I just finished Neil Gaiman’s “American Gods.” I admit that I am not a big fan of mythology, as much as my sister or Elaine. And the most “valuable” insight I got from the book is:

The Roman Catholic Church/Faith has turned Filipino Gods into mere Monsters

Maybe I am not very informed, and that is the problem. If these gods live on by the virtue of belief–their powers are based on how many channel them or worship them. But how can we worship monsters? We are told to feat monsters: They would eat us alive, poison us, take us into bizarre regions where rice is black and salty.

I am not informed the true virtues, values and greatness of our Filipino gods– if we ever had any. All I know of our mythology is that we are rich with mythological monsters–tikbalang, tiktik, almost all of which are scary. (please inform me if there is anyone, except Maria Makiling–who is a nymph– any Filipino god out there)

All I have been told that all these creatures that our “ancestors have worshiped” are proven not to exist anymore. The Catholic faith has banished all our gods to nonexistence or even, to an extent, to hell.

Maybe whoever reduced these gods isscared that people will not adapt to the faith enough and see these gods as threats. and that “we do not have a need for them” because we will only need God, Jesus Christ. But it is enriching, as a culture, to know about these things.

I don’t want another The Lovely Bones. I should have bought something else when I saw that recommendation comparing The Time Traveller’s Wife to that book. I am kicking myself in the head for reading both books because they were so dragging and uneventful.

The Time Traveller’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger is a difficult read. Difficult for me because it was too “conversational” for my taste, using the word as a euphemism. I felt that Niffenegger wasted so many words. It was laid out ever so slowly and ever so long that there were many times that I would feel that when is this going to end?

Yes, the premise might be heartbreaking: A man has a genetic disorder of warping/leaving anytime to his past or future. To put it bluntly, that just means that he could time travel. His wife is the one who suffers from his frequent leaving.

The author adds so many details that dragged the book for as long as it did. 518 pages of details that explained too much.  Details that did not matter like Sharon and burglarizing and too many socializing episodes. She also uses so many names as metaphors, esoteric references to authors, artists, musicians, so many names that I am just convinced she’s trying to pull my leg trying to wow me with all of her artsy knowledge.

The story is heartbreaking at times too. But all the characters were so dispassionate about their condition and unsympathetic because they talked too much about their feelings. Yes, I became sad with what happened to (someone) at the end. Show, don’t tell.

My heart is with Clare (the wife), just not with Audrey Niffenegger, the author. She quotes Rilke poems at length–not just any Rilke poems but the Stephen Mitchell translations! She has love of birds, wings. She seems to love punk rock and opera. She tempers her own sadness, teaches herself patience each time her husband disappears.

The premise was good, but the writing was quite poor. There were so many episodes in the book that had potential. A potential that would have made me change my opinion about it had it not been so muddled with prosaic explanations and banal conversations about their daily lives. Too much, too much.

Maybe I would have liked it if I never expected too much of it. Yes, maybe that is it.

“The manifestation of the design of the food appears vermicular and adds attraction to the new addition to the menu.”
-some food blogger describing the swirly mayonnaise on some new sandwich.

Ask any person who claims to love the written word, and they will tell you how exciting it is to learn new words. More than exciting, it’s seductive to the point of goosebumps. New words mean an addition to the arsenal of our vocabularies. New words mean the ability to impact directly, the ability to allow the reader learn something new with the introduction of the new word. Suffice to say, learning new words is always good.

Ask any decent reader what they do when they encounter a new word. Most say they look up the meaning of the new word and make a mental note to use the word in the future or, the very least, try to contextualize the meaning of the new word.

So, what’s wrong with using new words? Perhaps you’re getting too hyperbolic saying the thesaurus is ruining my writing, you might say. But consider the statement above.

Consider the word VERMICULAR.

That was the first time I encountered vermicular, so I did the decent thinking reader would do. I checked the dictionary.

ver·mic·u·lar  [ver-mik-yuh-ler] adjective

1. of, pertaining to, or done by worms.
2. consisting of or characterized by sinuous or wavy outlines ormarkings resembling the form or tracks of a worm.

Why then, is the definition so hilarious? Read the quote again. Why would any decent writer use vermicular as a description for food? What is the point of using the word vermicular when the word brings to mind worms? Who would like to think of worms when thinking of food. This is not an exotic food restaurant and most people get squeamish at the thought of those squiggly invertebrates.

By using the incorrect word, you’re condescending your readers thinking that they might not pay attention to it anyway. You’re not catering to Vocabulary Nazis, you might say. But it still insults their intelligence, but perhaps you’re really that type of person.

It brings to mind something that I read on the internet recently. This graduation speech by Edwin Olivarez. Horrifying and yet you can’t help making fun of the Mr. Representative Olivarez.

From the text:

Once again, the penultimate day of a momentous accomplishment is once more unfolding to all of you my Dear Graduates. Today you’ve reached the mark of realization of your dreams, motivated by the comfort and challenges in sustaining the years of education leading to the final episode of marching the hallmark on the stage bestowed by the token of Diploma, a concrete proof as Graduates. But looking back then, the day of our graduation is just a segment of the whole package of preparation. Certainly, the synergy of your educational investment is indeed significant because lacking on the outlay of preparation, it will therefore result to a vain prospect and wastage of time, energy and most importantly the crippling of our training for our young men and women to level up there concerns, destined to be our future leaders.

It’s bogged down by too many academic jargon and synonyms that may not be the best word for the given situation. For any thinking person, or permit me to say Intelligent Person, Mr. Olivarez’s speech is just plain horrible.

The thesaurus is a friend, but most inexperienced* writers abuse it thinking that maybe it will attract more people. But people who do take time to read your words will probably take the time to get them in proper contexts. Otherwise, do away with the description and stick with your picture. You’re just digging a hole for yourself when you write like that.

DISCLAIMER: I am not an experienced writer nor am I saying that I am a writer, to begin with. I just like ranting. 

Thesaurus Dinosaur Image taken from Snorgtees website.

Delight because it brings about a surge of memories of that time when the favorite book was discovered. Delight of the remembrance of that time when the favorite book was being read almost to the point of neglecting sleep. Then some panic surges in as the realization of the limit of (let’s say) ten may have been imposed and “How Am I Suppose To Just Think of Ten Books?” Compulsive readers may strike one from the list then reinstate in the same heartbeat.

Favorite books, not to sound trite, are proverbial constellations. They pave the way to numerous other wonderful books. They are compasses to our literacy and (to an extent) our writing capacities. After all, books shape the way most readers write.

Since getting myself an ebook reader tablet, I have getting much much more time to read. I have read more books in the past week than I have had in the past two months. My reading speed has improved because of the said device.

For the most part, I believe I am a reader more than I am a writer. I have long given up on the idea that I might be a writer, at least not in the sort that I want to be. It takes such discipline and intelligence to be one. I lack both, I think. I am an average reader, for the most part. I do not know how people assume that I read a lot. I could only finish several (fiction) books in a year, less than 12 on bad years.

Part of my Summer Reading List for Summer Vacation 2013.

When 2013 happened, I promised myself that I will look at life with more gratefulness, banishing the insecurities I often feel. I have more than enough to list this year; I have to consciously recognize those things because my pessimism tends to get the better of me on bad days.

Here are ten things that make me feel grateful, blessed, whathaveyou:

01. The fact that I can call Buccino without having to worry about IDD charges or timezone differences.
02. My sister almost finishing her Medicine degree makes me feel so proud and teary-eyed. If thre is a heaven, my mother is there smiling at her.
03. MaLT, MaWD, and MaDE. I can’t divulge all of these yet, but just thinking about all these acronyms excites me. They could very well be reasons for themselves.
04. The ability to put food on the table and help my family with monthly expenses and having enough to save for myself. (Just thinking about this makes me emotional. My family has come a long way.)
05. My dad learning a good lesson on temperance.
06. The validation of my passion for teaching. (This may sound vague but I promise to write about this in the future.)
07. My burning desire to improve myself better this year. I guess it’s one of those years when I feel like I can run faster and do better and improve more. I am going to be unstoppable. I have to be unstoppable.
08. I am back to writing more short stories, but most aren’t done yet. The stories lack endings. I hope to write more creative things this year, and not limit myself to blog entries with lists liked this,
09. Having to hold Buccino’s hand on days when I feel unsure of myself. This reason itself can take up to 1,000 items on the list.
10. January 2014. Deep breath now.

2013 is going to be that year when I will chase after all the things that I want. A guarantee and not a promise. To chase after those things would be to establish means and ways to achieve them. That means I have to do more, watch less television, browse less social media sites, read more books, write more and edit more, study better, sleep better, wake up earlier. It’s going to be a lot of work, but I have to defeat the monster of self-doubt now because it’s swallowing my whole.

I wasted so much time being insecure, I could have used those moments of sulking to understand and improve my craft better. I could have done something else while I was wallowing in self-depreciation. I shortchanged myself because I could have pursued and bettered myself instead I harbored so much effort feeding and letting this insecurity grow.

So, 2013 will be that year that I have to do more for myself. I am doing it slowly, the only way I know how. Hopefully I come out of this year with more understanding and more appreciation for my own talents. I will do it because I must.

Artwork by Buccino de Ocampo.

Because I am starting this journal again, I have the ability to shape it into whatever idea I want it to be. Right now, I think, that idea would be to write about writing, or just write hotdamnit. I can use whatever it is I learn here; I might teach a writing class next year and at least I can relate to my students by being in the process of writing with them in a way.

I am not a writer, let’s make that clear. I am in no way close to being one because the only claims I have to writing is helping my sister finish online articles about mindless things like showbiz news or showbiz fashion or that old livejournal of mine. It’s embarrassing, I know. But I am somebody who talks to herself a lot and that the thoughts that run through my head and mouth may be precious, in some way, and it is such a pity not to be able to record them in any way.

For the most part, I am what I would call a meta-writer, with the self-conscious effort I devote to the moments that I am jotting down my thoughts. I am beyond writing because what I do is a pure compulsion to preserve my ideas.

It’s just like thinking but with the privilege of saving the words.

Disclaimers and Such

Most of the ideas here are just raw ideas. Pure, unadulterated thought-to-mouth-to-hand impulse, It’s going to be an editor’s heaven or hell. Please excuse me or not, I am trying to understand the process, so I do not want to edit anything out. Yes, this might not turn out well.

I have evolved so much from my former livejournal days. I am no longer emo YAYYYY but I am also very poor in my vocabulary, I think. So I have to do something about that.

This blog will probably be an exercise. I am writing in order to cure the fat accumulated by years of not putting down thoughts. Write first, censor and edit and organize everything else later.

Finer Finer Print

As much as posisble, let me not be tempted to write about “reviews” of commercial ideas or rants about commercial establishments. One time or another, I am going to tell you about my how my day went but please allow me the ability to exercise the writing muscle and not merely just report about the mundaneness of my existence. Besides, I am part of a wonderful institution and I do not want to endanger that relationship. This sounds so self-important.

Amen, amen.

Clutter is the disease of American writing. We are a society strangling in unnecessary words, circular constructions, pompous frills and meaningless jargon.

Who can understand the viscous language of everyday American commerce and enterprise: the business letter, the interoffice memo, the corporation report, the notice from the t bank explaining its latest “simplified” statement? What member of an insurance or medical l plan can decipher the brochure that tells him what his costs and benefits are? What father or i mother can put together a child’s toy-on Christmas Eve or any other eve-from the instructions on the box? Our national tendency is to inflate and thereby sound important. The airline pilot who wakes us to announce that he is presently anticipating experiencing considerable weather wouldn’t dream of saying that there’s a storm ahead and it may get bumpy. The sentence is too simple-there must be something wrong with it.

But the secret of good writing is to strip every sentence to its cleanest components Every word that serves no function, every long word that could be a short word, every adverb which carries the same meaning that is already in the verb, every passive construction that leaves she reader unsure of who is doing what-these are the thousand and one adulterants that weaken the strength of a sentence. And they usually occur, ironically, in proportion to education and rank.

During the late 1960s the president of a major university wrote a letter to mollify the alumni after a spell of campus unrest. “You are probably aware,” he began, “that we have been experiencing very considerable potentially explosive expressions of dissatisfaction on issues only partially related.” He meant that the students had been hassling them about different things. I was far more upset by the president’s English than by the students’ potentially explosive expressions of dissatisfaction. I would have preferred the presidential approach oaken by Franklin D. Roosevelt when he tried to convert into English his own government’ memos, such as this blackout order of 1942:

“Such preparations shall be made as will completely obscure all Federal buildings and non-Federal buildings occupied by the Federal government during an air raid for any period of time from visibility by reason of internal or external illumination.”

“Tell them,” Roosevelt said, “that in buildings where they have to keep the work going to put something across the windows.”

Simplify, simplify. Thoreau said it, as we are so often reminded, and no American writer more consistently practiced what he preached. Open Walden to any page and you will find a man saying in a plain and orderly way what is on his mind:

“I love to be alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude. We are for the most part more lonely when we go abroad among men than when we stay in our chambers. A man thinking or working always alone, let him be where he will. Solitude is not measured by the miles space that intervene between a man and his fellows The really diligent student in of the crowded hives of Cambridge College is as solitary as a dervish in the desert.”

How can the rest of us achieve such enviable freedom from clutter? The answer is to clear our heads of clutter. Clear thinking becomes clear writing: one can’t exist without the other. It is impossible for a muddy thinker to write good English. He may get away with it for a paragraph or two, but soon the reader will be lost, and there is no sin so grave, for he will not easily be lured back.

Who is this elusive creature the reader? He is a person with an attention span of about twenty seconds. He is assailed on every side by forces competing for his time: by newspapers and magazines, by television and radio and stereo, by his wife and children and pets, by his house and his yard and all the gadgets that he has bought to keep them spruce, and by that most potent of competitors, sleep. The man snoozing in his chair with an unfinished magazine open on his lap is a man who was being given too much unnecessary trouble by the writer.

It won’t do to say that the snoozing reader is too dumb or too lazy to keep pace with the train of thought. My sympathies are with him. If the reader is lost, it is generally because the writer has not been careful enough to keep him on the path.

This carelessness can take any number of forms. Perhaps a sentence is so excessively cluttered that the reader, hacking his way through the verbiage, simply doesn’t know what it means. Perhaps a sentence has been so shoddily constructed that the reader could read it in any of several ways. Perhaps the writer has switched pronouns in mid-sentence, or has switched tenses, so the reader loses track of who is talking or when the action took place. Perhaps Sentence B is not a logical sequel to Sentence A-the writer, in whose head the connection is clear, has not bothered to provide the missing link. Perhaps the writer has used an important word incorrectly by not taking the trouble to look it up. He may think that “sanguine” and “sanguinary” mean the same thing, but the difference is a bloody big one. The reader can only infer (speaking of big differences) what the writer is trying to imply.

Faced with these obstacles, the reader is at first a remarkably tenacious bird. He blames himself-he obviously missed something, and he goes back over the mystifying sentence, or over the whole paragraph, piecing it out like an ancient rule, making guesses and moving on. But he won’t do this for long. The writer is making him work too hard, and the reader will look for one who is better at his craft.

The writer must therefore constantly ask himself: What am I trying to say? Surprisingly often, he doesn’t know. Then he must look at what he has written and ask: Have I said it? Is it clear to someone encountering the subject for the first time? If it’s not, it is because some fuzz has worked its way into the machinery. The clear writer is a person clear-headed enough to see this stuff for what it is: fuzz.

I don’t mean that some people are born clear-headed and are therefore natural writers, whereas others are naturally fuzzy and will never write well. Thinking clearly is a conscious act that the writer must force upon himself, just as if he were embarking on any other project that requires logic: adding up a laundry list or doing an algebra problem. Good writing doesn’t come naturally, though most people obviously think it does. The professional writer is forever being bearded by strangers who say that they’d like to “try a little writing sometime” when they retire from their real profession. Good writing takes self-discipline and, very often, self-knowledge.

Many writers, for instance, can’t stand to throw anything away. Their sentences are littered with words that mean essentially the same thing and with phrases which make a point that is implicit in what they have already said. When students give me these littered sentences I beg them to select from the surfeit of words the few that most precisely fit what they want to say. Choose one, I plead, from among the three almost identical adjectives. Get rid of the unnecessary adverbs. Eliminate “in a funny sort of way” and other such qualifiers they do no useful work.

The students look stricken-I am taking all their wonderful words away. I am only taking their superfluous words away, leaving what is organic and strong

“But,” one of my worst offenders confessed, “I never can get rid of anything-you should see my room.” (I didn’t take him up on the offer.) “I have two lamps where I only need one, hut I can’t decide which one I like better, so l keep them both.” He went on to enumerate his duplicated or unnecessary objects, and over the weeks ahead I went on throwing away his duplicated and unnecessary words. By the end of the term-a term that he found acutely painful — his sentences were clean.

“I’ve had to change my whole approach to writing,” he told me. “Now I have to think before I start every sentence and I have to think about every word.” The very idea amazed him. Whether his room also looked better I never found out.

Writing is hard work. A clear sentence is no accident. Very few sentences come out right the first time. or the third. Keep thinking and rewriting until you say what you want to say.

From: Zinsser, W. 1980. Simplicity. In On writing well: An informal guide to writing nonfiction. New York: Harper & Row. Copyright 1980 by William K. Zinsser. Reprinted by permission of the author.

In: Miles, Thomas H. Critical Thinking and Writing for Science and Technology. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1990, 290-294.

That’s what I have in this blog/ domain now. Apart from my entries in the previous website, I lost my Education Portfolio that I used for graduate school, my most personal of the personal diary which nobody ever saw, my twitter rss feed to search for all my twitter stuff, and the pictures I uploaded to the website. In short, I lost everything, and I do not have the desire or the capacity to put everything back up because I was not very diligent to keep backup files of the previous site in the first place.

So I have a blank slate –a blank slate to do whatever it is I want. I can be a beauty blogger, a food critic, a person whose interests range from all the fad that SM produces. I can be anything now. I can offer no excuse because I am given the opportunity for catharsis when I lost everything in the website. I can make whatever or be whatever, and I have no excuse not to try.

So I have a blank slate now. I guess I have a lot of space to try to fill this up again.