Thoughts from a Penniless Writer in a World Dependent on Words

Ever since I can remember, stories and/or the way they are told have always enticed me. Then I found out I could do it too. Whether through writing a report, a reflection paper, or my own fictional or autobiographical narrative—I could share my own ideas with the world (or at least significant people within my circle of acquaintances). Somehow my ideas also became clearer through writing. Instead of being longer voiceless citizens of my mind, my thoughts were now something tangible. My words became an art form that could affect what others thought, said, or did. And affecting others in such a way is precisely what I believe makes for, not only a gifted writer or and influential person, but moreover a successful creative entrepreneur.

For how can anyone hope to enter into a business—and a successful one at that—without the skill and ingenuity to influence others? Influence, I believe plays a key role in any thriving enterprise. And what could be a more powerful vehicle for influence, than words? Sometimes even I forget the power of writing. But when I read or watch stories unfold before me and feel my heart tugged or my opinions changed, I am at awe to think that something as seemingly ordinary as writing is behind it all. 

Part of my work involves writing. A great part of it is dependent on it.  Indeed this skill or dare I say, talent of mine has allowed me to make a living. But I feel my passion is far greater than what I already do at work. I know I can definitely earn more to pay the bills with my life’s passion. I want to be able to write short films that make people think and feel. I want to affect others with my words, the way I have been affected by others’ words. I want to pursue my passion. In the industry I’m in, writing is certainly valued. And as I’ve said, I have used writing to earn. I can write articles, copies and scripts to earn extra on the side too. While I’d like to think my work does influence others in a small way, I know I am still far off from my goals. I guess I’m still looking for an answer as to how I can mightily use the gift of the pen to earn more. 

I know I’m not alone in this though. I’m sure there’s a whole hoard of talented writers out there, waiting to be discovered or even just be able to pay the bills to make it through a world dependent on words.

Chasing Lights

He looks at me with those round brown eyes so full of hope. I feel guilty for denying him what I promised. Maybe I spoke too soon, because I didn't think he would believe me so fully. Maybe it's just his nature to trust my word like that. I shouldn't have made such a rash promise. 

He stares at me now, large eyes asking. But they hold no betrayal in them. Only hope. Because I gave it to him. He would have been happy without it. Still those three words I told him a moment ago had so much promise in them. A promise I could not now fulfill.

"I'm sorry," I say. "But but the flashlight isn't working".

(An old entry I was never able to publish on my dog, Argo and his fascination with chasing beams of light. Every time we said "Chase the light", Argo's head would perk up, he would smack his lips and barely be able to stand still while we fetched the flashlight or laser pointer for his favorite game. )

Now I'll never be able to play "Chase the Light" with him again :(

Geekhood and Spidermania

the geekside of me

 So I've been getting in touch with my geeky side yet again lately. Which isn't really a hard thing to do. I know many of my friends will agree I wear my geek side on my sleeve. Besides, what with The Amazing Spiderman coming out and me really needing a vent/respite lately, I guess it was only to be expected. So in my geekhood I discovered this really old script of Spiderman written by James Cameron. Apparently a draft that never fully ran, though if you look really closely (I, in my geekhood, did of course), you'll notice some elements incorporated into the movies that did come out. (Below's the script if you want to read it, I won't hog it. But read it later after you finish reading this entry haha.)

Speaking of movies... 

I miss Tobey but Andrew isn't bad as Spidey :)

Pinoy version? Manuel Quezon: Aswang Killer  

I saw The Amazing Spiderman on the Sunday before last (really good weekend followed by a really hellish week...not that you need to know). Then I saw Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter the Wednesday after, with a friend because I really wanted to watch a movie, despite being broke. (Shoutout to that friend, if she's reading this...thanks for coming when I texted the sad face) The former was a nice rendition of the material, I think (just this geek's opinion, you don't have to agree).  Not completely mind blowing, and I am still sentimental about the 2002 version with Tobey Maguire. But I wasn't disappointed or anything. And though I've yet to read the book, the latter movie was good too. Cool, fast-paced enough and certainly interesting. Not completely unpredictable (we all know how Lincoln died after all, right?) but definitely a fun ride. I don't scare easy but there were definitely those frightening (or gulat) moments. But let's save the full length reviews for later. You probably know how I like to get into them when I do. (If you don't, then welcome to this blog :))

Back to Spidermania

So as I've more or less seen or read three versions of the Spiderman movie, here are just some of my thoughts. Not many of my friends know this, but Spiderman has always actually been my favorite superhero. I wouldn't call myself a Spiderman geek just yet, but am definitely a fan of the Webhead. I'm not sure why, actually. I guess, Spidey has just always been a relatable character. I'd watch the cartoon as a kid (seeing it re-run on TV, I can really see how far we've come with animation...well that was a nice way of putting it. I'm sure you know what I mean). Even there Spiderman was always able to just talk to anybody like a normal person and still be Spiderman. I remember one episode where he hung out with a little girl and made a swing out of web in her room. I wanted to be that little girl (yes, I know Spiderman's not real!).

Anyway, that's the Spiderman I knew and grew up with. He was just so cavalier, underneath that tough exterior, you knew he was human. In the movies of Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield (or should I say Sam Raimi and Marc Webb, if we're gonna go by directors), both portrayals of Spiderman were definitely character-driven. (That character being indeed very human.) But reading James Cameron's 1993 script, we can see how superhero movies have evolved, as this one was more plot-driven. Nevermind Peter's relationship with Uncle Ben etc...he just becomes Spiderman like in the comic book. Meaning no disrespect to James Cameron, I'm kinda glad this wasn't the movie that aired (or hit the cinemas, rather...sorry, TV mode). It does have some nice elements...but it's just...so 90s!

Not that there's anything wrong with 90s movies. In some ways, I believe the 90s was part of a golden era of movies. They definitely had the best chick flicks back then. But superhero movies were totally different. They were well, comical. They were more theatrical. They had typical villains with stupid goon sidekicks and instant superheroes. No realistic, relatable backdrop.

The new Batman movies definitely blew things out of the park. But Batman's dark backdrop does permit that much angst to go into it. Spiderman is different. While I do believe movies (yes, even superhero movies) taste better when they are character driven, there are different ways to do this. So what am I driving at? Well simply that despite everything, I'm not disappointed with the Spidey portrayals thus far. (Ok except maybe that part in Spiderman 3 where he becomes "bad" and starts dancing in the street. Seriously, what was that?!) But as a fan I definitely think character driven is the way to go, which wasn't so much seen in the James Cameron script. Or at least character development only came out later when Peter Parker was a fully developed Spiderman and not just a boy trying to do the right thing. So, sorry James Cameron, but I am really relieved the Spiderman movies came out after the 90s.

But that's just what I think. You may have a different opinion and you're entitled to it. But I think it's safe to say superhero movies are changing or at least they must as the world continues to explore its inner geek. Because geekhood isn't just about cool special effects. This era's seen enough of that. We've got the tools. Which is great for this generation but substance and content shouldn't be lost to that. So here's to hoping for more witty scripts. Please, world, let's not become dumb here.

And here's James Cameron's Spidey script.
http://www.dailyscript.com/scripts/spider_man_cohen_newson_cameron_8_4_93draft.html


Also, read my full on movie reviews soon...I'll be editing this blog and my Geekhood will definitely have a page for my lengthy, full on reviews. If you haven't seen the movies yet, don't worry, I will alert you of spoilers from a mile away (because I write mile-long blogs like that! haha seriously not kidding). Hope you guys can bear with my long writing style but I promise to make them as worth the while as I can. That's all for this entry, goodbye for the present and enjoy the script ;) I know I did.

Nails and Nothings

There was a chip of nail polish missing from the tip of my right hand’s pointer earlier this evening. With CSI-like vision, I noticed it while waiting for the show I was watching to come back on. I was surprised to be surprised at finally finding a chink in the armor of my perfectly manicured nails.
I’d been looking for it since I first got them painted. But no, this isn’t the first time I’ve had my nails done. After some time of going without a manicure and (proper) nail biting, my nails we’re beginning to feel like an unwashed pair of socks. Then I finally got the chance to have one. The best part was I didn’t spend for it and I got a foot massage to boot! After quite a long week and a long day, I finally collapsed on to my bed, Sunday night, still half worried my nails would smudge or smear.
Despite my fears, exhaustion soon had me in the vice grip of sleep. I thus proceeded to dream about my nails. They had gotten all smudged and chipped. I liked the color so much however, that I was still showing them off to some people. It’s a bit hazy now, but the most clear person I remember in the dream is my four year old cousin. Weird huh?

But despite my “nightmare” I woke up the next day with still perfect nails. You can imagine I was quite pleased. However over the next few days I developed a certain obsession with keeping them in check. Their color is somewhere between lavender and pink. A lighter magenta, maybe. I checked at Watson’s a while ago and saw they had a bottled of what looked like the same color. It was called Cashmere. I came out of Watson’s without it.

I don’t know what it is: why I’m so OC about my nails, particularly now. Maybe it’s because at the parlor everyone said it was a good color. I agreed it was. Also, aside from my family and those who were with me at the parlor (my mom, my aunt, two church mates and our American guest), no one has seen my newly manicured nails and it would seem a bit of a shame for them to crack and chip without me having properly shown them off.

Yet, even if I could have, I did not buy my own bottle of the same nail polish because I’m on a rather tight budget. Hence, I decided not to get something to fill in the gaps because there were none at the time anyway. But now I’ve found two gaps: the one on my pointer and a new one on my right thumb. I figured I must have gotten them while peeling a hardboiled egg. The egg, coincidentally was not thoroughly boiled and so still had runny yolk. I was pretty annoyed. I was even more so pissed when I realized I had sacrificed bits of my nails.

My nails are the part of my body I see most often. They are right in my face when I type, write or draw and even when I do chores. I do a lot with my hands. For as long as I remember, I’ve been rather obsessive with them. When I was four years old, I caught my mom nibbling hers. I decided to try it and hadn’t been able to stop until I was 21. That was when I decided I wanted pretty girl nails that I could paint. So for weeks I watched them grow without biting them as much as I could. It got easier as they got longer and thicker. That was really a job for the nail cutter.
So far I’ve tried a boring old rose color, purple, metallic white, blue and brown with French tips. I haven’t had that many manicures. In fact I started with applying my own polish. But a manicure always feels better. They seem to sand, scrub and pick at all those parts you can’t get. I’ll admit it feels a bit painful and raw. But there’s nothing like the feeling of having nice nails.

It’s a shallow, silly, vain thing. But I really can’t stand something out of place with my nails. Not sure why: maybe it's because their a part of my very important appendages: my fingers. Maybe it's because I can see them and do whatever I want with them. Whatever the reason is, all I know is I get this urge to bite them when if they don't look right. Rrrrr…

Corner of a Page

I lost my pen. Literally and figuratively. I know that isn't exactly an idiomatic expression, but if you knew me and what kind of writer I am, or what makes me tick as a writer, then you'd know what I meant. But for the benefit of both you as a reader and me as writer I am of course going to explain what I mean by that phrase. Otherwise, there'd hardly be any point in me writing this entry if I kept my thoughts to myself, now would there? But there I go again, rambling (if you can ramble on paper). Though this is next to freewriting---which is writing, no holds barred, the next sentence that pops into your head---still, I always love to put some kind of form, some kind of story and a definite point to my writings. Now that tells you a bit of the kind of writer that I am, now doesn't it? Yes I love a definite point, but I also like the words to flow freely where I can see them and scrutinize them and poke them with my pen and squeeze them out 'til all meaning I can and want to derive is made clear. That is why I need my pen. It's not that I'm a picky writer. If there was anything my college days taught me it was certainly resourcefulness and on the spot creativity. And that applied to almost everything. It wasn't just production for me. No, I could write on a napkin, a scrap piece of paper and I could still squeeze out a good enough line or spiel that sounded professional enough. Though for the most part I do like clean paper with lines as much as possible, and the type of music I like playing in my ears undisturbed. But I could just as easily do with out those writer's rituals as well. I learned to be flexible, having been dubbed a sort of go-to writing machine when I was in school. And so in my relationship with writing I had little demands. One thing I hated though was a dry pen. Something that wouldn't flow right. Since I always want my print to look as permanent as possible, I chose sign pens as my main medium for writing, unless I was on the computer of course. But still then, I would need a nice keyboard and a good clear font to get the juices flowing so to speak. Because I just want everything to flow truthfully without having to be bothered by typo errors, runny or dry ink.

It's not that I don't have good pens in my case right now. I have a colorful array of sign pens I could use. But I'm not gonna lie, colorful pens are a novelty and they don't come cheap. If I use them for good old fashioned writing too much I feel like I'm holding something too delicate and don't want to run out too soon. I need a space where I can spill freely too. The internet is too exposed, even this blog is. And a word document is boring and easy to lose or vulnerable to exposure too easily. At least here anyway.

I feel like Pippin. And no, I don't mean the hobbit in LOTR, even if I am a self-confessed LOTR geek. I'm talking about Pippin the prince of Pippin the Broadway musical (ha! how's that for cultural? and on another note, where is the CD of that we used to play at home?). I feel like I need to find a corner of the sky (note references to the song, here's where Broadway comes in), or a corner of a page, where I can write freely just everything. Words, stories, things connected in my mind that would make me make sense to me and the world around me. I need direction. And I need a pen to point me in the right one.

My Relationship with Writing: It's Complicated

It's a common sickness. I seem to be suffering from writer's blog again. The causes are as elusive as the words I need to put on paper. We could always of course revert to the typical modern day excuse: stress. Yes I have been stressed. Work is well, more than a bit heavy. Inspiration-wise: well being tired has prevented my mind from being cognitive and or creative at this point. Again it all goes back to stress.

So what am I doing here you ask? Writing if I've got a block. How then am I able to do this? Well, honestly I've tried. Several entries left unposted were already written between this piece and the last entry you see. SO I guess in a sense I am trying to push and test myself whether this will be the one to follow through. I really had wanted to continue the "the"anthologies and make it a habit. But as plans go life gets in the way. So here I am trying to get rid of the block by just writing.

My brother asks what's so great about writing. Speaking is better.But words aren't art unless they are captured. And you can't speak without first writing them, either in your head or on paper. If you don't they can come out wrong and sometimes, to the extremes, even ruin lives.

I am going against tradition here though. In accomplishing this entry I am not actually following what the doctor's prescribe for writer's block. Like an old sore I am supposed to "walk it off" meaning don't go to the Waterloo while it remains a point of weakness. I have not come ill equipped, though. I am listening to music I like. And have just refreshed my tired mind with a browse through Shakespeare's sonnets. However another remedy I did not take was to instead of gather strength from my Writer's Creed (my promise to myself that I will not relinquish my sword in writing and why), I am trying to prove to myself that there are some worthy words in me. And am simultaneously trying to explain what writing does for me, how it affects my life and vise versa. Also in describing writing and its effects, I am telling you and myself what writing is to me or at least what it does in my life.

So here's what I discovered: writing and I have had a long arduous relationship. It has certainly been more than a fling or even a trifling affair but a longstanding relationship. At some points it was a love/hate relationship (like it is again now). It is also, more often than not, complicated. But you see what it does for me is provides me with history. Someone once said to become immortal or live on beyond our years you could do three things: have children, plant a tree, or write something. In a way that's how it is for me with writing, even though I am not yet dead. But moments, days, phases of my life get to live on longer because of writing. It's not just a world to explore and express myself, but it is continually leaving my fingerprints, my story, me imprinted somewhere. Recording feelings more vivid than any conversations, photos or videos can capture. Without it, I fade. I forget and am pretty much left dry, redundant and lost. In recording my biggest dreams I can live them or move on. In recording my deepest hurts I can learn from them and also move on. It's not dwelling or holding on to the past. It is more profoundly living in the present. Because everything we are and were and are because of what we were can be captured in a single journal entry or poem. That is the gift of writing. Even simply recording something of note and value to us is a gift and another little element that says we are made in the image of God. It's another big step between the world of difference between us and creatures without souls.

Entry Four in the Anthology of "The's": Crowd Tides at the Station

The train screeched by the narrow ledge of platform where ozens upon dozens of people waited anxiously to get in. Holding on to and with everything I had i waited for the tide of people to push. I was too far back in the crowd (no linger just a line) to get tugged by the udertoe just yet. So I waited impatiently for the sea of people before me to disperse and fill the train. It was too much to hope to get in, though I was already late, but at least if this crowd lessened I could get in on the train. I really felt the urge to push when the next train came in though. I wasn't technically late, in fact at this rate I was early. But my officemates and I had made a deal that whoever came in past our agreed call time would have to treat us out to dessert or something. My only chance was if they came late too, in which case the last two to arrive would be the ones to provide the treats. But since there were only three of us in on it, things were not looking up. By the second--or was it third?--train I has been swept by the crowd to the near front. I was definitely gonna get in. But a trampling was also possible. Around five minutes later I found myself, barely breathing with my sleeves half off my shoulder, wedged between arms, and elbows. I just hope I made it in time. Squeezing out the train after another five long minutes or so I rushed to the FX stop. The train ride had taken my energy and as I sat exhausted on the back seat of the FX I felt my phone beep. Too tired to check I resigned myself to my fate. But as I arrived at the office I found there was some good news: we were all late. So I got a free pie today but I would also pay for meal drinks tomorrow. Life's an empty train on rush hour, you never know what you're gonna get.