Scripta Manent

I did finish. Has it really been four days? It feels like yesterday that I send the manuscript to Miss Nina. My goal was eighty thousand words but the novel was done at sixty-three.

November 30, around 3 am: I only hav 2 items left on my outline, ms. nina! And it's making me lazy & blocked.

November 30, after 8 am: Well, jaypee, take coffee or something. Maybe you shouldn't sleep at all. Less than 16 hrs to go!

I had a good taskmaster, see? Hehe. She checked up on me regularly, but not too much to hound.

And how good it feels to have actually finished the book! Now I'm busy taking a break. Reading Possession by A.S Byatt, hence the subject title of this post.

...gets done when I'm asleep. That's why I 'brux'. I like that verb. "Why have you been bruxing? Is anything bothering you?" "My son bruxes. What do I do?" LOL.

I should stop reading about it already and get back to work.

For weeks and weeks now, my family tells me that I gnash my teeth in my sleep like some hungry monster. I'm not even aware of it. Sometimes it's so loud my sister hears it while she's showering for school! Typed 'teeth-grinding' into Wiki and was shown Bruxism. Scared me. I like my teeth and would like to keep them.... I'll have to go to a dentist sometime. Preferably soon. Before I start getting the symptoms! *cross posted in facebook.

Wikipedia's medical articles need to be made layman-friendly, by the way.

None of the associated factors match me, except 'disturbed sleep patterns'. It's crazy, no question. But I don't drink cola or coffee much, I prefer fruit juice and flavored green tea. I don't have any kind of apnea, and I've never had problems with my teeth. Never even had a toothache yet. I hope that doesn't change. I do eat chocolate, but my binges are few and far in between, and there haven't been any binges lately. I don't smoke. Oh look, irregular work shifts, that certainly applies to me. Drugs, drugs, drugs, Parkinson's and Huntington's, OCD, nope, nope, nope, nope.

This is so strange and I worry for my teeth.

Still, I'm somehow glad I don't snore instead. Though it's 'fixed' easier. I do sleep on my side, see. Whereas there is no suggestion at all on how to stop me from being angry while sleeping. No anti-teeth-grinding sleepwear or the like. I could prop my mouth open while I still have yet to see a dentist where I might be fitted with mouthguards, but then I'll drool all over my pillows. That's worse.

Oh right.

I'll have to clarify to Ms Nina that I must deliver to her 80 000, as I've said in my email. Most of those 29 000 words I already have had come out before November, in that blessed creative streak I went though. What followed before the accident and the RoCoTyP addiction had been puny spurts, not streaks.

I can do this. 50 000 / 18 = 2777. 77778

Haha. This is why I needed that finger-drumming, even just a pretend one. Pressure is sometimes a good thing. Wanting to prove true to your word is seldom bad, too. And I'm excusing my pun.

Now, to bed.

Yay, yay, yay!

Just saw Ms Nina's reply. She agreed. And will be my taskmaster! Hee.

Nina Macaraig-Gamboa: former READ e-i-c and now Joanna's taskmaster.

~

My email to her:

Subject: Hi Ms Nina! Here be a query...

That was just to get your attention, ma'am. Hee. It's more like a request.
 
First, I hope you and your loved ones are doing well po. Any news whether READ will make a comeback?
 
Now, the request, a tiny favor, though it's a big thing for me. I'm sure you are aware about NaNoWriMo. This would be the third year of my membership. But this time around I haven't uploaded my manuscript. We all work toward the same goal, the same deadline, but we still don't account for it, do we? 50, 000 words, and just for the satisfaction of being able to say you're a NaNo winner. For every person who 'wins', I think perhaps three or even five 'loses'. Me being among the 'losers'. I want to change that this year, but not for NaNo. For myself. I'm getting old. I should get a move on! And this is the only thing I can and am allowed to do.
 
I need someone with authority over me to make me account for my novel and indeed append 'the end' to it by the end of November. I never had trouble writing for a deadline for READ, remember? It's because though it was a joy, it was also a responsibility. Those novelists with contracts must have it so easy, compared to us bums who are only wishing to finish our first drafts without editors drumming their fingers in the background at all.
 
 So I thought to go ahead and be makapal and ask you, dear Ms Nina. You won't have to read it. I won't burden you with such a task! Just pretend to be drumming your fingers and expecting to see it on November 30.
 
It currently stands at 29, 464 words. By NaNo standards, it doesn't have to have 'the end' yet by the end of the month, just with 50, 000 words more. Would you, please, please, send me your editor-ish but friendly reminder email that you're expecting my 80, 000 words by November 30? You don't know how much you'll help me! I'm always just playing Roller Coaster Tycoon or Restaurant Empire on my laptop! Just thinking about you or, say, Ms Fay Ejercito (whose reviews and range of reviews were my favorites), waiting at the deadline is already motivating me to work my butt off.
 
There. Thank you so much for reading this absurd request, and thank you for considering it, too! God bless po.

~

Ms Nina's reply:

And speaking of correspondence, I still have write my dear Chiara, who's probably already back in the country!

~

The cure-all of skin injuries around the house is Vaseline petroleum jelly. Burns? Cuts? Scrapes? Mosquito bites? Put jelly on them (after washing them with water and soap--for disinfection and itch removal! For burns, never mind the jelly. Just hold it under running cold water. But my mom still uses jelly anyway). Works satisfactorily. And it's indispensible for lips, too. I researched about Nivea creme once, though (because the tubs don't have hints for the curious and ignorant at all), and saw one review gushing about its skin care, and even healing, properties. Didn't expect I'll have the chance to verify that so soon, hehe. Anyway, my knee looks as if it hadn't made an intimate acquaintance with pavement at all. My deeper wounds are also pinkening and browning back to normal slowly but surely.

The little sunburn-like spot on my upper lip is a difficult matter because I keep forgetting and wiping the creme off. My upper lip is under my nose, of course. The creme feels like snot there. Not that I still remember how it feels to have snot there.

Oh, I've had this weird thing after the accident. When I bite down with my molars (like when chewing or when clamping my jaws and gritting my teeth at something annoying), there's this twinge zinging up to under my eyeballs! It was my cue to take my pain meds again. I was afraid it will be the end of my gristle-crunching days. But nope... thank God. Proven at the chicken and pork adobo lunch yesterday!

Nose is still tender. Have to be very careful with it when I wash my face and wipe off. If it had been a Caucasian nose, it would have been crushed in several pieces. Yeesh. As it is, I no longer deplore that none of my maternal grandpa's pretty Spanish genes made it to me.

~

I'm a total sucker for these role-playing games (not the battle/quest-y kind). Ugh. I veered off writing again because of Roller Coaster Tycoon 3 Platinum-- who am I fooling? No, I veered off because of my being a sucker for building, decorating, naming stuff. And these stuff aren't garbage either, that's what makes it so hard to dismiss them. They're beautiful! And funny! And quick. Whereas one bloody chapter takes days.

Sigh. I wrote to my old editor. From the now-defunct (ouch! Huhu...) READ magazine. Asked something I will pray about. I'll write about it when I get her reply.

Oh, and I'll end this post to say that I'm glad I'm deaf. They're dismantling and fixing our water pump, which is right outside one of my windows. I sleep through the buzzing and clanking and thunking racket of the welding/unwelding and the pipes. Able to agonize over the characters, too, rather than the noise.

Speaking of that, here is Duck Deaf. 

 

( Duck Deaf )Too... I don't know, literary, perhaps? The plot of the heroine 'cracking' is not a plot at all. And according to the guidelines, your story should be short, but it should contain a plot. This is what I sent to The First Line, which is the publication where I got the rejection letter with the encouraging personal note at the end. I've been hunting for that email and couldn't find it. The other rejections i'm not equally fond of easily popped up in Search. Heh. 

 It's been twenty-six hours since my uber-passionate kiss with that wall. 

Hour 1, around 6pm yesterday: Wondered to Jouie why the doc in our clinic didn't check my eyes the way Carlisle did to Bella in Twilight. Jouie said it's because I didn't hit my head, I only hit my nose and mouth (LOL) and that girl in the clinic isn't the doctor, she was only a nurse.  

Hour 5, around 10 pm yesterday: I always sit indian style in front of my laptop. Looked away from the screen long enough to discover a hickey-- I mean, a bruise-- on my upper inner thigh. 

Hour 12, around 5am this morning: I finally felt a modicum of sleepiness (of course my sleep was screwed again; I spent the night playing Roller Coaster Tycoon 3 Platinum with Soaked! and Wild! It's great, isn't it!) and discovered I couldn't unsnap my bra by myself. Both shoulders were stuck. 

Hour 12, 5:05: Discovered that my shins had also been affected by the kiss. 'Ow, ow' as I climbed into bed. 

Hour 12 still, around five am still: Delayed reaction set in. I became suddenly and hugely conscious of how lucky I've been. I started blubbering and kept seeing that rush down that street, reliving my panic and terror at the weakness of the brakes. The route Jouie and I go on is mostly level, with inclines here and there just enough to make Jouie's thighs burn. We're lazy that way. For my part, I climb and go down this big hill to the clubhouse. It turned out that the big hill's slope was way gentler than that one which pushed me for the kiss. 

Called Mom and hugged her. "That was so scary! I almost died!" 

Puh-lease. Hehe. How embarrassing. Jouie and Onchie saw me. 

Awhile ago: Took a bath. While heating water, I peeled off scab on my upper lip. Yes, I have a very shallow scrape there. It was more like a very tiny spot of sunburn. The dry skin peeled off whole. I'll have to keep it under Nivea Creme because of my regrettable and uncontrollable urge to peel.

More to peel on my right knee, left shin and right foot and toe (Scrapes and cuts that blossomed and stung). But much, much, much, much later. 

There is a first time for everything.

Today was my initiation into picking a fight with an innocent wall. I hit it at the speed of a brake-less bike going down a 45 degree slope of suburb street. Oh man, I lost and got a bloody nose and a cut upper lip for my trouble. 

Thank God the wall was curved. If it had a corner instead, I'd have bid my current face goodbye. And thank God that though I panicked and never thought to jump off the bike or use my foot to stop the front wheel (as my brother Onchie told me I should have done-- as if I'm a Jamesina Bond), I still had enough sense to turn a little without skinning my whole right side and slam into that wall rather than zooming onward down to the intersection and the main road, where I would have been slammed by cars, rather than me slamming into them. 

There was this kind, kind man who ran to me, comforted Jouie (who was with me and on her own bike, scared shitless, thinking I was dying. Why do noses bleed so bloody much?!) and tilted my chin up to stem my bleeding. I kept looking down and watching the blood drip onto my hands. Jeez. I thought I'd be level-headed when I find myself in these sorts of situations. But believe me, I discovered we don't remember first aid when it's us in need of it. We could just mumble and moan, 'Ow' and 'Shit' and 'Mommy' and touch our face gingerly to see if it's still whole. And that's only when we stop panicking. When our face is still whole, I mean.

Hehe. And then when the kind, kind man fetched his tricycle and I was inside, I was laughing because I was picturing how ridicuous I must have looked, going at that speed and then kissing that wall. LOL. I really must have kissed it, you know. I don't even have a bump on my forehead.

But Phuket Thailand, I wrecked my Havaianas. And Phuket Thailand, I won't be able to eat eggs, anything with eggs, or fish, anything with fish. They're bad for wounds, especially if you opted out of stitches. It's only a small cut inside my upper lip anyway and if they'll stitch me, they'll have to knock me out first, thank you very much.

I scared Mom half to death, though. I'm sorry about that. We won't tell Dad. He'll be furious with Mom and me.

As of now, the lip is only a little charmingly lopsided. I've kept it under an ice pack for an hour. My nose, too. So, all in all, I'm fine, and with the addition that I know how it must feel to be hit in the face by Pacquiao.

  

I mean, continuing my book (one of them), though of course I'm also writing here again as well.

I've given notice everywhere and to everyone. MNFF, beta-reading, Josh and Jouie ("I'm writing, you can't play in my laptop any more.").  

It was hard going, especially for someone who had been conditioned for so long to click on the Sims 2 or the Restaurant Empire icon. Ugh. But I did it. And without deleting said icons either.

It feels great. And you'd think I've been writing steadily for years and years instead of in fart-like spurts... sometimes I go on and on until I'm pleasantly stupefied when I highlight the newest update and click on the Word Count icon. Yippee. 

Right after I put on my determined face and cleaned the keyboard (with the consequence of plucking out K, and of course, laptop keys are so annoyingly complicated with so many snaps and joints, so K wobbles), I wondered about asking my mom and dad if I could stay with some relative or other for a bit. Just to change my location and jiggle my synapses or something. I've read about that being inspiring and challenging. You won't believe the lack of privacy I get here. I share the room with my three siblings. They're always coming and going. 

But then that is me exaggerating and making excuses for my lazy butt. I mean, I do own the place most of the day when they're at school or asleep. And no one bothers me when they see it's Roughdraft open, and not RE or Sims 2. I was only fantasizing about having my own laundry room or something (Stephen King's). I realized I don't need a locked door to write. I just need the need to write, to finish what I started. 

I don't even have that need yet (I'm not like some who get harsh on themselves or just generally sad when they haven't reached their quota for the day), but I do want to turn the wet kitten into a cat already so I could groom it. See, that's what I wanted to post about. I've found my motivation.

Not Mr B (who does know I exist but seems to wish he doesn't. My fault, too). Not wanting to give something to my parents. Not wanting to have merit or another feather in the proverbial cap. Not having another validation of my chosen field.

No.

I enjoy revising. I'm good at it. Most of my rejects are rejects because I didn't give them the time of day, and all of my non-rejects have their respective badges because they've been polished over and over. I want to revise already. Hehe. That's my motivation. 

What about simply being motivated by wanting to read your book a la Toni Morrison? Oh, pish. Of course I want to read it. But I grind to these annoying full stops in the first place because sometimes I write in a way I wouldn't want to read. So I'm writing without thinking about wanting to read it. I'm not done yet anyway. There's still revising to do later. That will be when I'll be thinking of wanting to read my book. That will be fun. Who doesn't want doing something fun? That's why I'm going at it so fast and furiously. 

This is probably just a load of something like the one I accidentally unearthed earlier when I was sweeping the yard, but it was quite an epiphany for me. I still collect writing tips like a maniac and am subscribed to many motivational and inspirational newsletters, but nothing beats learning something on your own. You want to revise, JP? Then go ahead and finish it so you can get to revising! 

Of course, I have to pretend I'm all annoyed and pissed because when I giggle and squeal too much while mumbling dialogue, Mom decides to call me to wash the lunch dishes already (I usually just do it when it's time to prepare dinner) or to fix my bed (which I leave in the condition I left it when I wake. And by the way, I'm sleeping and waking 'normal' now, thanks to Sleep Hack Number 1: Wake at the same hour every day).

~

"Being a writer is like having homework every night
for the rest of your life."

- Lawrence Kasdan

True. But then you get to watch movies or go out after doing homework, or finally do revisions (which is of course forbidden before you type THE END)! Woot!

~ 

  "The golden opportunity you are seeking is in yourself.
It is not in your environment; it is not in luck or chance,
or the help of others; it is in yourself alone."

-- Orison Swett Marden

Amen, amen, amen. I'm glad I didn't even talk about wanting to stay with maybe Tita Josephine or even Nannie. I'd miss Jouie. And I'd be too busy being homesick to write a blooming lantana.


_________________________


I blame Chiara for distracting me from all the above with The Young Victoria. *loves* In one scene in the trailer, I hit PAUSE and wondered where I'd seen her before... her expression was so familiar! And then of course I remembered. She just didn't have the red hair and the heavy eye make-up but it's her. Emily, Andy's Paris-obsessed senior assistant in The Devil Wears Prada. And I'm a little glad Rupert Friend gets a non-annoying role here. He deserves it after being the perfidious Wickham (which dismayed my mom so much. Him being perfidious, I mean).  

... I'll be telling grandchildren that when I turned twenty-three, several cities in the country was submerged underwater and many friends and relatives spent the previous night stranded in their offices, dorms and schools, only to wade through mud or waist-high water and past overturned cars and ruined houses on their way back home.  

It's been horrible. Ketsana (Ondoy locally) had such a fury and I hope she soon dissipates into nothing before she destroys more lives in other countries. 

140 are dead, so far. Many are missing. 

But help is also flooding in, like a counter. I left my sanctuary of books and writing to watch the news and... I don't want to focus on the loss, however great and devastating. Filipinos will soon rise from this, as usual. The news is actually a little pleasanter for me tonight; there are no politics and crimes. Instead, the many charity foundations are shown at work, the volunteers cheerful, the human spirit and charity showcased. It's classic bayanihan. God bless all the kind people who are helping, petitioning others for help, and praying for this country. And God grant mercy and comfort to those who have lost loved ones.  

My family was thankfully spared. Except for the roof leak in the kitchen and the tv antenna pole being bent, we were spared. We didn't even lose electricity. But, oh, only several blocks away, Phase 1 and 2 of our subdivision went under! The river swelled. The first floor of our church, where they hold small weekday Masses, turned into an aquarium. When I went to Mass, Josh and I were glad to have taken the tricycle because we passed mud several inches thick. Inside the church, there were appliances from below in one of the side aisles, and Father Gil's little pet dog, was in one of the pews. Classes in Josh and Jouie's local private school were suspended today and for tomorrow. They have teachers and classmates whose homes are currently in need of being restored to being homes.   

Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it. - Helen Keller

One of the Hufflepuffs we're all very proud of.

(Better advance than late...) :D *huggles*

... in my submitted and published (how mortifying) fan fics:

- flying attendant
- electric hand beater

/lol

~ * ~

Lola's funeral was a banig of odd and wonderful habi-- I'll refer myself to my email to Chiara, 10 June 2009. As for you friendses who do read my posts, I can sum it up like this:

~I loved having the wind numb my cheeks.

~I was disgusted with inconsiderate fellow bus passengers

~I loved how sweet my drunk uncle was to us nieces and nephews

~I disliked forwardness and misguided thoughtfulness-- there was this woman there, a distant cousin, who made my nine-year-old sister feel inadequate and uncomfortable. She came up to us and chatted and flaunted sign language. Why is it it's the people I dislike whom I can lipread so easily? Or do I dislike them after lipreading them? Anyway, she might have meant well, but Jouie is so good with spelling things to me using the alphabet signs, which is why the woman sorta challenged her. The woman is a teacher. She said she's forgotten the alphabet. She asked Jouie, 'what is your name?' And Jouie signed 'Joanlouise'. The woman said, 'No, no' and signed the phrase. This embarrassed Jouie so much, I feared she might not sign a single letter to me the rest of our stay there.

~Got reacquainted with a girl called aptly called Gaddy (Her real name's Heidi but they call her 'Gaddy' so that she and her sister are a perfect rhyme. Gaddy and Kathy. :D). I love Gaddy.

~Loved the sea. Well, the view of the sea. And mountains. And treeful cliffs. The Mayon was hiding behind her veil of clouds, though.


~ * ~


The reason why I haven't finished my email to you yet, Chiara:



And it's your fault. Just finished it an hour ago. I am heartbroken.

Don't let the title or the cover misquide you, lj friends who haven't read this yet. This isn't a love story. Love is there, but it's purpose here is not to entertain. Oh no. And if you get the book, don't read the synopsis at the back, nor the praises for the book in the flaps. Just read. And let it unfold by itself, let it jolt you. I've been spoiled somewhat by Chiara, in that she already told me the spine of the story, what it's about, but I've still been jolted. Who knows how much more I'd have been shaken if I'd begun reading thinking it's the usual teenybopper dramedy-romance. Alright, the font of the title might have clued me in, too, about the futuristic elements and setting, but this is like and unlike the Giver by Lois Lowry and the Uglies series by Scott Westerfeld. I can't pinpoint where the difference is except that I wasn't on the verge of tears after I finished Giver and Uglies...

That's it, Never Let Me Go is just too like and too unlike the many genres it bumps hips with. I love the absence of the panorama you usually get from fantasy and futuristic books. I love the absence of the typical angst and anxieties you usually get from the YA's, the conflicts you usually get from the Romances. But the panorama and the angst and the anxieties and the conflicts are all there. Not beneath the surface, like a building's foundation, but rather like the very flu virus hovering around these days. :D

I'm hankering to read more Ishiguro now.

~ * ~

For comfort in between sober bites of this fillet mignon that is NLMG and Neil Gaiman's Sandman comics, I had Very Rocky Road in the guise of Susan Elizabeth Phillips' Natural Born Charmer. You know how most romance books begin in the workplace or cafe with dialogue with a workmate or a friend to establish and introduce things? I hate that. This one begins in the road and had me laughing only seconds into every reading session.

~ * ~

I quit SPEW.
I quit The Restricted Section.
It doesn't feel right. But I feel relieved somewhat. Now I can focus on other things without being guilty of my lack of attention on these two.

~ * ~

What focus? Did you notice how I've been reading? Don't ask how I've been writing.

/headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk /headdesk...

~ * ~

A belated but heartfelt happy birthday wish to Leanne. *air huggle*

Aaaaand happy birthday, our sweet, prettiful and lovable Sandrea!

April 6, 1930 - May 30, 2009
~photo: Christmas 2008 (visit from Tita Marlene, Ate Vic and kids)

~ * ~

I slept with her in her 'papag' those nights I stayed in her house when I went to Bicol to represent the family at Ate Mayette's funeral. This was two years ago. I can still smell her. Talc. Sweet. Homey. Comfy. Good night, Lola.

I love you, Lola.

~ * ~

My siblings and I call her Lola Payat (thin) in contrast to our paternal grandma, who's Lola Taba (fat).

~ * ~

Whenever there's a death, I realise grief is only selfishness in another name. I'm sad because when I get rich, Lola won't be there to be pampered. I forgot to ask her the surnames of her grandparents for my family tree project. I only got as far as her parents', which my mom remembers. And how about her conserva recipe? Does anyone else know it?

~ * ~

We're going to Bicol.

It will be one humongous reunion.

~ * ~

And thank you, lovies, for your thoughtfulness. *hugs*

My maternal grandma died.

Lola Payat.

Don't know yet how and why. We always ask that, don't we?

She has been in the ICU these few days for weakness is what I know. This 'weakness' could be many things, I see now. Googled it. Just finished emailing Tita Day in Cyprus.

Mom kicked and cried when she read the text message. She's on the phone with her siblings now. The tears haven't come to me yet. The photos I took of me and Lola are in the old pc, packed away in the back.

+ Catalina Lopez y Pornel Garcia~

Grant unto her rest everlasting.

Thank you for letting us read your story. After careful consideration, we've decided we won't be able to use it in __________________.

And then there was this below the signature: Excellent job, Joanna. Try us again.

Unless that's included in their standard rejection letter... well, no, even if it is a postscript in all their regret-responses, I will indeed try again.

I hate to sound like a very sapling in this business, but I am a sapling and that postscript made me smile instead of sending me right along with my manuscript to the shredder.

My nicest rejection letter is still untopped though. The one where Dean and Nikki Alfar not only mentioned my story by name, but also told me to hug Mom for them. Hee. Welcome to Filipino warmth.

Judging from the letter above, though, the West isn't completely unbearable.

~ * ~

Yes, I'm throwing away my schedule, the part where I'm only supposed to blog on Mondays. Duh.

~ * ~

I am halfway through The Shadow of the Wind.

Gleefully sleepless in consequence (though I'm also rediscovering the pleasures of 'waking up' early in the morning: the unique sunrises, and walking Jego without a leash and seeing him roll in the grassy empty lots, all over something bile-summoning, but which apparently smells good to him and his furry friends).

The last time I felt this way over a book was during feverish glomping on the newest HP. But then that was from long-standing friendship; each new book was like family returning or like returning to family. Familiar. You knew what to expect and half of the push to read stems from the desire to prove others, or be proven, wrong. On this Zafon tome, it's like bumping into a stranger at the post office, accidentally swapping the mail that flew, and being egregiously mesmerized in that stranger's letters. Surprise at every leaf of scribble. Lovely and macabre people in equal measure.

I don't even have to mention the language and the stories within stories.

Do you remember that Book List thing we posted before? The Top 100 Books? Now I know why The Shadow of the Wind is 56th. I'm sure, in the updated list, it's already higher in the rungs.

I've missed this. Reading and being prompted to think, I wish I could write like this.

~ * ~

To forgive is for you, to avenge is for your girl friends. :D

~ * ~

Oh. I didn't see it was Monday today.

called deadlines for a reason. Why issue it if you'll extend it? It makes writers who have already submitted on deadline hopping mad.

~*~

I wrote a very angsty post on notepad last last night after a fight with my mom. I'm really glad I don't have Internet in my laptop. I'll only embarrass and shame myself. At least, that's always what I feel afterward, after the tempers have died down and it's like nothing happened and Mom is being her typical self-sacrificing alter-ego again. I love you, Mom.

~*~

Success is the best revenge. God forgive me, but I really want to receive an acceptance letter one of these days and subtly rub it in the face of someone. I am not vindictive. I won't be kicking his ass figuratively and literally. This someone wasn't worthy enough for that, nor to wound my heart, and I wasn't stupid enough to let him so much as aim a glare at that certain muscle even though I let him have his fun and had fun with him in the process. But he did and is still making my friends think they need to coddle me, pricking my ego and pride. And to quote from a Nora Roberts novel, 'what difference does it make? They're all part of me.'

...the insults of men
having been bitten
in the nipple
by their toothless gums.
-Daisy Laing

My favorite quote for Mother's Day this year. Hee.

I had a summer without water play (not counting sweat). ( There had been lunch, a sleepover and a picnic instead )


( too big photo over here of me and my brujas and my goddaughter Carmela )

In my two-month deadjournal sojourn, I have:

~written 2 fictions, 1 non-fiction and 1 fiction-ish non-fiction and read 20 books. Meg Cabot and Jodi Picoult.

~broken in and broken my new phone (I plonked it in the sink while I finished business in the throne. I always did that. But this time, there was water in the sink).

~dabbled and have done with someone's flirting (not sure yet what he's up to. Either he's callously moving on from me to another or perhaps have been jealous and is trying to make me jealous in turn. All he's succeeding to do is piss off my friends, hehe)

~hugged my dad goodbye and welcome and goodbye again (he got his job back, but he was late for his first flight, so he came back home and then left again a week later. It was funny, that evening we found him right there with Mom taking off his shoes when we kids thought he'd be on the way to Bahrain already)

This post dedicated to my darling twin, jenny_b, also to Chiara, who is partly to blame for my deadjournal, since she has been and is my very own magic diary (she replies!), hehe.

Yes, there is a blog day in my sched, Mark. If this goes on, I think I'll make it Tuesday now, though, instead of Monday. ^_^

...because I'm living in it.

(Back from hiatus.

But according to schedule, blog day is Monday.)

First, belated but still warm birthday greetings to Molly, Tash, Katie and Julia. ^.~ *hands cupcakes*

~

I need you, please, LJ friends.

This was originally meant to be sent via PM in MNFF Betaboards, but just now, I remembered my LJ and my resolve not to look in at my addictions until May 1st.

I'm doing serious keyboard-pounding. Two personal essays. One is entitled Dekada Silencia. This other one, I don't know yet.

Define romance please. I mean the relationship between a man and a woman, not the genre.

If you've read Sarah Dessen's Lock and Key, you'll know what I want. In the novel, the word 'family' held different meanings for different people because of their different experiences.

So, what was/is romance to you ('was' for your naive/idealistic perceptions and 'is' for your mature/enlightened view)? Yours alone. Don't think outside your own experience/thoughts. Coming into a relationship, and the relationship itself (the one that meshes friendship and marriage but exceeds the former and is just shy of the latter), between a man and a woman has evolved so much, and differs so much across the centuries and cultures.

And speaking of cultures, as Wikipedia can only tell me so much and my collection of books isn't that culture-encompassing, how is romance in your country? I mean, does a guy court a girl before they become girlfriend and boyfriend, like most still do here in mine? Or, after being compatible with each other without counting the months, days or hours you knew each other, is a kiss the seal that makes things official?

Is it true that declaring love is like some sort of taboo unless you're proposing marriage or are already married? That's what I read in books and fan fics, hehe. Here in my country, the boyfriend is in for it if he doesn't end at least one text message/ phone call of the day with those three words.

Argh, this has gotten so long. Thank you so much for reading and thank you even more for your time and trouble to respond. I really hope you do answer. Forgive the inane questions, if any. :)

Goes to prove how bad it is: I spent twenty minutes sitting here keying nothing because I'm thinking of a post title. 'Subject' rarely covers my posts because I post so irregularly these days, I end up with so many things to cover in one post.

*wince* It's obvious I just came from bed rest, isn't it?

Some summer bug bit me. From Friday night to yesterday, I had recurrent fever with no other symptom except a dull but annoying headache.

Spent all that time finishing Jinx and the two All-American Girl books by Meg Cabot and The Secret by Rhonda Byrne.

Odd to read in tandem, yes, but it got me through the boredom entertained and enlightened and encouraged.

Meg Cabot makes you laugh, and I don't know if she has kids, but she also writes like a very cool mom. No preaching, no heart-to-hearts, just analogies. As for The Secret, for someone whose dad lost his job in the recent financial crisis, the book's message is... wow.

"What the mind can conceive, it can achieve."
- W. Clement Stone

~ * ~

Friday, July was here and I probably got sick because my sloth-self suddenly became all cheetah, running after and paddling a shuttlecock without so much as a bibbidi-bobbidi-boo of a warning. Ouch. Must exercise. Hehe.

~ * ~

I have removed several shortcuts from my desktop: Sims 2, the GBA Emulator, Library, Microsoft Reader, Fowlwords.

~ * ~

What day was it when I received that super-sweet letter in my inbox from a rejected author? God bless that dear, dear soul. Hee. And I wonder which forum they use to praise us MNFF mods?

(According to The Secret, you mustn't think about it, or you'll 'attract' more of it. But I can't not put it here, so I just reversed several things for positive effect on the law of attraction, LOL.)

And by the law of attraction, I also declare this:

The Writing is Going Well. Real, real, Peachy! ^_^

~ * ~

My aunt's printing business is on a boom. They're making loads, from Adobo to Crissa (shirts) to Havaiana's cloth bags. I wanted to ask if I could work there, but I didn't know the answer to what I'd do there. When you ask for a job, you should know, right?

And anyway, I want to write more than earn money. Though I do need the money and it helps in not feeling useless in the household!

~ * ~

Plug: Lt. Jacqueline "Jack" Daniels thriller novels author JA Konrath's blog.

~ * ~

I really, really wanted to reply again to that sweet email sender: "Writing is a profession. Act professional." A quote to be found in that JA Konrath post I've linked to.

But the sweet email sender is just not worth it. Pearls and swine and all that. She'll probably just reply again with another dose of maturity and decency. Heh. Dad told me to ignore these sorts.

~ * ~

Back to doodling...

In the contest I'm joining, you write a short story in/from/with/using this untitled oil on canvas painting by Juanito Torres.



~ * ~

Oh, and unfortunately, I can't friend-lock my journal because most of my friends don't have LJ's or any kind of blog, for that matter. So while I'm smiling throughout this post (throughout this month and the previous one, even during that fever/headache weirdness), I can only hint of what I'm smiling about. That hint's here somewhere. *wink*

Why only a hint? Because girls are supposed to remain mysterious.

~ * ~

Gah! Five pm and the Ash Wednesday Mass is at six! Gotta run!