Istoryan Writers

[Von!-x]

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thanks for the vote, galenostiel. blogging is one way to practice writing.

[diem]

[color=navy]Welcome bisoy, hope you stick around. Been checking out the writing exercises at your blog site. Very interesting and helpful indeed.

@Von, good luck for your blogsite. Dean Alfar, 9-time winner of the Palanca Awards, promotes blogging as a means to exercise one's writing.

[diem]

[color=navy]Here's some Creative Writing Tips as suggested by a psychiatrist Dr. Lonnie Macdonald in an article selected by Kathryn Falk in her book "How to Write a Romance and Get it Published."

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[color=navy]
Creative writers are most successful when they are simply being themselves. This is the fundamental idea of writing. In order to really communicate and have impact, writers tap their own individuality and uniqueness. For this they must believe that they are unique, special and have something to say.

It takes time to organize the lifestyle and discipline necessary to bring forth the sensitivity, awareness and craftsmanship, but it is an achievable goal.

The process of becoming a writer requires change, and one must look upon the change as an opportunity. The most important change is to go from "I cannot" to "I can". This may mean getting rid of many negative attitudes and feelings.

New writers should be familiar with the vulnerable areas, such as procrastination, fighting against real fatigue, not finishing a manuscript, embarrassment about real, honest feelings, showing work to someone else, and accepting criticism.

The rewards of writing will mean learning to trust oneself more and trust others more, and finding that the genuine love of oneself will flourish or grow.

Here are some tips that will promote success or achieve progress in writing:

1) Identify the time of day when you do your most productive writing.

2) Discipline yourself to create the environment for productive writing.

3) Reward yourself by thought and deed when productive with writing.

4) Look for daily progress, not perfection [Diem: I so agree]

5) Remind yourself to relax when feeling tense.

6) Work for your own individual vision.

7) Take risks in tapping your own unique feelings and expressing them.

8 ) Strive for fun and joy in your writing.

9) Strive in honesty, clarity, simplicity, and directness in expression your feelings.

10) In moments of confusion or doubt, stop and ask yourself, What am I talking about? Do not work against yourself.

[diem]

Devotion: Part I

A blanket of clouds, gray and cold, spread over the sky. The man watched it while he sat on the wooden stairs that stretched out from the open door of the hut. It’s early morning, it’s still dark. The man scratched his eyes free of dreams and dust. He had a restless night. It’s a Friday night, after all. Friday nights always made him restless because of the Saturday after.

Saturday's morning light came through the clouds and shadows, the man was already at the open-dirty kitchen, starting a fire in the clay stove to boil some water. His gas burner ran out of fuel the week before. As the flames licked the wood, he tried to remember if he had told Jimboy about needing a fresh tank of LPG. He felt he did, but wasn't that sure. Solitude is known to have that effect, or so he had been told.

He poured some water out on a basin, soaped his hands and washed his face. He felt the sharp rub of his bristles and thought to correct it. The man smeared more soap on his face and jaw until there was a thick, smooth foam. From the dish strainer, among the spoons and forks, he pulled out his Gillette razor and faced the tiny mirror he hung in the dirty kitchen.

Later, after donning some fresh clothes and holding a steaming cup of instant coffee, the man returned his perch on the low stairs of his house looking out to the land he had been assigned to take care of. The mango trees remained dark, sheltering shadows under their thick branches and leaves. The man sipped his coffee as a stray breeze brushed through the orchard, stirring a sound similar to that of sprinkling water, a small fountain.

He heard the low rumble of an engine. It’s maybe a mile or two away. The man stood up and climbed into his hut, his eyes stretching out through the window that opened towards the hidden dirt road that slithered like twin small brown snakes in the high grass towards the hut. On these rolled a low aluminum jeep with a black canvass roof and mud brown wheels.

Relieved, the man returned the .38 paltik revolver he pulled out from a wooden box at the corner of the hut and hid the box under a pillow. He stepped out and walked down, watching the jeep struggle through the damp earth.

The man bore a wan smile to mask his happiness as the jeep brake and its rumbling switched off. A young, slender somewhat effeminate man slipped out the driver's seat. The man embraced his son Jimboy who kissed him on a clean, shaved patch of cheek.

"Did you have a hard time getting here?" The father asked the youth who shook his head. "Good, good." The man held his son again with that human need to anchor one to that which is closest to oneself, flesh and blood. He released his son to ask, "How is your mama, your sisters, the youngsters?"

Together, the man and his son went to the back of the jeep. Jimbo pulled back the rear canvass. "Mama's okay. We had the doctor's check up and this week's the result. She's asking if you're getting yourself one, too." The man nodded as he helped pull out a new full LPG tank. "Ate's doing all right. She's starting her nurse internship at North Gen."

"Very good," the man called out from the dirt kitchen. He came back with the empty gas tank. "Close to the house. She won't be too tired commuting. The area's safe. We know everyone."

Jimboy raised the light metal tank into the rear of the jeep. Then he lifted a box of canned and dried goods. "The young ones are not so doing well at school but that's how it is."

"That's how it is," agreed the man. Jimboy brought the box into the dirt kitchen, placed it on top a table where empty, clean open cans of Purefood corn beef and Bluebay tuna were gathered. He looked at his father who was looking at him, "How are you, pa?"

The man smiled wide, "Here as you see. It's quiet here. Quiet. Boring."

"There's something from the Congressman." Jimboy led the way to the jeep where he pulled a brand-new CD/stereo player with FM/AM radio. "I got also some extra batteries. The General also told me to bring you some newspapers, magazines and some books he wanted you to read.

If it’s possible, the man's smile would have stretched to his earlobes. The General was kind, had always been kind to him, ever since they first met all those years ago in a jungle barrack in Sulu. The General was the Colonel then and he was a private but both came from the same province, the same municipality. Kababayan, that was their bond. Many encounters with armed rebels tested that bond, what proved its worth were bullets and blood.

A moonless night trek led into an ambush and he pushed the colonel out of first bursts of gunfire. He felt the bullets pierce and tore his stomach and leg. He froze and fell like the dead to the ground. He can only vaguely remember being moved and the heat on his back, from the friction of being dragged away.

When he woke up, he saw a woman standing over him. It's been nearly a year since he last saw one, the sight and smell of her struck him as something awesome. She was one of the nurses of the medical hospital where he was interred. She didn't know (the man recalled that he had an idea) that she would marry her patient a year and half from that time.
 
Other than the nurse, his very first visitor was the Colonel who himself was bandaged with minor wounds from the same ambush. He came to see how he was and to thank him for saving his life. The Colonel told him that he was going to be promoted for what he did.

When he returned to the ranks, he became a Sergeant. It’s at the barracks where he learned of what happened of the ambush, who fell, who didn't make it. He was surprised to hear that it’s the Colonel who braved the barrage of bullets to drag his unconscious, bleeding body to safety. They were even but he never felt more humbled and so grateful.

He became devoted to the Colonel who earned a medal and a higher position.

Devoted, he remained even when he was discharged from the service because of his game leg for the then-Major General told him that morning he was to leave for home. "Don't worry, I told my brother about you. Once you get home, the Mayor will get you work. Don't worry; we'll take care of you. We take care of our own."

[diem]

Devotion~ Part II

True to his word, the General's brother did find him work. Devoted, the man strove to prove himself time and time in service to the General again and again, earning a level of trust akin to family.

"Pa, come let's eat.” Father and son have been heating the food kept in Tupperware the youth brought from home. The man sniffed the aroma rise of fried squid with its inky sauce, tuna poached in vinegar and spicy prawns the size of a grown man's fingers. All were the man's favorites, which his wife knew and cooked well. He was very fond of seafood, which was hard to come by where he was. With steaming rice, he scooped a dirty-white piece of squid and savored its sweet freshness.

They ate while the boy talked about what was happening back home. The man nodded and in between bites and swallows, made comments. He drank Sprite from a can, chilled from an ice cooler his son brought along, too. He ate a lot and forced his lean son to eat more to fill out.

The sun was high in the sky now and it glared so bright that the jeep almost shone like polished silver. After the remains of the meal were thrown, the dishes and Tupperware washed and dried, the man played with his son a game of chess, something he learned from the General. Jimboy was about to move his bishop but stopped. "Pa? There was also something else. Congressman wants to talk with you."

Jimboy's fingers tugged at the slim Nokia out of his front jeans' pocket then handed the mobile phone to his father who took it, his eyes still stuck to the pieces on the board. Jimboy left without a word and the man waited until Jimboy walked toward the mango trees, deep into the middle of the orchard.

He searched through the phone's directory and pressed the Call button. He listened to one ring before it’s answered by a familiar voice that was an echo of the past. The Congressman was said to be a carbon copy of his father the General. The man knew how much that was very true indeed.

"Sarge," the voice was warm with concern. "How are you?" The man remembered the Congressman as a boy, serious and disciplined, striving for awards and recognition, who never spoke carelessly without purpose and was only expressive with those in the close family circle, that included the man who often heard the boy declare his ambitions with a passion that was cooled steel, not fiery.

They exchanged pleasantries. The voice inquired how the man felt of his daughter starting her duties and what would that mean in three years. The man spoke candidly of how difficult it’s not being with his daughter, how much more when she's applying to work abroad. The voice agreed and was sincere with sympathy. "We'll work something out." Then the heart of the matter came. "In the meantime, next week you can have time to spend with the family."

The man nodded while the voice continued on. He listened to the request and responded an immediate "Yes." He could imagine the Congressman on the other end, a man whose face remained young and fresh despite his true 40-odd years. The face would be frowning now as if it saw something vulgar. The request wasn't an easy one to ask, the man knew, but it’s required. The man appreciated how it’s difficult for the Congressman to make this request, just shows to the man, the Sarge, how he was valued. That was why he gave his answer readily.

"Your medical check-up is scheduled for next week. I hope to see you then." The man gave his thanks in a profound manner but not profusely for he didn't want to embarrass the Congressman who then joked about dining at the man's home for he cannot afford to eat anymore with the recent budget. That made the man laugh and share an invitation. Half-promises were exchanged before the call ended.

The man had Jimboy driving home by 4 o’ clock, bearing baskets of green mangoes, most were to be given to the General who was fond of the fruit.

Alone, the man placed empty cans on slim branches of a young, man-sized tree. He returned to the hut and brought out the wooden box from its hiding place under a pillow and brought it to 70 paces away from the tree with the cans. He pulled out his revolver, checked it then aimed for the cans.

He fired, six shots for six cans that fell from the tree whose leaves weren’t even scorched when he inspected it.

With devotion, the man will accomplish the request.

[diem]

[color=navy]15th Iligan National Writers Workshop (INWW)

The Iligan National Writers Workshop is accepting manuscripts on its 15th year this year.

Fifteen (15) slots, five each from Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao are available for writing fellowships to the INWW.

Applicants are required to submit five poems, or, one short story, or, a one-act play in Filipino, English or in Cebuano, Hiligaynon, Kinaray-a, Waray (with translations) and Chabacano along with the applicant’s biodata, two 2X2 photos and a certification that his/her work is original. For short stories or plays, please submit a hard copy and a 3.5 diskette with the manuscripts encoded in MS Word 7.0.

Unpublished works are preferred. Writing fellows will be given free board and lodging, honoraria and a travel allowance. Applications must be postmarked on or before April 15, 2008.

No applications or manuscripts will be accepted if sent by fax or e-mail. Applicants are also advised to keep copies of their manuscripts since these will not be returned.

Send all applications to the 15th INWW Director, Christine Godinez-Ortega c/o OVCRE, MSU-IIT, Iligan City

For more information call Pat Cruz tels. (063) 3516131; or e-mail: ovcre-mepc@sulat. msuiit.edu. ph / cherlyadlawan@ yahoo.com

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Manila Times Lifestyle section looking for writers
by: "Romano Jorge" hanepdesigns@yahoo.com
Thu Mar 13, 2008 4:20 am (PDT)

As the new Lifestyle Editor of the Manila Times, I am looking for staff writers, columnists and contributors who possess solid feature writing skills.

They must be dependable and enterprising.

Text referrals and contact information to mobile phone 0917-8817663. Email sample articles and resume to rome.jorge@gmail.com.

[diem]

[color=navy]Hello Everyone~!

We're now on Day 2 of 2008's Holy Week. I am so looking forward to the Holy Weekend where I hope to complete this screenplay I am working on for a friend of mine

So I am wondering where the other iStoryan writers are and what are your plans for the Holy Week?

And I also want to put the question out, if anyone's interested to learn how to write SCRIPTS for Plays, and Films?

[galenostiel]

hello diem!

i just got a new PC. all for my very own. so i guess that means writing progress! i hope to be able to work on a story this Holy Week as well.

[backpacklife]

a newbie here~

all the while I thought the trade-off in favor of a simple life in Dumaguete is pulling me away from the literary circle back in Cebu. I'm glad I have found this site. I spend the whole morning reading this thread and overwhelmed with the verve pulsating from start to finish.

I hope to get to know all of you here. This feels like home to me now! yea baby!

[galenostiel]

^let me be the first to say hello and welcome to the Istoryan writers thread, backpacklife!