Being hit by the so-called "writer's block" is the worst. It tends to paralyze my writing fingers, followed by the fear that I may not be able to craft words anymore. Not ever. I realized that writing has unpredictable rhythms - muse comes and leaves as it pleases while the block often falls like a... Continue Reading →
I sit at my writing desk now, pondering on generosity in writing. Recently, my time's been tight with work and I noticed that my head's becoming difficult to set right for writing. I struggle. Specifically, it takes me innumerable deep breaths, several walks to the water dispenser, and looking nowhere and around before I can... Continue Reading →
When we lost our mom, I felt like a tub of ice cream. I know it's a lame metaphor. But I exactly felt this way: The universe scooped a part of me and left there a gaping hole. That scoop can never be replaced, and thus that hole will forever be there. The days after... Continue Reading →
You are probably aware of memoir's dark reputation in literature. For a long time--stretching to today--the mind of some readers and non-readers has been tainted by stereotypical beliefs such as: "Memoirs are written by narcissists.""Memoirs tell really sad, ugly, traumatizing stories.""There are obscene and illegal truths exposed in memoirs."Although the ditto beliefs may be true... Continue Reading →
It feels like an impossible task to write good stuff when you're mad, sad, or tomorrow's concerns eat you away. "No good fruit comes out of a bad tree," the Big Book says. Sometimes, you force the words out of you, not minding if you're being hypocrite at the moment. "They won't notice it, anyway,"... Continue Reading →
