Writing Blanks

I need to write.

I know that life is a best-selling novel waiting to be written, yet I find myself staring at my computer screen for hours, with only a measly sentence to show for all my effort. Inspiration, will you ever come back? Seriously, I've heard about writer's block but I never thought it would bother me for so long. I must admit, it's been a good couple of weeks since I had the urge to write about anything. I don't know if it's my utter lack of time management skills or the fact that nothing really publish-worthy happens to my life that brings me down, but I am in a deeply depressing slump.

Passion. There's a word that I rarely get to use these days. I know that if I put my mind into it, I can write something that's worth the five seconds that people actually spend on this blog. Boy, a writer writing about his inability to write must really sound so sad. This sucks.

Maybe I should enroll in a creative writing class. Maybe I should just put my pen down and admit defeat, face the fact that I'm no writer. Maybe I ought to shift my focus towards other things, such as work or my personal life. Maybe I should just put an end to this blog.

That book that I was planning to write about my grandfather will never write itself. How am I supposed to write about another person's life when I can't even make heads or tails of my own?

I have to get over this slump. One way or another, the Stories from the Simian Crease must continue.

Blank. Bored. Blurry. Beat. Binchee.

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Finding Time

Posted in mundaneity

Okay... so I've been off to a bad start.

I haven't been writing as often as i had wanted to. For one, I am no longer pleased by how the layout of my blog keeps self-destructing every now and then. I keep telling myself, "It's not about how it looks, it's about what you write! And rainbows and unicorns!", but just looking at the hideous distortions on the face of this blog called CSS and HTML makes me wanna hit Alt-Tab. Even Ctrl-F4 sometimes. It's not that I've lost faith in Blogger, or my profound HTML editing skills (sarcasm intended), it's just that for some odd reason I find myself running out of time, most of the time.

I own a computer shop, but I don't time myself when i use the PC. I also blame FOX and television.

Having said that, I intend to find some time to either fix this HTML dilemna / dilemma (See what I did there? I had always been taught to spell it "dilemna", and I'm positive many of you have been taught the same way too. Also, this paragraphed digression is waaay too long), or jump ship to Wordpress.

Just kidding Blogger. I'm still saving up my ten bucks to buy my custom domain. Do you have any idea how steep ten bucks is where I'm from!? Donors would be greatly appreciated folks.

I also need to find time for the other stuff that I wanna do, such as hitting the gym, finding true happiness or saving the world. It's ironic, because I had decided to drop a hefty salary for the sake of making more time for myself. I did said dropping of hefty salary and said making of more time by uprooting myself from my old job and finding employment at a conveniently much nearer locale. Indeed, travel time was cut down significantly, and almost regrettably so was my paycheck, but heck, I thought all the free time I'd get would be worth the sacrifice. Now I'm beginning to wonder where all that supposed free time went.

I'm gonna have to work on managing my time better. As soon as I find time to do that, I will.

All this time management makes me wanna...
...oh pukes. My shoes.

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Better Late Than... What?

Posted in mundaneity

Well this isn't exactly the new year post that I was hoping to write but as the old worn-out adage would say, better late than never.

As much as I'd want to recall everything that happened to me last year and sum up how 2010 was for me, I simply don't feel like my chemically abused brain cells are up to the task. So I'll just bullet down the most notable Stories from the Simian Crease in 2010.

I guess one of the most significant highlights of 2010 for me was the opportunity to write for a living. Though it wasn't the creative endeavor I was craving for it still more than made up for the fact that I was unemployed at the time. I sincerely appreciate the chance I was given, and if I had my way I would love to continue that sweet gig. Come on, who wouldn't want to be earning big dollars while sitting on his bum all day? Yes, dollars.

Time to put things in order.

The next memorable event of 2010 was when I signed up with one of the country's most prestigious call center companies. I know last year I had been very vocal about my aversion to coming back to the industry that I had so badly loathed, but my experience with this company now had almost completely changed my mind about that. Well, almost. While I do not resent coming back and doing what probably is the only job I'm ever gonna be good at, I am starting to feel a bit lost and uncertain of what direction my career will take in the next few months. I sure hope its up.

Sadly, last year wasn't all about the good and the happy stuff. There were also some dark and dank situations which I would gladly undo if I had a time machine. I got reacquainted with an old evil that had haunted me for years. For a good part of 2010 year I had been struggling to win this battle, and I'm ashamed to say that I have hardly made any headway. This year I honestly intend to kick this nasty oversight. Maybe I ought to start reading that Nic Sheff book that I've been holding on to.

So 2010 was far from being the all-out party that I wanted it to be, but hey, can't have it all now can we? I just wish 2011 brings in more opportunities for growth, peace and prosperity not just for me, but for all of us. And oh, we all grew older again. Why couldn't I just stay 19 forever?

New Year post - check.

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All For A Life Well Written

Posted in feebility, mundaneity, patheticism

Am I truly a writer?

For years man had always found ways to recognize and immortalize history as it unfolded. From the dawn of human kind to the modern age of computers, from the prehistoric cave drawings and ancient sea scrolls to the Internet, man has always - albeit sometimes unreliably - been capable of keeping records of his works, his discoveries, his triumphs and defeats, and even the tiniest and seemingly most insignificant details of his life.

Evolution, as it really happened.

But writing isn't just about keeping records or documenting history. While it is true that writing is an efficient way of preserving facts and the chronology of events in history, writing also happens to be one of the most enduring arts that encompasses the originality and profoundness of man's imagination. It fosters creativity and allows one to reach into the deepest recesses of his thoughts, allowing him to translate ideas and turn them into words, prose, poem or lyric, which he can then share them with an interested audience.

I looked back at some of the topics that I had written about in the Stories from the Simian Crease, and while there are a few publish-worthy material which I am proud to say are of my own imagination and creativity, I noticed that many of the posts in this humble blog centered on me and the hum drums of everyday living, being me. It made me wonder about whether I had been maintaining a blog that was actually worth publishing or is this just an online public diary that barely requires any intellect for anybody to understand. And so I pondered deeply upon that thought, and my keyboard fell silent as I stared at the steady blinking of the mouse pointer on my screen. Should I even dare continue this whimsical yet overly dramatic attempt at literary greatness, or should I just admit defeat and accept mediocrity?

Someone once told me that the greatest novel any author could ever write is the story about his life. Unfinished for most of the author's existence, his life story consists of a series of events that reaches as far back as all his childhood memories will let him, and continues up to the present. No two individuals ever waltz through the exact same sequence of events in their individual lives, and it is this individuality of experiences that assures us that our life's novel will be unique, with all the makings of an epic best-seller to boot. If it is a crime to put the seemingly mundane and worldly routines of yours truly into writing, in an effort to create my own saga - my greatest story ever told - then I say strap them old cuffs onto my wrists and lock me away for good, because I intend to continue living and writing for as long as time and inspiration allow.

I only hope that by the time the twilight of my existence looms near I shall have already written the last few chapters of my life's novel. At that time I will face those people who have helped me finish writing the story of my life, along with those whom I have helped write theirs, and ask them with all humility...

Was I truly a writer?

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