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fiction

on writing

by JennyO on April 13, 2009

Someone once asked me, “What would you be doing if you weren’t a writer?”

I couldn’t think of anything else I would rather do.

I grew up in homes full of books. Wherever we lived, there were always bookcases stuffed to bursting with my mother’s self-help books, collection of hardbound classics, and mystery, fantasy, horror, and science fiction paperbacks, or low shelves on the floor with my father’s choices in literature – Somerset Maugham, Gore Vidal, Sholom Aleichem.

My parents never consciously encouraged me to read, but surrounded by books and little else to do, I gravitated towards the shelves that were always open to me. I thrived on a literary diet of Enid Blyton and Louisa May Alcott, Nancy Drew and The Bobbsey Twins, Bulfinch’s Mythology and old-fashioned poetry, the rhyming kind like Gunga Din and The Ballad of Sam McGee.

In time, words and the putting together of them in sentences to convey meaning came as naturally to me as breathing. In school, my favorites subjects were the ones that used a lot of words – English, Social Studies. Math was anathema. In college, I took up Journalism. It was either that or English Studies, and I figured I’d have a better chance of earning through writing if I were a journalist, although my mother always said that there was no money in writing.

Today I make my living from it.

Often people ask, “Can you teach me how to write?” It’s a difficult question to answer, because the process is different for everybody. Some say that the talent is inborn. Perhaps to some extent that might be true; I believe some inclinations come naturally to people, like musical talent or athletic ability. But writing is also a skill that can be learned and cultivated, and anyone can do it. For the philosopher Jean Jacques Rosseau, “However great a man’s natural talent may be, the art of writing cannot be learned all at once.”

Some thoughts on writing that I’ve formed over the years:

1. Writing is a form of communication, just like speaking. Having problems starting your piece? Pretend you are talking to someone about it. Write it down that way. Then go back over what you’ve written and edit.

2. Writing uses language. To write effectively, you must know the language and its rules. Words are the construction materials, grammar the nails and mortar that hold them together. Immerse yourself in the language to build up your vocabulary. Even if you are writing in your mother tongue, don’t take it for granted that you know all the words or even enough of them. Read books and magazines. Watch television shows and films. Listen to native speakers and soak up the rhythm of their speech patterns. Choose a usage and composition guide – I was introduced to Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style in my freshman year of college, and have adhered to its tenets ever since.

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3. Less is more. I’ve always clung to Strunk’s Rule Number 17: “Omit needless words.” Bombarded as we are on all fronts by information vying for our attention, why make it harder for your reader to decode your message? Related to this is White’s advice: “Avoid fancy words.” If there exists a simpler word that conveys the same meaning and nuance, use it. But in the end, always go by your ear – use whatever sounds right. As Matthew Arnold said, “Have something to say and say it as clearly as you can. That is the only secret of style.” The exception would be if you were deliberately using the fancy word or words to achieve a certain effect.

4. Organize, organize, organize. I believe this is the most important part of the writing process. It doesn’t matter that you can use big words like venustation or ptochology if you can’t put your thoughts and facts down in a sequence that will help the reader understand the message you wish to convey. Pay attention to the flow of your ideas; for your piece to be effective, it has to make sense, one thought leading to another in a logical manner.

5. Practice, practice, practice. Writing is a skill, like bicycling or blacksmithing. Write something everyday. Said Doris Lessing: “You only learn to be a better writer by actually writing.” Or take Mary Heaton Vorse: “The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair.” It takes discipline, but it pays off, I promise.  Take advantage of today’s technological advances and the myriad means of self-expression. Write your feelings down in a journal, or publish your opinions on a blog. One of the easiest ways is microblogging using applications like Twitter. If you can text, you can write!

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6. Edit, edit, edit. Few, if any, first drafts are perfect. Go over what you’ve written and clean up typographical errors, spelling and grammar mistakes, factual inaccuracies, conceptual inconsistencies, and sequence flow. Science fiction writer C. J. Cherryh asserted, “It is perfectly okay to write garbage – as long as you edit brilliantly.”

7. Be yourself. In the beginning, writers tend to copy the style of the authors they admire. But the most natural and authentic voice is your own; have confidence in yourself. Said Bill Stout: “Whether or not you write well, write bravely.”

8. Write from your heart. Whether you seek to persuade or inform, the reader responds best to pieces that are sincere and honest.

Winston Churchill, one of the best statemen and writers that Britain has ever produced, once declared, “Writing is an adventure.” It is a journey anyone can take. May yours be filled with the thrill of discovery and the joy of creativity!

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khaled hosseini: the kite runner

by JennyO on March 18, 2009

Catching up on my reading, I finally got a copy of Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner. I consider myself remiss if a movie comes out before I’ve read the book! Which is what happened with this one. Here’s a cliched platitude to bring about closure – umm, “Better late than never” do ya? – and let’s get on with the review.

For a first novel, it’s extraordinarily well-written and the pacing is fine. I couldn’t put it down – always the mark of a good read for me. Set in 1970s Afghanistan, before that country’s revolution and its occupation by Russian forces, the narrative revolves around Amir, the privileged young protagonist, and his responses to the events that shape his life.

Enchanting descriptions of traditional activities like kite-flying, woven in with bits of history, opened their world to me in a way that a non-fiction work wouldn’t have been able to do.

From the communication perspective, there are interesting insights on inter- and intra-cultural communication, as well as interpersonal communication – between family members, friends – illustrating Afghan communicative behavior.

I don’t put spoilers in my reviews of fiction, and I won’t do it here. I’ll just tell you that this work tackles the universal themes of love, friendship, and loyalty, bound up with cowardice and self-preservation, until sacrifice brings redemption in the end.

It’s inspiring.

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kathy reichs: devil bones

by JennyO on March 12, 2009

If you’re into forensics and criminal procedure and psychology and watching the television show “Bones”, this book and the others by the same author will give you what you want.

Kathy Reichs is a practicing forensic anthropologist, a university professor, PhD graduate of the prestigious Northwestern University, and, in her spare time, a best-selling novelist and television series producer. Over-achiever.

Yes, but how great is that? She’s doing what she loves, both as an occupation and as a hobby, and getting paid for it. Now that’s the life. Is she a Gogirl? You bet – classic textbook definition of.

Dr. Reichs’ books are loosely based on her own experiences, with the central character, Dr. Temperance Brennan, a forensic specialist like herself. Plots and characters come from incidents and stories from her own life and practice. The books are fascinating for this reason – because they could actually have happened. Thus they aren’t as far-fetched and suspension of disbelief is easier to achieve.

The books have spun off into a television series, ”Bones”, starring Emily Deschanel and David Boreanaz (both of whom are excellent actors and deserve more opportunities to display their talent). In the timeline of Tempe’s world, the incidents in the TV show take place at an earlier time – decades earlier – than those of the book.

Devil Bones, set in Charlotte, North Carolina (Reichs’ home state), revolves around grisly artifacts found in a forgotten cellar, used for strange religious rituals. But for what? and by whom? Thereby hangs the tale.

It’s got many of my favorite story elements – anthropological observations, police procedure, a brainy scientist, and a handsome detective. Add a sprinkling of gore and a dash of suspense, and you’ve got a summer-read salad that’s perfect for whiling away those hot lazy afternoons.

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salman rushdie: the enchantress of florence

by JennyO on March 9, 2009

It’s been a while since I blogged about books, any book. Blame it on school. I’m in my first semester of PhD studies, and am feeling my way back into the social sciences after a twenty-year hiatus.

But with the sem winding to a close, and with my requirements done – well, mostly done, except for a couple of papers that just need finishing touches – I’m ready to hunker down for some serious reading. With that end in mind, I hit Fully Booked last week and carted off several inexpensive paperbacks, among them Salman Rushdie’s 2008 offering, The Enchantress of Florence.

I have admired his work ever since reading his The Satanic Verses, in 1998, which so offended the Ayatollah Khomeini. The Ayatollah’s regime slapped a fatwa on him for offending Islam, put a price on his head, and had every Muslim out for his life, forcing him to go into hiding for ten years. Nothing like notoriety to bring an author to the top of the bestseller’s lists! That and the scandal of a bald, aging writer mysteriously attracting the most gorgeous women on the planet. You have to wonder – what’s he got that isn’t obvious? Maybe if we read his books, we’d find out.

The Enchantress of Florence is pure Rushdie –  masterful use of language, deft story-telling, plots within plots. This novel is well-researched, mixing, as it does, the history of Renaissance Florence and the Mughal Empire in a rollicking tale featuring a European storyteller calling himself “Mogor dell’Amore” (The Mughal of Love); Akbar the Mughal Emperor; and the Enchantress, whom Mogor claims is his mother.

Though long-dead, she captures the imagination of Akbar and that of the populace of his city of Fatehpur-Sikri so intensely that she acquires a life of her own that makes her even more real than the other people in the book.

Indeed, the insubstantial ghosts of women are more important than those of flesh-and-blood. Akbar’s favorite queen, Jodha, is imaginary, created and sustained by the force of his will, inhabiting his palace like a shadow. Yet the resentment of his other queens against the phantasm is all too real. Later it is directed against the “Enchantress”, Qara Koz (“Black Eyes”), the sister of Akbar’s ancestor Babar, when she gains a life of her own.

Stripped of its flowery language and convoluted storyline, the novel centers around an impossibly beautiful woman and her magical effect on the men around her. Like la belle dame sans merci, she loves only as long as she wants to, but her men love her forever.

One wonders – was Rushdie inspired by a real woman – someone, perhaps, like his fourth wife, actress Padma Lakshmi, from whom he was recently divorced?

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Having lived with such glamorous arm candy for three years, it isn’t far-fetched to speculate that here is Rushdie’s “Enchantress” in the flesh, and the novel, his tribute to a stunning woman who captured his heart, his fancy, and his imagination.

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they called me “walking encyclopedia”.

by JennyO on January 21, 2009

I was called this in high school, along with worse names. It had something to do with my love for books, how I would rather curl up in the stacks in the Pasay City Adventist Academy library, reading what were called “mission stories”, ’50s books on feminine deportment and hygiene with quaint sketches on how to properly put on a brassiere, and everything that I could find on ancient Egypt, while my classmates were playing volleyball and gossiping and forging strong relationships that for some remain to this day.

I’ve always been a loner. I’m not anti-social – I have hundreds of acquaintances, a great many friends, and a few very close ones. But I often preferred to spend my time reading rather than doing something else. My relationships were with fictional or historical characters, with facts and romance and adventure, and with the fancies of my own imagination.

Here are some of the books on my bedside table. Most of them I read in 2008.

They shouldn’t be stacked up on my night stand like this. They should be in the bookcases in the living room. But there isn’t any more room on the shelves, where books are crammed two-deep. Others are piled against the wall.

The books used to be in the living room, but now they have invaded my bedroom, sprouting against the walls like fungi.

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This stack rests under the a/c in my bedroom. Another stack is by the long mirror next to the closet. A third one is…hmm, I’d better stop here.

Do I mind the disorganization and chaos, like a bookshop exploded in my home? No, because (one) I made the mess myself; (two) the books make me feel comfortable and somehow safe. A house without books will never be a home for me. When I enter other people’s residences and I cannot find a single codex or publication, the hairs on the back of my neck and arms rise. I am not kidding. I cannot imagine how one can live without reading. For me is essential and necessary to sustain life, like eating and breathing.

Yes, I exaggerate somewhat. But I think of my worst nightmares, my greatest fears, and living in a world without books is close to the top of the list.

We are fortunate to live in a country where the press is (relatively) free and the Internet is uncensored and there are many bookstores that offer a wide assortment from around the world. There are places on this planet where there are no books, or what they have is heavily censored and many other titles are suppressed, where the Internet and publications are fiercely monitored by state-appointed censors who block websites or black out nude people’s private parts on magazine pages with a marker.

There are places on this planet where women are not taught to read.

There are places on this planet where no one can read.

Let’s not waste our freedom to access information.

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on books being necessary to sustain life

by JennyO on January 14, 2009

They say Filipinos are not a reading people. We get our mental stimulus primarily from television. As proof, look at the tremendous popularity of the sensational evening news programs, prone to exaggeration, and the fantasy telenovelas that feature mestizo actors and actresses, many of them as pale-skinned as radishes through artifice (glutathione, anyone?).

Yet there are still many of those who read. There are those who crave the feel of a book in their hands, a construct of paper and ink, upon the pages of which letters crawl to form words that are portals into other worlds.

Wall art on an upper floor of Fully Booked bookstore, Bonifacio High Street, The Fort.

The local market is not large enough to fully support a healthy publishing industry; I know of several publishing companies that were born in hope yet died in time when buffeted by economic and social realities.

Still, the major chain bookstores thrive. They derive much of their revenue from imported reading material and ephemera, but at least they are around, to provide the necessities to those of us who cannot imagine living in a world without books.

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stephen king: just after sunset

by JennyO on January 14, 2009

From the haunted imagination of bestselling novelist Stephen King comes Just After Sunset, a collection of thirteen tales that explore the dark side of the mind. These spine-chilling stories tackle themes of obsessive-compulsive behavior, explorations of the nature of the afterlife, and the tangibility of guilt.

As a lifelong fan of “The Other King”, I believe the height of his mastery was during his earlier days, when he churned out supernatural chillers like Salem’s Lot, Pet Sematary, Christine, and It. His last short story collection, Everything’s Eventual, was written in 2002. That was a batch of underbaked literary cookies that left one dismayed over the decline of his inventive powers, a slide most noticeable in the potboilers Gerald’s Game, Rose Madder, Dolores Claiborne, and Dreamcatcher. His latest novel, Duma Key, was such a disappointment that I wondered if King had lost his mojo for good.

Just After Sunset is a more satisfying box of “poisoned bon-bons”, as he calls them, and marks a return to the old Stephen King who wrote terror-filled tales that kept you up at night and would not let you visit the bathroom alone.

The master’s magic is back – good news for all his admirers.

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write a novel in thirty days…?

by JennyO on November 5, 2008

Yes, you can, this November with NaNoWriMo!

National Novel Writing Month is an organization that encourages people all over the world to unleash their inner creative writer by writing a 50,000-word novel in thirty days. The scribbling frenzy starts November 1 and ends before midnight of November 30. Participants sign up at www.nanowrimo.org. The site tracks word count and issues a certificate at the end of the month to successful writers.

Quantity, not quality, is the mantra. The goal is output. About 2,000 words a day should do it.  Just get what’s in your head down on paper. Don’t spend too much time on polishing. Your inner editor will balk, but there is no perfect first draft, is there? Editing is for December!

I learned about NaNoWriMo in late November last year, when it was almost over (sob). I vowed back then to join this year. Having waited an entire year to do this, I signed up five days late. Sigh.

But as they say, “better late than dead!” so here I am, computer fired up and fountain pens inked. This year is the project’s tenth anniversary. What an auspicious moment for me to join for the first time. It’s meant to be.

Here’s more on NaNoWriMo, from their website:

National Novel Writing Month: The Largest Writing Contest in the World Turns Ten!

Oakland, Calif. — There are some who say writing a novel takes awesome talent, strong language skills, academic training, and years of dedication.

Not true. All it really takes is a deadline – a very, very tight deadline – and a whole lot of coffee.

Welcome to National Novel Writing Month, a nonprofit literary crusade that encourages aspiring novelists all over the world to write a 50,000-word novel in a month. At midnight on Nov. 1, more than 100,000 writers from over 80 countries – poised over laptops and pads of paper, fingers itching and minds racing with plots and characters – will begin a furious adventure in fiction. By 11:59 PM on Nov. 30, tens of thousands of them will be novelists.

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2008 is the ten-year anniversary of NaNoWriMo, founded in 1999 by freelance writer Chris Baty. In its first year, NaNoWriMo had just 21 participants. In 2007, over 100,000 people took part in the free challenge, making it the largest writing contest in the world. And while the event stresses fun and creative exploration over publication, 24 NaNoWriMo novelists have had their NaNo-novels published, including Sarah Gruen, whose New York Times #1 best seller, Water for Elephants, began as a NaNoWriMo novel.

Around 18% of NaNoWriMo participants “win” every year by writing 50,000 words and validating their novels on the organization’s website before midnight on Nov 30. Winners receive no prizes, and no one at NaNoWriMo ever reads the manuscripts submitted.

So if not for fame or fortune, why do people do it?

“The 50,000-word challenge has a wonderful way of opening up your imagination and unleashing creative potential like nothing else,” says NaNoWriMo Director (and nine-time NaNoWriMo winner) Chris Baty. “When you write for quantity instead of quality, you end up getting both. Also, it’s a great excuse for not doing any dishes for a month.”

At the website, participants can fill out their profile, check out their word count meter, and join groups based on geolocation. The Philippines is represented by 510 affiliates so far, “doing NaNoWriMo the Pinoy way.”

With writers from all over the world, shouldn’t the contest be called WoNoWriMo – World Novel Writing Month? GloNoWriMo – Global? PlaNoWriMo – Planetary?

While we work on finding a better name for the contest, go write down that recurring dream you have about orangutans beside your bed eating muffins and tomato salad. Anything goes here; claim the freedom to expound on whatever you want. Don’t worry too much about it. This is, after all, the activity that birthed the book No Plot? No Problem! by Chris Baty, which advocates “low-stress, high-velocity” writing techniques, and the ‘plot ninja’, “intentionally vague” ideas that jolt your story when it’s stuck in a rut or has painted itself into a corner.

You read the magic words – “novel”, “deadline”, “coffee”, “not doing dishes for a month”. Now go sign up, break out your dictionary, thesaurus, and ten-gallon percolator, and write!

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bedside reading

by JennyO on November 2, 2008

Whenever I’m asked, “What are you reading now?”, I’m sometimes hard pressed to answer. I do read one book at time, but there’s always a stack or two of volumes beside my bed,  some of which I’ve read, the others newly acquired and next in line for reading.

My tastes are eclectic. There are marketing and business books, holdovers from my MBA days – Marketing Gurus, all the Franklin Covey books. Lately I’m into memoirs – Matthew Polly’s hilarious American Shaolin, A. J. Jacob’s tongue-in-cheek The Year of Living Biblically, Laura Shaine Cunningham’s poignant and brave A Place in the Country.

Near the top, where I can easily reach them, are the latest thoroughbred catalogues from Australia’s Magic Millions and Keeneland in Kentucky. Keeneland’s November 2008 sale catalogues are the more interesting. It is a set of eight thick books, the information on weanlings and other bloodstock printed on thin paper. I open to the Index to Sires and roll their names in my mouth like candy – Cryptoclearance, Langfuhr, Star de Naskra.

Somewhere in those stacks are the latest edition of Strunk and White, my style manual ever since it was introduced to me in my freshman English class at the University of the Philippines; a Dummies guide to Adobe InDesign for print publication layouting; and three volumes of the Plaridel journal, the academic publication of the UP College of Mass Communication.

And at the bottom of the shorter pile is Julie Morgenstern’s Organizing from the Inside-Out – probably not the best place for it to be, if I want it to be of any help.

Any house I live in will be filled with books. It’s almost a psychological given; a house is not a home for me unless there are many books in it, spilling from shelves, stacked against the wall, piled on the coffee table.

My love for books stems from childhood. My mother raised me on science fiction and fantasy. This is a woman who kept her Lord of the Rings trilogy on the shelf below the TV set in her room, while all the other books were kept in the living room. This was back in the early ’80s, before fantasy became fashionable and when all of Tolkien’s books were out of print. Her copies, which she bought as a teenager at Lopue’s and China Rose in Bacolod City, were printed in the ’60s, before “acid-free” was heard of, and the pages were yellowed and crumbled at a touch. The spines were battered and mended many times with tape, which had also discolored to a color like weak tea.

In the tall wicker bookshelves in the sala she kept cookbooks. One of them was a ’50s hardbound Betty Crocker cookbook from her nanny who migrated to the United States. I have it now, and treat it as an heirloom. Others were cookbooks from the ’70s; those were filled with recipes for fondue, which seemed to me to be highly impractical since you needed a fondue burner.

That didn’t faze my mother. She improvised with a miniature saucepan on the stove. We gathered in the kitchen, dipping cubes of Kraft cheddar cheese in beaten egg, then breadcrumbs, then plunging them in hot oil till toasty brown.

Also on the shelves were my stepfather’s encyclopedias and his mother’s collection of children’s “two-in-one” hardbound classics. For instance, one side was Grimm’s Fairy Tales; flip the book and you got Hans Christian Andersen’s stories. My mother also had a good collection of adult classics – Aldous Huxley, Jonathan Swift, Charles Dickens, the Brontes. I wore out Bullfinch’s Mythology, though I later lost that particular copy.

My mother also possessed nearly all the Edgar Rice Burroughs books – my favorites being the Tarzan series (no, there wasn’t a “Cheeta” in the books) and the Mars series. The latter starred skimpily-clad Martian princess Dejah Thoris, who was constantly being saved by her husband, the manly Earthling John Carter, from predatory villains and robots controlled by evil scientists.

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Fanart depiction of Barsoom (Mars); in the center, Dejah Thoris and John Carter face a myriad perils

Conan Doyle’s “Sherlock Holmes” stories were also well-represented. H. Rider Haggard and his endless yarns of hunter Allan Quatermain’s adventures in lost cities in Africa? Check. Jules Verne and H. G. Wells classics? Yes, there too, as well as L. Frank Baum’s “Oz” books, many of them with the original John R. Neill art nouveau illustrations.

Neill’s drawings of Ozma’s hair – confined at the forehead by a thin diadem, tresses curling in whiplash tendrils – and her gauzy draperies, floating cloudlike around her slim body – captured my young imagination, representing an aesthetic that was otherworldly and unreachable. To this day, it is one of my favorite genres of art.

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A Neill watercolor of Dorothy, Glinda, and Ozma of Oz.

Knowing of my insatiable – and indiscriminate – appetite for books, my mother kept those she felt inappropriate for my age in her closet, which we children never opened. When I was in college, she brought the books down, the ban lifted. One of them was Stephen King’s Dark Forces, a collection of horror and SF works by various writers. My mother probably didn’t object to the storylines but rather to King’s salty language.

In any case, it was just more grist for my mill, along with her more spinechilling H. P. Lovecraft books. The cover of one was horrifying - a worm snaked through the empty eye-socket of a half-decayed skull which bore clumps of matted hair and rodent-like teeth. I averted my eyes from that awful artwork whenever I opened that book to read about the Cthulhu, Yog-Sothoth, Nyarlathotep.

At the mere thought of that macabre painting, an involuntary shudder shakes my frame as chills riff up and down my spine. Uncannily, this is my exact same reaction when my eyes or fingers travel over the few old college mathematics and physics textbooks unexpurgated from my shelves. Cthulhu ftaghn!

My father was yet another heavy reader, but his tastes ran more to W. Somerset Maugham, John O’ Hara, Norman Mailer, Sholom Aleichem, Truman Capote, biographies. Pops lived in California for five years in the ’80s, and while there wrote me excitedly when he began Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee,  Dee Brown’s novel on native American history. He wasn’t into science fiction; the most that he got into that genre was Ray Bradbury – I Sing the Body Electric, Something Wicked This Way Comes.

I usually finish what I start. The exception is one book that I bought at a secondhand bookstall in Morayta in the late ’80s, set aside because its dense language put me to sleep although its ideas were interesting; a paradox in its rules of engagement. It was Marshall McLuhan’s 1964 work Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. This groundbreaking book had a profound impact on mass communication and media studies. As a mass comm major, I felt duty bound to read it. It’s one of the books by my bed. Sometimes I feel I keep it around not so much because I plan to finish reading it, but as a talisman to keep me focused on the particular discipline that is my life’s work.

Let me see – it’s in the taller stack, under the used copy of Mervyn Peake’s Gormenghast that I found a couple of years ago at Booksale for P45. It’s the second in the “Titus Groan” trilogy. I got the first book in the late ’80s, also at Morayta, deep in the University Belt in the heart of Manila. I’m still looking to complete the set. Perhaps twenty years from now, in another serendipitous moment, I’ll stumble upon a copy of Titus Alone and I will add it, yet another block in the tower of books by my bed.

People come into my house, find piles of books stacked chest-high against the walls and two- or three-deep in bookcases, and ask, “Have you read all those?” The answer is, yes, except for that darn McLuhan.

And often, “Why do you like reading so much?” and at that I am rendered inarticulate. It is difficult to explain to people who do not read, who do not relish the sensation of eyes tracking words across a page to be immersed in a story, momentarily losing touch of reality.

My own habit of reading is a result of childhood influence and a desire to escape. I lose myself in forests of words and in thickets of concepts, drown in rivers of language, wander through time and space. The volumes by my bed embody different worlds where I may go freely, through the simple expedient of cracking open a book and reading.

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ik’s triumphant poem

by JennyO on August 14, 2008

Hallo! I made a *rather* nice poem. LOL.

Sender: aaIk  Received: 02:31:35pm

That’s nice! Email it to me, pls tnx

To: aaIk  Sent: 02:32:07pm

Ookie! I shall email triumphantly!

Sender: aaIk  Received: 02:37:28pm

I look forward to your triumphant email! I luv u!

To: aaIk  Sent: 02:38:52pm

Sent, it is! :D

Sender: aaIk  Received: 02:54:45pm

ze poem ~ (via email)

To Fly

How I wish I could fly -
But I wonder where?
Well, as long as I could,
I would go anywhere!

Maybe to the beach,
Even to the mall.
Anywhere, as long as I
Don’t fall!

But what if one day, Mama came
And I was nowhere to be found?
She would be so worried, so I know
It would be best to stay on ground.

© 2008 Erika Alcasid

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