Work's become so much of a part of my daily routine that I don't even have the time to blog or to write that story for the upcoming speculative fiction collection the third, and it's getting the best of me by making me grouchy. Fortunately, Thelonious Monk is always great company for the pressurized heart.
Speaking of Dean Alfar. I regularly read Dean Alfar's blog just to keep in touch with what's what and hot and not in the mainland of the Pinoy writing universe. His site's no survey of Philippine literature, but he delivers news of the kind that don't dwell on the overomnipotence of the singular well-placed word, so it's the kind of lit news that I'd actually like to read.
Not that I lose myself in his posts much; I read his blog, not his fiction. Take this entry, for example. It illustrates a discipline in writing that should become something like a force of habit for anybody dead set in making anything out of any art form, since inspiration is like a sugar rush that's going to go bad soon and you sure wouldn't want to be in the same room when you hit rock bottom. But I read the first paragraph, glossed through the next few, then hopped through the last paragraph. Then I read the comments, went back to the last paragraph, thought about whether I should leave a comment or not, then decided against it because Maryanne Moll had left a comment and the only encounter I've ever had with her was when I left a comment at her blog and I'd sounded like an idiot then.
Self-preservation is the pits sometimes.
Where was I?
So yeah. I generally agree with his point about writing as more than a spark of inspiration. What didn't really sit well with me was mostly everything else. Most writers tend to take things to a totally different level the only way they know how: by going overboard with the details (guilty!).
Steve Conte of The Crowned Jewels, on the other hand, gives a more concrete example in his journal post entitled "On Depression and Despair." It might take you a bit to find the exact post, but it's worth it since he gives out actual exercises on keeping that artistic muscle flexed.
Not that I'm dissing Dean. He's a cool guy with a lot of great ideas. But I'm kinda choosy when it comes down to making a liberal art a job. It's no secret that the fastest way to lose interest in anything is to make it your source of livelihood, but that's technically all you need to know about it. I mean, there's no immediate point in puffing all these enlightened ideas just to illustrate that what was once A will have to become B just to keep on being A.
Of course, it's his blog and there's Freedom of Expression that says that all the flak I've just given him makes me an instant asshole. But then, he doesn't care about me, and neither do I care about him. I just wish that writers would just stop prettifying something as simple as a blog post and get to the damned point already. I ain't got all day.
Oh my God, I'm starting to sound like Maddox.
Speaking of Dean Alfar. I regularly read Dean Alfar's blog just to keep in touch with what's what and hot and not in the mainland of the Pinoy writing universe. His site's no survey of Philippine literature, but he delivers news of the kind that don't dwell on the overomnipotence of the singular well-placed word, so it's the kind of lit news that I'd actually like to read.
Not that I lose myself in his posts much; I read his blog, not his fiction. Take this entry, for example. It illustrates a discipline in writing that should become something like a force of habit for anybody dead set in making anything out of any art form, since inspiration is like a sugar rush that's going to go bad soon and you sure wouldn't want to be in the same room when you hit rock bottom. But I read the first paragraph, glossed through the next few, then hopped through the last paragraph. Then I read the comments, went back to the last paragraph, thought about whether I should leave a comment or not, then decided against it because Maryanne Moll had left a comment and the only encounter I've ever had with her was when I left a comment at her blog and I'd sounded like an idiot then.
Self-preservation is the pits sometimes.
Where was I?
So yeah. I generally agree with his point about writing as more than a spark of inspiration. What didn't really sit well with me was mostly everything else. Most writers tend to take things to a totally different level the only way they know how: by going overboard with the details (guilty!).
Steve Conte of The Crowned Jewels, on the other hand, gives a more concrete example in his journal post entitled "On Depression and Despair." It might take you a bit to find the exact post, but it's worth it since he gives out actual exercises on keeping that artistic muscle flexed.
Not that I'm dissing Dean. He's a cool guy with a lot of great ideas. But I'm kinda choosy when it comes down to making a liberal art a job. It's no secret that the fastest way to lose interest in anything is to make it your source of livelihood, but that's technically all you need to know about it. I mean, there's no immediate point in puffing all these enlightened ideas just to illustrate that what was once A will have to become B just to keep on being A.
Of course, it's his blog and there's Freedom of Expression that says that all the flak I've just given him makes me an instant asshole. But then, he doesn't care about me, and neither do I care about him. I just wish that writers would just stop prettifying something as simple as a blog post and get to the damned point already. I ain't got all day.
Oh my God, I'm starting to sound like Maddox.