Work in progress, writer’s write not sleep.

It’s been a while (a long while) since I last wrote anything. It’s a situation when life and situations come in between you and your craft. In this case, my life came in between me and my writing. When I could have spent hours crafting away the next book, I spent it couching away; over old DVDs and hosting imaginary friends.

There’s a “work in progress” folder in my iBook. It’s there to remind me, I’ve got book projects a plenty. Each time, an idea comes to me; I piece it together and open a project folder. There is no shortage of ideas for a book. The only obstacle is my own perverted laziness. The kind of laziness that causes you to spend all your money, moan about the pains of the world and make you a pain in everyone’s butts.

In short, I’ve been a jackass to my craft.

I’m a writer and writers write. That’s what we do best. It’s the only thing we know how to do well. We put thought into words. We unveil the mysteries of everyday life. We unfold the jigsaw of circumstances that play before us for an audience to understand and remember. We draw laughter, shed tears, inspire minds, create arguments and drive passion with a compilation of words, formed into sentences that spark the intellect.

We are writers and we write; not sleep on the job.

We are people of the script. We fashion words out of thin air. We watch and bother about the lives of those we see pass through our field of vision. This came to mind (as I write this):

The cold washed over her face, and she shudder to think that she was all alone, in the street, walking home in the rain. Her makeup did not hold, her mascara a stream of black on pale skin. Yet it help mask the tears. The pain. The anguish. She was lost for a moment, standing by the street corner, where the stand sold burgers for a ringgit and half. In the rain, all roads look the same and no matter which path she took, it was all the same. She would still be alone. Lonely and depressed. In the rain, all roads lead to the same conclusion. And she stood there, pondering her choices while the burger-stand man stood watching and wondered if he should stop selling burgers for a ringgit and half.

Creativity is 10% inspiration, 90% hard work. We are writers. I am a writer and it’s time I started writing. I’ve got all those “work in progress” folders to clear out.

Dokkodo – The Path of Aloneness

Dokkodo – “The Path of Aloneness” or “The Way to be Followed Alone” by Miyamoto Musashi (1645)

1. Accept everything just the way it is.
2. Do not seek pleasure for its own sake.
3. Do not, under any circumstances, depend on a partial feeling.
4. Think lightly of yourself and deeply of the world.
5. Be detached from desire your whole life long.
6. Do not regret what you have done.
7. Never be jealous.
8. Never let yourself be saddened by a separation.
9. Resentment and complaint are appropriate neither for oneself nor others.
10. Do not let yourself be guided by the feeling of lust or love.
11. In all things have no preferences.
12. Be indifferent to where you live.
13. Do not pursue the taste of good food.
14. Do not hold on to possessions you no longer need.
15. Do not act following customary beliefs.
16. Do not collect weapons or practice with weapons beyond what is useful.
17. Do not fear death.
18. Do not seek to possess either goods or fiefs for your old age.
19. Respect Buddha and the gods without counting on their help.
20. You may abandon your own body but you must preserve your honour.
21. Never stray from the Way.

For Ryan

Within the walls of silence,
I hear the voice of the void,
Within the reach of the speechless,
The cold touch to avoid,

Pass the door of despair,
I hear the reason of the fallen,
Within the glance of the innocent,
Deep calls upon deep; for time stolen,

Not the voice of the crowd,
Nor the voice of the righteous,
But the whisper of prayer said,
Eyes to heaven, voice of the gracious,

Tears to stumbling man,
Comfort in the darkest storm,
Push turn to shove; he’ll turn away,
Heart call to heart; he’ll come home.

Don’t you hate writers block?

I’m having one of those nights where I stared at a blank screen and my mind just refuses to budge. Yup, writer’s block. Or just a classic case of I’ve-ran-out-of-stories.

Yup. I’m stump and downright frustrated, and I know this can go on for weeks. It happened as I was writing Jasmines and again when writing The Bicycle. I stop writing for weeks, all because my mind just refused to write. I took long walks or merely allowed my imagination to go wild.

So when, you get writer’s block. Don’t worry. It’ll pass. All you need to do is keep yourself healthy and enjoy the vacation your mind has put you into. Pick up a new hobby or something. Anything to keep that mind active. Eventually, you will find yourself sitting at your desk again, and with new found vigor, you’ll write again.

So if you have writer’s block, what would you do?

Goodbye Yasmin Ahmad – Malaysian filmaker

I had the privilege of meeting Yasmin Ahmad some years back and I’ve been a fan of her work since then. She was unforgettable. Her works, incredible. What else can be said of a true Malaysian story teller. Someone who, in her movies and short commercial clips was able to tug at our hearts, making us laugh, cry and wonder. She wrote on a canvas that moved us to believe in simple things. Some deemed her work as a tad controversial or un-Malaysian. Yet she took it in her stride and looking at it another way, there was a response to her works which meant it did what it was suppose to do – touch hearts.

Check out this tribute and I am sure you will feel the same way I did when watching her work – The Best of Yasmin Ahmad.

Know your friends.

The man who backbites an absent friend, nay, who does not stand up for him when another blames him, the man who angles for bursts of laughter and for the repute of a wit, who can invent what he never saw, who cannot keep a secret – that man is black at heart: mark and avoid him. Cicero

Love this quote and how true it is. We all have friends and yet how sure are we who are our true friends. How sure are we that we have friends that will hold firm when shit hits the fan?

Most writers will concur with me that they have few friends in their lives. Often times, writers keep a select few, these are the privileged few whom read the first manuscripts or drafts or comment on the latest plots and twists.

Keep friends, real friends and cast out all the pretenders because at times we mirror the friends we keep.

Dealing with myself,looking at the man in the mirror.

This post has nothing to do with writing or being a writer but maybe a little, depending on where it takes me. I finally managed to open up to a group of people tonight. Telling them some of the anguish and pain I have had to go through the past few months. It’s actually a huge step for me to open up to a group of people. I am dreadfully private and wary around people.

Ironically, it’s in my writing that I feel liberated to speak. As I conjure up stories, I inevitably write about my life. Write about my thoughts and aches and pains and anguish and joys. It through the channel of putting thoughts to paper, I find release. A non judgmental world where I can roam free.

Maybe it’s me, but writers seemed to be people who look at themselves in the mirror and seek avenues upon which they can describe the image that they see. Often times, attempting to mirror the image as a picture of what society or life should be like. But there’s a problem with the image in the mirror. It is a picture of a singular person and we may be faulted as being a narcissi when talking too much about one’s own self.

So tonight I looked at the man in the mirror and attempted to describe him to a group of people. In a small way, it was my way to deal with my own inner demons. A form of inner therapy, from which healing may take place. I’ve been through a lot the past few months. I’ve made mistakes and brought immense pain to those around me. Partly, because I’ve been a narcist about things and also a total ass. Couple that with stubbornness of the nth degree and an inability to listen to reason.

Unfortunately, that’s me.

Throw the blinds open, gain new insight. A writer’s need.

I’ve just moved into a new office at my workplace. New location, new department, it is a step up from my previous department. I now have the luxury of a bird’s eye view of my surroundings. It great to be on the fifth floor especially when the windows also substitute as a wall for your office. So I merely turn to my right and the view greets me. I love it. I needed it.

In life we need new experiences and views in order to move forward. There are times we get pigeon-holed in a particular location or within a certain mind-set. It is arresting and unhealthy. Situations like that will quickly push you into a state of decomposition. You rot and eventually die from being stagnant. We need new experiences to open up new mind-sets and thought patterns. And with new ideas come inspiration; the very energy a writer thrives on.

Having my fifth floor view energizes me into action. Opens my mind to ideas and inspires me to think differently. It motivates me to think along strange paths or paths least travelled by other writers. Explore subject matters, which none dare write about or create scenarios that defy conventional thinking.

Isn’t that the goal of writing?

To spur, to poke fun at established idea, to be the driver of iconoclastic motives? Writers should want their writings to create a sense of wonderment and thought among their readers. If your reader can have an opinion about your work, then you would have done your job well. You would have ignited a thought within them.

So throw your blinds open, see the world from a higher place or a lower place, and be inspired to write.

2nd book accepted (in principle).

After waiting 2 months (normal evaluation period in Malaysia), I finally got the green light from my publisher for my 2nd book.In their email to me, they seem to imply that they will take their time with this book. Stating that they will be publishing it “in the near future”. The email was quite confusing but the very next day, I get a request to send over the manuscript in .doc format for editing purposes.

I’m not going to push for a timeline cause being pushy can translate to being irritating and they may just can me for being a desperate-wanna-be-published writer. So I am going to take this patiently and see what happens. I have one foot in the door and it may take some time to put the other one through too.

Publishers won’t be too desperate if they feel your book is a hard sale and I foresee this is the challenge ahead for me. Novels in English especially written by local writers like me have to go head-to-head with the imported titles. By putting my book into a bookstore in Malaysia, I have to compete with Dan Brown, JK Rowling or Stephen King.

It’s a tough sell and carving your place among giants is a daunting task for there is a stigma that local writers are not up to par with our illustrious cousins writing from abroad. Which is a myth since writing is universal, the telling of a story is a human trait birth from the long nights our ancestors had sitting around campfires and family communes. Story telling is colorful and never meant to be stagnant and the same. So if there is to be judgement, then judge the story not the story teller. This way, we become color blind to the writer and give all stories their due respect.

The Reclusive Writer

I am quick to admit that I am a very reclusive person. By nature I am painfully private about things in my life. There was a period in my life where I sought to fit in but that was as successful as trying to drown fish in water. I have since come back home to being the recluse that I am. Yet in being reclusive, intoxicated in my own reality, I find the well-spring of creativity. I imagine the lives of other people. Living and breathing the air of the characters that populate the world of my mind. It is a world undisturbed by the harsh reality of this world.

There is nothing bad about being shy about yourself. In looking myself, I realized that I have a lot of acquittances yet only a handful of close friends. People with whom I can be vulnerable with and comfortable to share my thoughts and ideas.

Yet it is in my own quiet retreat, I am able to write and spin the tales that flash within my head. I put on my beenie, wake up my iBook and type away. Some stories go unfinished, some take flight yet others remain empty pages waiting for another visit.

I sometimes shun writer gatherings for the very reason, I prefer to write alone. I am not saying writer groups are bad. No. By all means join one if you feel it would help your craft. All I am saying is, it may not work for me. I enjoy writing alone. In the comfort of my own thoughts and the quietness of my own space. Do what is best to express your craft. Don’t compromise on what makes you a writer.

If you are a reclusive writer like me, don’t worry. You are in good company.