girl, or woman, named Millie. Millie dreams, lucidly; as in, she is conscious in her dreams. And she got to know a guy, tentatively named Kwang Boon, or KB for short. Or rather, KB got to meet M. And she tells him about her dreams. And he writes the book, about her and her dreams.
I know my summary doesn't sound sexy. yet. It will, i think. When it comes to the point in time to make the summary sound sexy, I will worry about it. But now I have bigger things to worry about.
When? Jul 10?
I pitched the proposal in around Mar 10 (NAC submission deadline). The news came in around Jul 10, that I got it. Felt a bit blur for a while. Dunno what to do for a while. Got the contract, signed it, okay. Better start studying for a while. And have been studying since.
I only have about 1 year to complete the manuscript, including editing. So, it's really only about half a year. Can't start thinking about the time-line now i'd go crazy.
Where? on the blog?
I wanted to start blogging (it's really a blog blog) about this to update the people who want to be updated, and I want to develop ideas.
I'd be writing less regularly on meekfreak (so as to shore up the ideas - putting a dam and having a reservoir of ideas) - and in a way, blogging about Millie Project will be assuring my regular readers and supporters - whom are more commonly subscribing through facebook and readers - that I've not let go of myself. And I've taken my appreciation of your support and encouragement and I'm working hard.
As to where is my story? It's in my head. The big ideas, and the small ideas. I won't put up drafts on the net. But maybe some research questions and general progression. For now. See how.
Permit me to digress - Sometimes i realise, it takes me 1 hour to write a story, and then maybe half a day if i want to explain my story. Sometimes the idea of the story is best understood as a story, and not explained - if it could have been communicated better by explaining, then people shld be reading the explanation more than the story. It's perplexing. It's like, I can describe how to I char kway teow-ed, but never can my description replace the char kway teow itself - and you trying to understand my char kway teow vs understanding my description of a char kway teow are entirely different processes of understanding char kway teow altogether. my focus and priority should always remain on the char kway teow. So that even if you aren't a expert food taster, you can discern that it's good. If not good, then i'd have failed.
The story is set in Singapore. Because unlike my earlier (prior to 2008) works, I'm more ready to admit that I'm writing from my perspective. Of course, the grand hope is for the story to be universal. It's not written for a tourist, but can be understood by one. It's not a documentary. It's just a story (refer to Elif Shafak). I agree largely with what Elif Shafak articulated about setting, so I shan't spend time repeating or explaining how i've adapted it.
I concluded that I'm writing this story for my friends and their friends. Maybe this conclusion should be under the "Who?" and "why?". But nevermind la.
Why? Why write this novella?
So why write this novella? I should have an idea in my head why this story, but it's not firmed up. can't discuss it for now. until i'm more confident of it.
If this is too dismissive, there's a bit of "why" under the "who" section. I beg your pardon.
How?
I don't know how yet. Must study hard. And write hard. work hard.
Maybe I'm going to coup myself up - like a hermit - retreat into my own mind - try not to go crazy - then come up with something. That's what I'm thinking of, tentatively. difficult to juggle committments. priorities.
With your support, of course. and kind encouragement.
And hard work - good old hard work.
And Luck. Everything needs good old hard luck.
Wish me some!
After-note
After articulating the summary of the project. I'm underwhelmed by it. And feel that the rough idea or gist is stupid sounding. I am going to wallow around in a pool of wavering self-confidence and try to conclude that alice in wonderland also has a stupid gist of a story. Even better, that all gists of stories are stupid. sigh.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Dear you 2 (Why I'm writing less frequently)
Dear you,
I wrote "Dear you" in 2008. It was put into my "All the people imagine" (API), my self-published labour of love.
In API (which is what how I refer to the book in my journals), I quoted a Lin Yutang, from his book "The importance of living". His "The importance of living" (i have no short form for it though) is , in my opinion, is one of the most important books ever written, though i'm not really a serious authority on such things.
Yes, I mean I'm a non-serious authority, or in other words, a casual authority.
As you are too. We're all casual authorities in anything we want to be casual authorities in. You might think that it's an oxymoron, since authorities are usually serious. But my favourite dictionary, authority can be defined as "an accepted source of expert information or advice". By the same reasoning we accept the mother or father, or older person, as authority, we can all be authorities.
I digress.
I digress perhaps because I haven't been writing to you in a long time.
You being my audience. My anonymous reader. Anonymous because, even if I know you as a friend, I don't know you as a reader. My writing and stories express my one-sided love as a writer, never knowing if it will be returned by your attention.
I am worried of losing your attention. I haven't been publishing stories less frequently and I worry that you may think that I'm losing interest in you and you will lose interest in me. I'm so worried that I felt like I had to write this something to explain why I haven't been writing.
Actually, I'm just moving away from my previous model of writing - I used to write sketches, spontaneously, not really caring if you would understand my randomness, relishing my inside jokes. My flash fictions of 2008 were like stick figures of writing. Sparse. Abstract. I wrote stories that were like the paintings I were inspired by.
Then I realised one thing. I'm not painting. I'm writing. And it's not enough to paint a picture with words, when I can do so much more with stories. And in chosing to write, there is so much more to do. So much more to learn and improve.
So I spend more time studying to better improve my craft and writing. I'm moving back to basics, going back to school. Besides learning shading and still life, there's all those things that can't be described because they're beyond the extension of the painting simile.
And I dedicate this effort to you. So that I can write better, and in doing so so, treat your time, that you spend reading my work, with more respect. In doing so, hoping to improve my chances of my one-sided love being returned by your attention. (I'd say affection, but I dare not.)
If you'd notice, my recent pieces are more constructed, it has cause and effect, it has more structure. I'm not saying that I won't go back to the abstract, but if I do, I want to do so with purpose. (Or with purpose to be without purpose, you know.)
So, please bear with me. I'm working hard and trying to work harder.
Yours Sincerely,
Me.
I wrote "Dear you" in 2008. It was put into my "All the people imagine" (API), my self-published labour of love.
In API (which is what how I refer to the book in my journals), I quoted a Lin Yutang, from his book "The importance of living". His "The importance of living" (i have no short form for it though) is , in my opinion, is one of the most important books ever written, though i'm not really a serious authority on such things.
Yes, I mean I'm a non-serious authority, or in other words, a casual authority.
As you are too. We're all casual authorities in anything we want to be casual authorities in. You might think that it's an oxymoron, since authorities are usually serious. But my favourite dictionary, authority can be defined as "an accepted source of expert information or advice". By the same reasoning we accept the mother or father, or older person, as authority, we can all be authorities.
I digress.
I digress perhaps because I haven't been writing to you in a long time.
You being my audience. My anonymous reader. Anonymous because, even if I know you as a friend, I don't know you as a reader. My writing and stories express my one-sided love as a writer, never knowing if it will be returned by your attention.
I am worried of losing your attention. I haven't been publishing stories less frequently and I worry that you may think that I'm losing interest in you and you will lose interest in me. I'm so worried that I felt like I had to write this something to explain why I haven't been writing.
Actually, I'm just moving away from my previous model of writing - I used to write sketches, spontaneously, not really caring if you would understand my randomness, relishing my inside jokes. My flash fictions of 2008 were like stick figures of writing. Sparse. Abstract. I wrote stories that were like the paintings I were inspired by.
Then I realised one thing. I'm not painting. I'm writing. And it's not enough to paint a picture with words, when I can do so much more with stories. And in chosing to write, there is so much more to do. So much more to learn and improve.
So I spend more time studying to better improve my craft and writing. I'm moving back to basics, going back to school. Besides learning shading and still life, there's all those things that can't be described because they're beyond the extension of the painting simile.
And I dedicate this effort to you. So that I can write better, and in doing so so, treat your time, that you spend reading my work, with more respect. In doing so, hoping to improve my chances of my one-sided love being returned by your attention. (I'd say affection, but I dare not.)
If you'd notice, my recent pieces are more constructed, it has cause and effect, it has more structure. I'm not saying that I won't go back to the abstract, but if I do, I want to do so with purpose. (Or with purpose to be without purpose, you know.)
So, please bear with me. I'm working hard and trying to work harder.
"There is a period of gestation of ideas before writing, like the period of gestation of an embryo in its mother's womb before birth. When one's favourite author has kindled the spark in one's soul, and set up a current of live ideas in him, that is the 'impregnation'. When a man rushes into print before his ideas go through this period of gestation, that is diarrhoea, mistaken for birth pains. When a writer sells his conscience and writes things against his convictions, that is artificial abortion, and the embryo is always stillborn. When a writer feels violent convulsions like an electric storm in his head, and he doesn't feel happy until he gets the ideas out of his system and puts them down on paper and feels an immense relief, that is literary birth. Hence a writer feels a maternal affection toward his literary product as a mother feels towards her baby."
Yours Sincerely,
Me.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Been reading...
Been reading a hell lot of books man. By my standard.
And i like the way that through reading, writing styles wld osmosis into my head. Lately, due to the exigencies of work, i wld type wld as wld.
Anyway, for example, in the Little Red Riding Hood story and the Wood-block... I found that I could train to narrate in a way that the dialogue would give way and lapse into what the characters were thinking, and then slip into their stream of consciousness. It's not about the content, or the technique. I think it's about the rhythm, the tempo. I attribute it to Milan Kundera's books/style. Read 2 of his books in the past month or so, of which, I enjoyed Unbearable lightness of more.
Not saying that i've perfected the technique, but to realise that that's one way i learn.
Hm
it's been a long weekend - actually i haven't gotten much reading or writing done and today is the last day (national day) - the day of - i dunno, the day to salvage the situation - but it's so easy to forget and just read manga for the past 2 days, and to go shopping. I wonder how reading manga has influenced my writing style - maybe that's why i have simplified plots and happy endings? Maybe i don't have happy endings...
I have some exciting news that I want to share, but haven't gotten the permission to. I should work on that.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Would Write - Closet writing
In terms of writing, i have recently promoted myself. I was filling up a form for something and they asked me for my occupation - I've always had a problem with that 'blank'- because what i did at some organisation and paid me money and CPF was not entirely my occupation.
Occupation is defined as
Recently, as I was filling out a form that asked for my personal particulars, and in that "occupation" blank, i just filled in that I'm a "writer and HR exec", the latter of which is what i do for my day job. In other words, my occupation as defined by 1a is "HR exec"; my occupation as defined by 1b to 3b, literally or figuratively, is writing.
In this way, i have promoted myself because I never referred to myself as a writer before. And some time after i filled the form, which I did without much thought or decision making, i realised that I had presumptiously referred to myself as a writer - and through that, I became one.
It's a promotion from my previous title - I was a "closet writer".
Speaking of closet writers, there's the story "Would Write" about one.
"Would write" is a morbid tale, even by my standards. I can't remember what came over me, but I recalled one documentary (or maybe it was reading about it online) about a cleaning company in America which specialised in cleaning up after dead bodies and the mess they made. Apparently, the body entirely disintegrates, given the right humidity and temperature, even the bones and stuff. (And so, dead bodies would stain beds and carpets, which had to be properly cleaned before it could be chucked.)
The part on the blue skies - well, that's a sentiment i really felt when I was writing underneath a blue sky one day - about more than one year ago. It was a "life is beautiful" kind of experience.
Re-reading the story, I think I could have done better in distinguishing the voice of the narrator and the character.
Occupation is defined as
1.a. An activity that serves as one's regular source of livelihood; a vocation.b. An activity engaged in especially as a means of passing time; an avocation.2.a. The act or process of holding or possessing a place.b. The state of being held or possessed.3.a. Invasion, conquest, and control of a nation or territory by foreign armed forces.b. The military government exercising control over an occupied nation or territory.
While being an HR exec is 1a. it doesn't fulfil my 1b. it also doesn't possess my being nor my heart and does not exercise, or i refuse to let it exercise, control over me.
Recently, as I was filling out a form that asked for my personal particulars, and in that "occupation" blank, i just filled in that I'm a "writer and HR exec", the latter of which is what i do for my day job. In other words, my occupation as defined by 1a is "HR exec"; my occupation as defined by 1b to 3b, literally or figuratively, is writing.
In this way, i have promoted myself because I never referred to myself as a writer before. And some time after i filled the form, which I did without much thought or decision making, i realised that I had presumptiously referred to myself as a writer - and through that, I became one.
It's a promotion from my previous title - I was a "closet writer".
Speaking of closet writers, there's the story "Would Write" about one.
"Would write" is a morbid tale, even by my standards. I can't remember what came over me, but I recalled one documentary (or maybe it was reading about it online) about a cleaning company in America which specialised in cleaning up after dead bodies and the mess they made. Apparently, the body entirely disintegrates, given the right humidity and temperature, even the bones and stuff. (And so, dead bodies would stain beds and carpets, which had to be properly cleaned before it could be chucked.)
The part on the blue skies - well, that's a sentiment i really felt when I was writing underneath a blue sky one day - about more than one year ago. It was a "life is beautiful" kind of experience.
Re-reading the story, I think I could have done better in distinguishing the voice of the narrator and the character.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Merlion - Of a lion and a siren
Of a lion and a siren - the first story I wrote in a long, dry spell.
Kinda glad that it received encouraging response on facebook.
I don't know why I felt compelled to write a story about a merlion - actually, i was compelled to write a series of stories about merlions and mertigers. Sometimes, story ideas just come to me, to make me feel guilty that I haven't been writing enough/fast enough... or worse, project ideas - a series of mer-things stories. gee. How to have enough arapaimas to go around?
I wrote this story over 2 days. The first draft, on the Friday evening, in a sleepy stupor. I got bored by the predictable plot towards the end - I knew it was going to be about merlions all along - and that's why part II's tone turned dramatically into quirkier, reckless-er. On day 2, I polished up the stories here and there, and decided to cut it into 2 parts - for it's length, and tonal change.
This story, in turn, made me think about how I prefer to write. I used to be a lot more random and abstract - not bothering to paint the picture or set for my readers - thinking that i didn't care if they had the same/similar idea as mine as I intended. Recently (in the past year), I've researched more about writing, and read more (like 2 more books), and i must conclude that, as a reader, I prefer the more descriptive style of Vonnegut or Akutagawa over the mystical Murakami and avante-garde-to-the-point-I-don't-really-know-what-he's-talking-about Andre Breton (Nadja).
So, should I write with more consideration and kindness to the reader? But my random disregard for details creates fireworks in underpants of spiffy magistrates which amuses me too intensely to care what anyone else thinks.
I am afraid that the unfortunate answer for my dilemma is a predictable need to balance both concerns - to draft when I'm daft drunk, and edit when I'm sobbingly sober.
Anyway, the below featured are araipaimas and I am a great fan of all monster fish.
Kinda glad that it received encouraging response on facebook.
I don't know why I felt compelled to write a story about a merlion - actually, i was compelled to write a series of stories about merlions and mertigers. Sometimes, story ideas just come to me, to make me feel guilty that I haven't been writing enough/fast enough... or worse, project ideas - a series of mer-things stories. gee. How to have enough arapaimas to go around?
I wrote this story over 2 days. The first draft, on the Friday evening, in a sleepy stupor. I got bored by the predictable plot towards the end - I knew it was going to be about merlions all along - and that's why part II's tone turned dramatically into quirkier, reckless-er. On day 2, I polished up the stories here and there, and decided to cut it into 2 parts - for it's length, and tonal change.
This story, in turn, made me think about how I prefer to write. I used to be a lot more random and abstract - not bothering to paint the picture or set for my readers - thinking that i didn't care if they had the same/similar idea as mine as I intended. Recently (in the past year), I've researched more about writing, and read more (like 2 more books), and i must conclude that, as a reader, I prefer the more descriptive style of Vonnegut or Akutagawa over the mystical Murakami and avante-garde-to-the-point-I-don't-really-know-what-he's-talking-about Andre Breton (Nadja).
So, should I write with more consideration and kindness to the reader? But my random disregard for details creates fireworks in underpants of spiffy magistrates which amuses me too intensely to care what anyone else thinks.
I am afraid that the unfortunate answer for my dilemma is a predictable need to balance both concerns - to draft when I'm daft drunk, and edit when I'm sobbingly sober.
Anyway, the below featured are araipaimas and I am a great fan of all monster fish.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
I miss surprising you
I miss the time I had time to write so much that I could keep up with 3 blogs, that I had time to wonder if I was writing too much, that I had time to choose the words I want to use, that I had time to use less words, that I had time to learn new words, or read new things to write about, or learn better grammar, or come up with new ways to describe the moon.
I miss surprising you.
I miss surprising you.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Purple Land of Golden Oats
Purple Land of Golden Oats is based on this portrait/drawing thing my friend, Beatrice, got for me from India.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
It's been a while - Lenny's video
Happy new year. It's been a while. Seems like the posts i put up here has been about how it's been a while.
How's your first week of work? Mine is nicely wrapped up with my first story of 2010. A sadistic whack of a story - Lenny's Video
The hand-drill story was inspired by my recent search for a hand-drill. I remember when I was young, there were the convenient traditional types of hand-drills that worked like an egg-beater. Nowadays, i don't see anyone using that already. They use the powered by electricity one. Borsh has one that's powered by batteries.
The Lenny story was set up so that it seemed like he was filming something for a dating/match-making video. But it has a sadistic twist. He killed himself because he was sorry he raped his beloved, jenny, who could be his elder sister - Jenny and Lenny. Didn't want to be explicit about it, but to leave those in between the lines. Should I be more obvious and leave more clues?
That should be my goal for writing this coming year. I always writer riddles in the stories, but i never leave enough clues. This year, i'd be trying to weave in more clues. I'm also weaving in more details about the Singaporean setting - like in this case, reference to NTU and what not. Still, i suppose my stories are set with a very surreal note in general.
How's your first week of work? Mine is nicely wrapped up with my first story of 2010. A sadistic whack of a story - Lenny's Video
The hand-drill story was inspired by my recent search for a hand-drill. I remember when I was young, there were the convenient traditional types of hand-drills that worked like an egg-beater. Nowadays, i don't see anyone using that already. They use the powered by electricity one. Borsh has one that's powered by batteries.
The Lenny story was set up so that it seemed like he was filming something for a dating/match-making video. But it has a sadistic twist. He killed himself because he was sorry he raped his beloved, jenny, who could be his elder sister - Jenny and Lenny. Didn't want to be explicit about it, but to leave those in between the lines. Should I be more obvious and leave more clues?
That should be my goal for writing this coming year. I always writer riddles in the stories, but i never leave enough clues. This year, i'd be trying to weave in more clues. I'm also weaving in more details about the Singaporean setting - like in this case, reference to NTU and what not. Still, i suppose my stories are set with a very surreal note in general.
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