[I thought I'd posted this last week, but just found out I'd just saved it as a draft. But it records things important to me, so I'm posting it again, anyway.]
Yesterday was a good day. The little one woke up at 6 am, and we decided to walk around the place we live and go bird-watching. I had the energy to make a good breakfast and run at the gym, then finish yesterday's homework (long, and I prepared myself to report something in front of the class), and attend a good class (poetics).
Poetics is so interesting. We're reading different writers' writings on writing and I am so happy to read about them asking the same questions I have about writing, and coming up with answers that help me move along in thought and on the page. They also help me identify which writing I really want to do, and clarify why I want to do that.
I prepared a report on an excerpt from Annie Dillard's Living by Fiction--one where she asserts that fiction "interprets" the world by presenting itself as an object of interpretation, rather than a vehicle for the (direct?) revelation of insight; and where she states her own aesthetics regarding fiction--it's good fiction when there are not less than two layers to a story (she doesn't say this; I am paraphrasing rather clumsily)--the surface, and the author's interpretation of the world, which the reader is intended to come to by the end of the reading (meaning, this interpretation is perfectly concealed and yet utterly convincing, without the reader knowing that she has been led to conclude about the world what the author has previously concluded). To ensure that the reader does not get fixated on the 'beautiful surface' of the work, the author must have sufficient expressive power (a "tension of tone") that incites the reader to examine where the tension (rather than ease) in expression is coming from. I liken this to the power of love--haha--and this perceived congruence between love and the expressive power of which she speaks makes writing fiction a more attractive challenge to me.
She also distinguishes between fiction and lyric poetry, in that the latter's content is often unfabricated (she says) and lyric poetry is a vehicle for the revelation of insight (after reading the text, you are led to insight). But I wonder whether this is a false distinction she makes between lyric poetry and fiction. I don't agree that the content of lyric poetry is real life, even if she prefaces her statements to this effect with the word "often". Isn't everything already an interpretation, so that the content of which one speaks in lyric poetry is already mediated and transformed by us when we transform it into language?
And I don't know that lyric poetry can't also have the two-levels of meaning that good fiction, according to Dillard has; or that lyric poetry is a moment, rather than a created world (as fiction is, she says). I recall reading certain poems required by a certain teacher, and feeling that whenever I read one of these poems, I had fallen into her world (a kind of viewing the world and feelings about that world/view). Poetry creates worlds, too. Not with the versimilitude of classic modern fiction, but the expressive power of a poet makes real a world of moment and feeling.
Sorry for my fuzzy thinking. Sorry for my engrrish.
Yesterday, too, we got back the results of the little one's quarterly exams; she had passed everything, and the results were good.
Today. Two new works to be workshopped at Butch Dalisay's class, both from winners of national writing prizes. :)
The story I worked on over the break was workshopped last week. BD was very supportive of the piece, and for that I am very very grateful. The text was inspired by Nick Joaquin's After the Picnic, in terms of story devices and themes.
"That's ambition," he said--which I took to mean, it's easier to fail when you are overtly dialoguing with the giants of Philippine literature. I did intend to engage in a dialogue with NJ, but didn't think much of it that way, having approached the work as an exercise in exploring the possibilities of many points-of-view in one story (which worked splendidly in Joaquin's genius story, but which violated a cardinal rule in short-fiction writing). Besides, we are always talking with other writers/texts in our heads.
But he's right, of course--you reference NJ, try to make your text worthy of the source text. And now that I've done my little exercise on POV (which some of my classmates seem to have appreciated too, thank you!), it's time to turn the text into a real story. There is a major revision I have to do regarding a character, and a slew of little ones to clarify the 'real story' under the surface story (Dillard, Lucero). This story layer isn't clear right now because my interpretation of the world needs to be clarified (haha--poetics has given me a language to talk about my 'own' writing).
The thing I love about this class is that BD seems like a very astute judge of character, in people, real and imagined. I'm afraid I don't have that quality in real life, and so perhaps that is why I am challenged writing the kind of fiction he is so gifted at creating. So much to learn from him, too.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Atsara for Breakfast. Or Lunch. Or Dinner.
A couple of posts back, I mentioned making some atsarang ampalaya (pickled bitter gourd). The day after that, I used the same method to make atsarang mustasa (mustard greens). Thus far, this is the only way you can get me to consume a lot of ampalaya and mustasa. I prefer the ampalayang atsarang mustasa, which reminds me of kimchi (texture) and wasabe (taste). Yum.
I cut the ampalaya into thin rings and soaked them in water for about an hour, after which I dumped the water into the sink and salted the rings, left those to stand for about another hour. Meanwhile, I boiled a cider vinegar-muscovado sugar solution--1 part vinegar to 1 part sugar, and then let this cool. I washed off the salt then dumped the vinegar/sugar solution over the ampalaya and let this stand in the refrigerator for a bout 12 hours (overnight).
As for the mustasa: Cut off the roots and wash in water to get rid of the little bits of soil that cling to the stems. Squeeze (wring) out the water from the leaves. Roll the leaves so that they resemble rolled up carpets then slice lengthwise. Dump the raw leaves in a deep bowl. Meanwhile, boil the 1 part vinegar-1 part sugar solution. When this has cooled, dump it on the raw leaves and refrigerate overnight.
I cut the ampalaya into thin rings and soaked them in water for about an hour, after which I dumped the water into the sink and salted the rings, left those to stand for about another hour. Meanwhile, I boiled a cider vinegar-muscovado sugar solution--1 part vinegar to 1 part sugar, and then let this cool. I washed off the salt then dumped the vinegar/sugar solution over the ampalaya and let this stand in the refrigerator for a bout 12 hours (overnight).
As for the mustasa: Cut off the roots and wash in water to get rid of the little bits of soil that cling to the stems. Squeeze (wring) out the water from the leaves. Roll the leaves so that they resemble rolled up carpets then slice lengthwise. Dump the raw leaves in a deep bowl. Meanwhile, boil the 1 part vinegar-1 part sugar solution. When this has cooled, dump it on the raw leaves and refrigerate overnight.
Thoughts for breakfast
Woke up thinking that I haven't started writing poetry yet, that everything that had gone before, everything that I had written thus far (and especially of late) are only finger exercises: How does one cut a line? What does one do with metaphor? How does one manipulate syntax? Voice? Play with a multitude of voices? With points of view?
And I felt this a beautiful, liberating thing: The thought that I had never before written poetry, the feeling that it is possible that the true poems will come, and that they are coming soon (hopefully; parang sine).
I suppose I always knew this, which is why I am putting myself through school at this stage in my life--school, being, not an institution, but the time and space to listen and read and think, to consider the thoughts of those who have gone before you, and those with whom you find yourself on this, well, journey.
Likewise, I think I now see how much more can be demanded from fiction, and what needs to be done to create not just stories, but great stories--none of which I have been able to do as yet. (Hopefully, I persevere and learn enough to do just that one day.)
And that, too, is a wonderful realization.
To be at the beginning, and knowing this. To be at the beginning and finally getting a view of what you're up against.
To be ready, at last, to begin, without ever having stop the writing that has been and is already taking place.
In other words: I am such a nerd.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
What's cooking
Worked on a story dialoguing with (hopefully) an old, pre-WWII story by Nick Joaquin. Quite well-received during workshop, but because everything in it stands for something else (as does everything in the original), things need to be clarified--a constant struggle I have with all my first drafts (therefore, I always benefit from incisive readings shared by other people. Thank you, dear beta-readers, you know who you are.)
Because this is an attempt to dialogue with canon, this is a meditation on nation, I've been trying to grapple with ways of thinking about the nation, without succumbing to the trite explanations of ours being a damaged colonial culture. There are academic treatises that have been written on this, but I am looking for new ways of re-imagining what can be re-imagined, re-stating the obvious in a different way, maybe; mostly I am trying to figure out what I believe in. It's the first time I've tried this 'dialogue-with-canon'; it's a very very interesting experience, craft-wise, and it makes me see better one way by which fiction can "interpret the world" (see, Annie Dillard: Living by Fiction).
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In the course of trawling the web, I came across this article on narcissism and self-esteem approaches in nursery school that may foster narcissism instead of 'healthy' self-esteem in pre-school children. Ex: Activities that end with the teacher asking the students, "What did you like most about..." instead of, "What interested me most about this activity was..."
This made me recall a recent article making the rounds on Facebook, on how the popular instruction to the young to "follow your passions" and the school's emphasis on honing them in useful skills do not always translate into meaningful work/a fulfilled life, because the young are not used to identifying a problem to which they can apply their passions and skills.
In the most meaningful job I ever worked at, my boss told me that it was easy to find young, talented lawyers, who were educated at the very best schools around the world--but difficult to find people who could spot the law-and-development issues (the weaknesses) in existing legal systems. One of the things we were tasked with was to try to help these lawyers (mostly lawyers with backgrounds in banking and finance) become better at identifying these issues and creating solutions that would strengthen not only the country's financial systems, but quality of life and basic rights. We sort of struggled at this task for a variety of reasons, and often asked ourselves, whether this kind of attention (and interest) (like virtue), could be taught.
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And so, my head, full of high-falutin' theory and readings on nation and narcissism, felt very heavy by mid-afternoon. Decided to make atsarang ampalaya (picked bitter gourd) following a recipe for pickled papaya, and will be off in a little bit to make a peach refrigerator cake. Tomorrow, will take care of the delicate mustasa (mustard greens), most probably by pickling it. Today also was the day I had my first taste of fennel. :)
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Pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Nothing quite like it to remind you the world is bigger than what's inside your head.
Because this is an attempt to dialogue with canon, this is a meditation on nation, I've been trying to grapple with ways of thinking about the nation, without succumbing to the trite explanations of ours being a damaged colonial culture. There are academic treatises that have been written on this, but I am looking for new ways of re-imagining what can be re-imagined, re-stating the obvious in a different way, maybe; mostly I am trying to figure out what I believe in. It's the first time I've tried this 'dialogue-with-canon'; it's a very very interesting experience, craft-wise, and it makes me see better one way by which fiction can "interpret the world" (see, Annie Dillard: Living by Fiction).
---
In the course of trawling the web, I came across this article on narcissism and self-esteem approaches in nursery school that may foster narcissism instead of 'healthy' self-esteem in pre-school children. Ex: Activities that end with the teacher asking the students, "What did you like most about..." instead of, "What interested me most about this activity was..."
This made me recall a recent article making the rounds on Facebook, on how the popular instruction to the young to "follow your passions" and the school's emphasis on honing them in useful skills do not always translate into meaningful work/a fulfilled life, because the young are not used to identifying a problem to which they can apply their passions and skills.
In the most meaningful job I ever worked at, my boss told me that it was easy to find young, talented lawyers, who were educated at the very best schools around the world--but difficult to find people who could spot the law-and-development issues (the weaknesses) in existing legal systems. One of the things we were tasked with was to try to help these lawyers (mostly lawyers with backgrounds in banking and finance) become better at identifying these issues and creating solutions that would strengthen not only the country's financial systems, but quality of life and basic rights. We sort of struggled at this task for a variety of reasons, and often asked ourselves, whether this kind of attention (and interest) (like virtue), could be taught.
----------
And so, my head, full of high-falutin' theory and readings on nation and narcissism, felt very heavy by mid-afternoon. Decided to make atsarang ampalaya (picked bitter gourd) following a recipe for pickled papaya, and will be off in a little bit to make a peach refrigerator cake. Tomorrow, will take care of the delicate mustasa (mustard greens), most probably by pickling it. Today also was the day I had my first taste of fennel. :)
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Pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Nothing quite like it to remind you the world is bigger than what's inside your head.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Material for the mind factory
At yesterday's poetics class with J Neil Garcia
1. He said: Anti-fiction fiction (i.e., realist, cf Margaret Livey) has made our literary world smaller, in that we expect authors to write of experiences of their own--i.e., no more Gustave Flauberts who can claim to write Madame Bovary; the use of the "I" point of view also demands this, somewhat. It feels funny to us when an academic tries to write from the point of view of a, say, security guard, or maid. It seems inauthentic, now that we demand authenticity.
And so those who wish to reclaim the other worlds silenced by our dedication to realism turn to fiction that pretends to be nothing other than fiction ("fiction-fiction"), i.e., the tale, for example, or magical realism, speculative fiction. The imagination has an out, an excuse to go wild, because, well anyway, it's not pretending to be real in this mode.
Thank you, J Neil Garcia; thank you Margaret Livey.
2. He said he caught this on Oprah--Some eastern thinker comforting a woman mourning the death of her disabled son in a freak accident:
"We often think we are humans undergoing a spiritual experience, when in reality, we are spirits undergoing a human experience."
Not quite Catholic doctrine there, but I can see why the thought was so comforting, enabling the woman to let go of her grief and move on.
Thank you, JNG, thank you.
1. He said: Anti-fiction fiction (i.e., realist, cf Margaret Livey) has made our literary world smaller, in that we expect authors to write of experiences of their own--i.e., no more Gustave Flauberts who can claim to write Madame Bovary; the use of the "I" point of view also demands this, somewhat. It feels funny to us when an academic tries to write from the point of view of a, say, security guard, or maid. It seems inauthentic, now that we demand authenticity.
And so those who wish to reclaim the other worlds silenced by our dedication to realism turn to fiction that pretends to be nothing other than fiction ("fiction-fiction"), i.e., the tale, for example, or magical realism, speculative fiction. The imagination has an out, an excuse to go wild, because, well anyway, it's not pretending to be real in this mode.
Thank you, J Neil Garcia; thank you Margaret Livey.
2. He said he caught this on Oprah--Some eastern thinker comforting a woman mourning the death of her disabled son in a freak accident:
"We often think we are humans undergoing a spiritual experience, when in reality, we are spirits undergoing a human experience."
Not quite Catholic doctrine there, but I can see why the thought was so comforting, enabling the woman to let go of her grief and move on.
Thank you, JNG, thank you.
Call for Submissions, Silliman National Writers Workshop
Had an awesome time in Dumaguete last summer, at the 50th workshop.
Manuscripts being solicited for the 51st workshop until 10 February. Details here.
Manuscripts being solicited for the 51st workshop until 10 February. Details here.
Books for Breakfast
Yesterday's Menu
Wallace Stevens: The Plain Sense of Things, by James Longenbach
Wallace Stevens: The Plain Sense of Things, by James Longenbach
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Links for breakfast
Over at Facebook, sungazer sent a link to Alex Daly MacFarlane's take on war, and Adam David is meditating on end-of-times fiction as imaginings of a post capitalist world. Interesting, both.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
The mean reds
Only the third day of January, and here they are, lurking where you least expect it.
Having realized one is not doing what one is interested in doing; that one has been doing what one is not interested in doing.
Having realized one has wasted one's time, when there is so little time left to waste.
Oh well. Must keep moving forward.
And once again, begin.
Having realized one is not doing what one is interested in doing; that one has been doing what one is not interested in doing.
Having realized one has wasted one's time, when there is so little time left to waste.
Oh well. Must keep moving forward.
And once again, begin.
Books for Breakfast
Today's Menu
The Dream of the Unified Field, by Jorie Graham
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Here's what happened after The End of Beauty: I left for poetry class and ended up at the UP Main Library looking for the anthologies, Man of Earth; A Native Clearing; A Habit of Shores.
There are no copies of Man of Earth that you can take home from a UP Library. All copies are now at the KAL library, for room use only. Don't let OPACC tell you otherwise. I should know. I went to three UP libraries today, including the Main Library.
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Filipino poetry in English. What a strange creature we are.
But so are they and their many other Englishes.
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In other news, quarterly exams for the little one.
Philippine Speculative Fiction 7 (PSF7): Lineup Announcement
Thank you, Kate and Alex Osias, for accepting my story.
See you all at the launch!
Monday, January 2, 2012
Books in Bed
Yesterday's Menu
Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption, by Stephen King
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Not quite a novel, and barely a novella. But all good.
Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption, by Stephen King
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Not quite a novel, and barely a novella. But all good.
Books in Bed
Yesterday's Menu
The God Equation & Other Stories, by Michael A.R. Co
Fairy Tale Fail, by Mina V. Esguerra
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Was only too happy to finish up The God Equation on one of the three beds at the cottage we rented at Sonya's Garden (two queen-sized, one king-sized, not counting the daybed inside the main room, and the daybed inside one of the cottage's two bathrooms. Have never seen so many beds in embroidered, luxury linen.). I still like the story, "In the Eyes of Many," the most. Maybe because in this story, the speculation required by speculative fiction is about the law. I think it's an excellent piece of work (with shifting POVs, which is something presently of interest to me).
Also pleased to have re-read in this collection, The Off-Season, which, together with The God Equation, made me think that I should send Ma'am Chary Lucero copies of these stories (she's looking for noir-ish stories written by Pinoys).
And because I wasn't that sleepy yet (far from it) when I finished the collection, I decided to re-read the delightful Fairy Tale Fail by Mina V. Esguerra, who happens to be Michael A.R. Co's wife. This couple's amazing.
Up next: Jorie Graham!
The God Equation & Other Stories, by Michael A.R. Co
Fairy Tale Fail, by Mina V. Esguerra
----------
Was only too happy to finish up The God Equation on one of the three beds at the cottage we rented at Sonya's Garden (two queen-sized, one king-sized, not counting the daybed inside the main room, and the daybed inside one of the cottage's two bathrooms. Have never seen so many beds in embroidered, luxury linen.). I still like the story, "In the Eyes of Many," the most. Maybe because in this story, the speculation required by speculative fiction is about the law. I think it's an excellent piece of work (with shifting POVs, which is something presently of interest to me).
Also pleased to have re-read in this collection, The Off-Season, which, together with The God Equation, made me think that I should send Ma'am Chary Lucero copies of these stories (she's looking for noir-ish stories written by Pinoys).
And because I wasn't that sleepy yet (far from it) when I finished the collection, I decided to re-read the delightful Fairy Tale Fail by Mina V. Esguerra, who happens to be Michael A.R. Co's wife. This couple's amazing.
Up next: Jorie Graham!
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