It's one-thirty in the morning. I have a short story on the back burner that doesn't look as though it'll be finished anytime soon, and I have a contingency story on tap. If I don't manage to finish my main offering by tomorrow afternoon, I'll be submitting my contingency measure.
I think I've hit upon why I've had too many unsuccessful tries for this one: Pressure, plain and simple.
I've had a lot of miscues coming into the final days of the Fully Booked contest, but for some reason, I've only been able to write freely once I had the backup story prepared. Was I resting secure in the knowledge that I would have something to submit regardless of anything? Perhaps that was the case.
That would make a good lesson for the next contest, I suppose: Ready the contingency plan first. Seeing that the Palanca awards are accepting entries already, and knowing that I already have my story seeds for the 4th L5R Ficathon, I'll have ample opportunity to try this out. It feels strange having to work on a backup for a non-technical case study, but I suppose that writing is a pretty sensitive endeavor to begin with.
My head is spinning again, for that matter, and this is the first time it's happened to me without the benefit of strenuous physical activity. It's obvious that I've been writing for too many straight hours, so I'm going to take a breather now and head straight off to bed. (Thankfully, I can now afford to do this.)
It's funny, really, how you can be writing for over half your life and still have to figure out a number of lessons from the business. Then again, I suppose, it would be a pretty boring way of life if we didn't learn something from every task we tried to take on.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Monday, February 20, 2006
...Incoming!
I'll be on hiatus for a week or so, most likely. I don't think I came up with a particularly good entry for the Draconian Anthology last time, so I'm going to try to clear my mind a bit before I write something for the Fully Booked contest.
Yes, I'm aware that the deadline's a week away. That's why I'm sitting down, calmly pecking at the keyboard, and trying desperately not to panic.
What I most fear at this point is that I'll end up with a lemon again. And if that happens, then will that imply that my writing skills have become a lot more random as of late? Will it mean that I continually churn out average stories with the odd hidden gem every now and then? Will it mean that I still have a lot farther to reach when it comes to that penultimate goal, that scourge of hacks, that finality of fiction as a whole?
The more I think of it, the more I start to believe that it's not the money I'm after. I probably join contests because I want to reassure myself. I want to see if I can still swing that bat when the bottom of the ninth comes up and the bases are loaded. In a sense, it becomes a very, very personal thing.
So I'll be at the keyboard if you need me. Maybe I'll be online and maybe I won't, but at the moment, I just want to take down this beast of a deadline before my time runs out.
That's not to say that I don't have plans afterwards. I do have plans, yes, and in fact, they were stunted by the weeks of preparation for the contest itself.
If I don't write anything on any of the following topics within the next few months or so, please feel free to write up a comment and bother me:
- A list of mean-spirited tips for enthusiastic job-seekers. (Something that's more of a "Dos and Don'ts" than anything else.)
- A weekly feature article. (I'm taking suggestions for this one. Any ideas?)
- Antaria fiction. (Yeah, this one really suffered from the sudden spate of writing contests.)
- The Weirdest Job Hunt Stories You've Ever Heard. (It's graduation season, people. Head for the hills!)
...
Wish me luck, everyone. I've got a score of writing tasks coming...
Yes, I'm aware that the deadline's a week away. That's why I'm sitting down, calmly pecking at the keyboard, and trying desperately not to panic.
What I most fear at this point is that I'll end up with a lemon again. And if that happens, then will that imply that my writing skills have become a lot more random as of late? Will it mean that I continually churn out average stories with the odd hidden gem every now and then? Will it mean that I still have a lot farther to reach when it comes to that penultimate goal, that scourge of hacks, that finality of fiction as a whole?
The more I think of it, the more I start to believe that it's not the money I'm after. I probably join contests because I want to reassure myself. I want to see if I can still swing that bat when the bottom of the ninth comes up and the bases are loaded. In a sense, it becomes a very, very personal thing.
So I'll be at the keyboard if you need me. Maybe I'll be online and maybe I won't, but at the moment, I just want to take down this beast of a deadline before my time runs out.
That's not to say that I don't have plans afterwards. I do have plans, yes, and in fact, they were stunted by the weeks of preparation for the contest itself.
If I don't write anything on any of the following topics within the next few months or so, please feel free to write up a comment and bother me:
- A list of mean-spirited tips for enthusiastic job-seekers. (Something that's more of a "Dos and Don'ts" than anything else.)
- A weekly feature article. (I'm taking suggestions for this one. Any ideas?)
- Antaria fiction. (Yeah, this one really suffered from the sudden spate of writing contests.)
- The Weirdest Job Hunt Stories You've Ever Heard. (It's graduation season, people. Head for the hills!)
...
Wish me luck, everyone. I've got a score of writing tasks coming...
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
One on One
Now, one of the things I like about my job is the fact that I get to interview applicants.
I work in a fairly small company with fairly complex job requirements, you see. In addition to that, I hold one of the more senior management positions (as far as five years would be considered "senior") and generally have an excellent idea as to how the business works. To top it off, I spent some of those last five years collating data from HR transcripts, analyzing online job-hunting systems, and critiquing various forms of composition -- all of which allow me to make good educated guesses based on tiny little details.
What that last sentence effectively means is that I can take one look at a resumé and produce a number of relatively accurate remarks about the applicant at hand. I'm not right all the time, mind you, but I've surprised a few people on occasion.
It actually feels strange whenever I do this. I try to go about life without any premeditated expectations floating around my head, but right before I meet and talk to an applicant, I just have to make a few guesses about his or her character and experiences. That way, when I finally perform the interview, the whole experience transforms into a game: Was I able to read this person correctly? Will the applicant's actual personality change anything? What's my batting average so far?
I like to think that I've done rather well for myself. If anything, it's at least improved my skills in resumé-writing. :)
One of our previous HR personnel once told me that I had a habit of asking "casual" questions during interviews. When I asked her what a "casual" question was, she explained that it was something that didn't seem to have anything to do with work -- a bolt out of the blue, you might call it. Not that she minded, however: She assumed that it was my way of putting the applicants at ease.
Not necessarily, I told her. One can infer quite a few things from the answer to a casual question, as long as we know well enough to listen.
The trouble, I think, is that applicants always mean to make themselves look good. While this is to be expected, it sometimes keeps interviewers from finding out the stuff they really need to know. And rest assured, there are inevitably times when such knowledge would mean the difference between picking the right person for the job, or getting stuck with a dud.
Let's take skills, for example. I've noticed that applicants who have had only the slightest bit of experience with a certain field will invariably pad their resumés with it. We're likely to write down "Basic knowledge in Japanese", for example, even if we've only attended a single Japanese-language class in our entire lives.
So I end up asking "casual" questions. If an applicant's resumé tells me that he has basic knowledge in Japanese, I'll probably find a way to fit in a quick "Konnichiwa. Watashi wa Sean desu. Douzo yoroshiku?" in the interview somewhere. It tends to get a sheepish smile in response.
One of the most common "casual" questions I ask is "Do you surf the web?", and the answer is almost always an affirmative. In a company that works extensively with Internet technologies and web solutions, this happens to be a lot more important than people think.
"Do you surf the web?", for example, uses the term "web". If an applicant doesn't know what the "web" is, mind you, then I already know that he has no business applying for an Internet-based business.
The question usually gets followed up with "How often do you surf?". This helps get an idea of how much exposure the applicant gets when it comes to the Internet. I've had people tell me that they only log on for about an hour each week to check their e-mail; but on the other end of the spectrum, I've interviewed hardcore junkies who sit at a terminal for six hours at a time. The more regular exposure an applicant has, the more adept she most likely is at our line of work. (With that said, the more exposure an applicant has, the greater the chance that they'll slack off in front of an unlimited DSL connection.)
And then there's "What site do you feel embodies good web design?" (i.e. "Pick a web site that you think is good, and explain why."), which, to be quite frank, is a very vague question. I've found it very useful, however, for revealing exactly what the applicant visits regularly. Most people, after all, tend to name the first good-looking site that comes to mind. (One person pointed out the Playboy web site with his answer, which immediately got me skeptical about his work habits.)
Don't get me wrong, though. I'm not an HR person, and at this rate, I'll never be one. I'm a business manager and a writer, however, and I find it easy to look into peoples' depths of character from my position. In fact, it's fun looking at things from a non-HR point of view; you get to personally identify the rationale behind a lot of rules that way.
So at this point, I'm slogging away in front of my computer, knowing full well that hiring season will most likely last from now until mid-May. I went through two applicants this morning, and I've got a couple more dropping by the office tomorrow. I continually promise myself not to intimidate them too much with my sullen demeanor, my scruffy countenance, and my "casual" questions.
In that sense, it's probably a good thing that you've read this post all the way to the end.
For all we know, the next applicant I interview could just be you. :)
I work in a fairly small company with fairly complex job requirements, you see. In addition to that, I hold one of the more senior management positions (as far as five years would be considered "senior") and generally have an excellent idea as to how the business works. To top it off, I spent some of those last five years collating data from HR transcripts, analyzing online job-hunting systems, and critiquing various forms of composition -- all of which allow me to make good educated guesses based on tiny little details.
What that last sentence effectively means is that I can take one look at a resumé and produce a number of relatively accurate remarks about the applicant at hand. I'm not right all the time, mind you, but I've surprised a few people on occasion.
It actually feels strange whenever I do this. I try to go about life without any premeditated expectations floating around my head, but right before I meet and talk to an applicant, I just have to make a few guesses about his or her character and experiences. That way, when I finally perform the interview, the whole experience transforms into a game: Was I able to read this person correctly? Will the applicant's actual personality change anything? What's my batting average so far?
I like to think that I've done rather well for myself. If anything, it's at least improved my skills in resumé-writing. :)
One of our previous HR personnel once told me that I had a habit of asking "casual" questions during interviews. When I asked her what a "casual" question was, she explained that it was something that didn't seem to have anything to do with work -- a bolt out of the blue, you might call it. Not that she minded, however: She assumed that it was my way of putting the applicants at ease.
Not necessarily, I told her. One can infer quite a few things from the answer to a casual question, as long as we know well enough to listen.
The trouble, I think, is that applicants always mean to make themselves look good. While this is to be expected, it sometimes keeps interviewers from finding out the stuff they really need to know. And rest assured, there are inevitably times when such knowledge would mean the difference between picking the right person for the job, or getting stuck with a dud.
Let's take skills, for example. I've noticed that applicants who have had only the slightest bit of experience with a certain field will invariably pad their resumés with it. We're likely to write down "Basic knowledge in Japanese", for example, even if we've only attended a single Japanese-language class in our entire lives.
So I end up asking "casual" questions. If an applicant's resumé tells me that he has basic knowledge in Japanese, I'll probably find a way to fit in a quick "Konnichiwa. Watashi wa Sean desu. Douzo yoroshiku?" in the interview somewhere. It tends to get a sheepish smile in response.
One of the most common "casual" questions I ask is "Do you surf the web?", and the answer is almost always an affirmative. In a company that works extensively with Internet technologies and web solutions, this happens to be a lot more important than people think.
"Do you surf the web?", for example, uses the term "web". If an applicant doesn't know what the "web" is, mind you, then I already know that he has no business applying for an Internet-based business.
The question usually gets followed up with "How often do you surf?". This helps get an idea of how much exposure the applicant gets when it comes to the Internet. I've had people tell me that they only log on for about an hour each week to check their e-mail; but on the other end of the spectrum, I've interviewed hardcore junkies who sit at a terminal for six hours at a time. The more regular exposure an applicant has, the more adept she most likely is at our line of work. (With that said, the more exposure an applicant has, the greater the chance that they'll slack off in front of an unlimited DSL connection.)
And then there's "What site do you feel embodies good web design?" (i.e. "Pick a web site that you think is good, and explain why."), which, to be quite frank, is a very vague question. I've found it very useful, however, for revealing exactly what the applicant visits regularly. Most people, after all, tend to name the first good-looking site that comes to mind. (One person pointed out the Playboy web site with his answer, which immediately got me skeptical about his work habits.)
Don't get me wrong, though. I'm not an HR person, and at this rate, I'll never be one. I'm a business manager and a writer, however, and I find it easy to look into peoples' depths of character from my position. In fact, it's fun looking at things from a non-HR point of view; you get to personally identify the rationale behind a lot of rules that way.
So at this point, I'm slogging away in front of my computer, knowing full well that hiring season will most likely last from now until mid-May. I went through two applicants this morning, and I've got a couple more dropping by the office tomorrow. I continually promise myself not to intimidate them too much with my sullen demeanor, my scruffy countenance, and my "casual" questions.
In that sense, it's probably a good thing that you've read this post all the way to the end.
For all we know, the next applicant I interview could just be you. :)
Monday, February 13, 2006
Heads Up
Hmm... whatever happened to the Antaria stories, anyway? I'll have to write up the next installment sometime.
For now, however, I'll have to admit that they've fallen into the void that appears whenever I've got too much work on my hands. My entry for the Fully Booked contest might even be in there as well, although I'll be reaching for it again in the near future.
Ironically, the entire storyline for Antaria is already in my head at the moment. I just have to find the right time and place to write it down...
For now, however, I'll have to admit that they've fallen into the void that appears whenever I've got too much work on my hands. My entry for the Fully Booked contest might even be in there as well, although I'll be reaching for it again in the near future.
Ironically, the entire storyline for Antaria is already in my head at the moment. I just have to find the right time and place to write it down...
Friday, February 10, 2006
Lord of the Dance
Eight o'clock this evening found me at the Manila Polo Club, sleazing my way into a Capoiera lesson.
If you have no idea what Capoiera is, then don't worry -- I'm new to it myself. It's a Brazilian martial art, and I've long felt that it's very indicative of their culture. From a distance, you see, it looks a lot like dance. (It's the kind of dance where your partner can easily knock you senseless if he knows what he's doing, but it looks like very rhythmic dance nonetheless.)
I have a horrible track record when it comes to exercise. I needed twelve minutes to finish a one-mile run during my last full physical in college, I foundered my way through Tai Chi for six months (the instructor said that I moved like the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz), and I hefted weights like Charles Atlas's 78-pound weakling for a little while last year. I'm all for exercise, mind you -- it's just that exercise doesn't seem to like me.
Capoeira seems to emphasize a constant state of motion and flexibility -- or at least, the regular practitioners certainly look well-toned enough to think so. As you probably expect, there are quite a few warm-ups, cool-downs, and water breaks for the newbies. The Dojo Gym of the Manila Polo Club also happens to be the proud owner of some very solid wooden floorboards, so you also have significant incentive to stay upright during the entire exercise.
Forty-five minutes, sixty jumping jacks, thirty push-ups, thirty sit-ups and countless awkward attempts at Capoiera movements later, I was beat. The whole dojo was starting to spin before my eyes, which made for a cool LSD-type effect but also told me that something was wrong. Five seconds later, the instructor moved past me -- walking on his hands, no less -- and I got the feeling that I was waaaay out of my league. :)
I did manage to muster enough strength for the cartwheeling exercises, though. You haven't lived till you've tried a cartwheel; it's one of those little physical feats that just gives an amazing feeling of satisfaction when you manage to do it right. Unfortunately for me, after about five passable attempts, the room really started spinning in front of me, and I was forced to retire to the back of the class. I therefore spent the latter half of the session seated in a Zen Burmese position, just watching the participants sweat it out and occasionally retire themselves.
Now, don't get me wrong here. First of all, I felt just fine; countless attempts at exercise have left me knowing exactly where my stamina threshold is, although it constantly comes up pretty short of the mark. Second, I was pretty proud of myself for lasting at least forty-five minutes; If I'd have wanted to give up completely, I would have done it in far less time. Finally, I'm looking into further participation in the future. Capoeira looks like pretty good physical training, and as long as the instructors don't tire of my face and my snide attempts at humor, I could see myself throwing and dodging kicks like the best of 'em.
For now, however, I'm content to rest the soles of my feet and flex my fingers on a plastic keyboard. Despite my general ineptitude, there are still some forms of exercise where I don't necessarily act like a total moron, and this happens to be one of them. It doesn't often involve such elements as rhythmic dancing or Christie Montero, but I'll take this one any day. :)
Sean's Note: Many thanks to Gem, who was nice enough to introduce and accompany me to this session. And while we're on the subject, Gem, I owe you a bottle of Gatorade. :)
Sena's Note 2: Greetings as well to Ramon and Neva, who I haven't seen in a long time. It's nice to know that I wasn't the only person there who wasn't getting enough exercise. :)
If you have no idea what Capoiera is, then don't worry -- I'm new to it myself. It's a Brazilian martial art, and I've long felt that it's very indicative of their culture. From a distance, you see, it looks a lot like dance. (It's the kind of dance where your partner can easily knock you senseless if he knows what he's doing, but it looks like very rhythmic dance nonetheless.)
I have a horrible track record when it comes to exercise. I needed twelve minutes to finish a one-mile run during my last full physical in college, I foundered my way through Tai Chi for six months (the instructor said that I moved like the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz), and I hefted weights like Charles Atlas's 78-pound weakling for a little while last year. I'm all for exercise, mind you -- it's just that exercise doesn't seem to like me.
Capoeira seems to emphasize a constant state of motion and flexibility -- or at least, the regular practitioners certainly look well-toned enough to think so. As you probably expect, there are quite a few warm-ups, cool-downs, and water breaks for the newbies. The Dojo Gym of the Manila Polo Club also happens to be the proud owner of some very solid wooden floorboards, so you also have significant incentive to stay upright during the entire exercise.
Forty-five minutes, sixty jumping jacks, thirty push-ups, thirty sit-ups and countless awkward attempts at Capoiera movements later, I was beat. The whole dojo was starting to spin before my eyes, which made for a cool LSD-type effect but also told me that something was wrong. Five seconds later, the instructor moved past me -- walking on his hands, no less -- and I got the feeling that I was waaaay out of my league. :)
I did manage to muster enough strength for the cartwheeling exercises, though. You haven't lived till you've tried a cartwheel; it's one of those little physical feats that just gives an amazing feeling of satisfaction when you manage to do it right. Unfortunately for me, after about five passable attempts, the room really started spinning in front of me, and I was forced to retire to the back of the class. I therefore spent the latter half of the session seated in a Zen Burmese position, just watching the participants sweat it out and occasionally retire themselves.
Now, don't get me wrong here. First of all, I felt just fine; countless attempts at exercise have left me knowing exactly where my stamina threshold is, although it constantly comes up pretty short of the mark. Second, I was pretty proud of myself for lasting at least forty-five minutes; If I'd have wanted to give up completely, I would have done it in far less time. Finally, I'm looking into further participation in the future. Capoeira looks like pretty good physical training, and as long as the instructors don't tire of my face and my snide attempts at humor, I could see myself throwing and dodging kicks like the best of 'em.
For now, however, I'm content to rest the soles of my feet and flex my fingers on a plastic keyboard. Despite my general ineptitude, there are still some forms of exercise where I don't necessarily act like a total moron, and this happens to be one of them. It doesn't often involve such elements as rhythmic dancing or Christie Montero, but I'll take this one any day. :)
Sean's Note: Many thanks to Gem, who was nice enough to introduce and accompany me to this session. And while we're on the subject, Gem, I owe you a bottle of Gatorade. :)
Sena's Note 2: Greetings as well to Ramon and Neva, who I haven't seen in a long time. It's nice to know that I wasn't the only person there who wasn't getting enough exercise. :)
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Rule 13
I opened up my e-mail this morning to find that Fully Booked had entered a new post in their mailing list -- specifically, their mailing list for contest updates:
Yup, that's it. That's all it said.
It makes me wonder just how much effort they're putting into this endeavor.
It's funny, really: You're one of the biggest sources of high-profile literature in metropolitan Manila. You're running one of the most extravagant writing contests in the history of the Philippines. You're being sponsored by an influential author with an international repertoire. You're giving details to more than a thousand people, all of whom are most likely scrambling to reach the deadline for your contest.
And in what's supposed to be a "very important reminder", this is all you tell us?
...
Frankly, I'm disappointed. Who writes these "updates", anyway?
Are they aware that the contest rules on the Fully Booked web site were inaccessible for the longest period of time early this year because something was wrong with their registration system? For that matter, were they aware that said registration system was very inconvenient (and easily bypassed) for anyone who just wanted to read the rules?
Are they aware that the contest rules are displayed as an image on their site? This makes the download extremely slow for anyone who isn't on a Broadband connection. Heck, the contest rules are all in text. Why don't they display it in text format, to begin with?
Are they aware that the contest rules still show the deadline date as "January 31, 2006"? Sure, there's now a label that indicates the deadline extension, but as of their last message, plenty of people still assumed that they were running under the original due date. Either they made the change too late, or the addendum just isn't very noticeable. And why don't they just edit the darn January listing in the first place?
Put all this together, and you can understand why just placing a reference to "Rule Number 13" just isn't going to cut it.
Does everybody have convenient access to the contest rules? No.
Can everybody efficiently acquire a copy of the contest rules? No.
Is everybody aware that the contest rules have been updated? No.
I still have a copy of these regulations from when I first heard about the competition, which was sometime in early December. And based on my little reference here, Rule 13 reads as follows:
Yup, I'm sure that that must be plenty important.
Obviously, the contest rules have been updated since the time I first right-clicked on my browser window and saved these words for posterity. I know that they've been updated -- I visited the site just this morning.
In fact, when I visited the site this morning, I found it offline. I did manage to find what I presume is the most recent version of the contest rules, but it took quite a bit of trial-and-error on my part.
You're running a competition that rivals the Palanca Awards, people. You're organizing an effort that's supposed to help put alternative Philippine literature in the spotlight. You're speaking to over a thousand people whose entries hang on every detail in every one of your words.
There is a way to do this right, and believe me, you're far from doing it.
Throw us a bone, people. Give us something to work with. Toss us a line. We're your audience, for God's sake. We may be writers, but we're still your audience.
You may have one of the biggest contests to come around since contests were even invented, but we're the people who make your endeavor possible. We populate your little marketing-based world. You need us.
Don't sell us short like this.
Please.
Sean's Note: The current Rule Number 13, for those interested, goes as follows:
http://www.fullybookedonline.com/home3.htm
You're welcome to have a look, everyone. Do keep in mind, however, that this may or may not be the final set of regulations that we're supposed to be follow. For your inquiries, please reference the Fully Booked web site (assuming that it's available, of course).
Sean's Note 2: I'm sending a copy of this article to the only referenced Fully Booked e-mail address I know of. They may not like me for it, but at least I know that I'll be saying exactly how I feel, and at least I know that those feelings are justified. And hey, if worst comes to worst and it takes me out of the running, then that means less competition for you, doesn't it?
> To: gaiman_writingcontest @ yahoogroups.com> Date: Fri, 03 Feb 2006 09:31:43 -0600
> Subject: [gaiman_writingcontest] VERY IMPORTANT REMINDER! *gasp!*
>
The MOST IMPORTANT RULE is the ominous # 13.
---------------------------------
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---------------------------------
Yup, that's it. That's all it said.
It makes me wonder just how much effort they're putting into this endeavor.
It's funny, really: You're one of the biggest sources of high-profile literature in metropolitan Manila. You're running one of the most extravagant writing contests in the history of the Philippines. You're being sponsored by an influential author with an international repertoire. You're giving details to more than a thousand people, all of whom are most likely scrambling to reach the deadline for your contest.
And in what's supposed to be a "very important reminder", this is all you tell us?
...
Frankly, I'm disappointed. Who writes these "updates", anyway?
Are they aware that the contest rules on the Fully Booked web site were inaccessible for the longest period of time early this year because something was wrong with their registration system? For that matter, were they aware that said registration system was very inconvenient (and easily bypassed) for anyone who just wanted to read the rules?
Are they aware that the contest rules are displayed as an image on their site? This makes the download extremely slow for anyone who isn't on a Broadband connection. Heck, the contest rules are all in text. Why don't they display it in text format, to begin with?
Are they aware that the contest rules still show the deadline date as "January 31, 2006"? Sure, there's now a label that indicates the deadline extension, but as of their last message, plenty of people still assumed that they were running under the original due date. Either they made the change too late, or the addendum just isn't very noticeable. And why don't they just edit the darn January listing in the first place?
Put all this together, and you can understand why just placing a reference to "Rule Number 13" just isn't going to cut it.
Does everybody have convenient access to the contest rules? No.
Can everybody efficiently acquire a copy of the contest rules? No.
Is everybody aware that the contest rules have been updated? No.
I still have a copy of these regulations from when I first heard about the competition, which was sometime in early December. And based on my little reference here, Rule 13 reads as follows:
"13. For comics, all artwork should be in black and white. No signatures must appear on any of the pages of the entries."
Yup, I'm sure that that must be plenty important.
Obviously, the contest rules have been updated since the time I first right-clicked on my browser window and saved these words for posterity. I know that they've been updated -- I visited the site just this morning.
In fact, when I visited the site this morning, I found it offline. I did manage to find what I presume is the most recent version of the contest rules, but it took quite a bit of trial-and-error on my part.
You're running a competition that rivals the Palanca Awards, people. You're organizing an effort that's supposed to help put alternative Philippine literature in the spotlight. You're speaking to over a thousand people whose entries hang on every detail in every one of your words.
There is a way to do this right, and believe me, you're far from doing it.
Throw us a bone, people. Give us something to work with. Toss us a line. We're your audience, for God's sake. We may be writers, but we're still your audience.
You may have one of the biggest contests to come around since contests were even invented, but we're the people who make your endeavor possible. We populate your little marketing-based world. You need us.
Don't sell us short like this.
Please.
Sean's Note: The current Rule Number 13, for those interested, goes as follows:
"13. All rules and guidelines of the contest must be followed STRICTLY. Non-compliance will subject the submission to immediate disqualification."My reference for what I presume is the most recent version of the contest rules is at the following address:
http://www.fullybookedonline.com/home3.htm
You're welcome to have a look, everyone. Do keep in mind, however, that this may or may not be the final set of regulations that we're supposed to be follow. For your inquiries, please reference the Fully Booked web site (assuming that it's available, of course).
Sean's Note 2: I'm sending a copy of this article to the only referenced Fully Booked e-mail address I know of. They may not like me for it, but at least I know that I'll be saying exactly how I feel, and at least I know that those feelings are justified. And hey, if worst comes to worst and it takes me out of the running, then that means less competition for you, doesn't it?
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Do Not Pass Go. Do Not Collect $200.
Sean's Note: It's funny how you can create an article out of bits and pieces. This thing's pretty old, although I've been adding to it little by little over the last month. The prequel to this article is over here.
Three games of Monopoly later, my siblings and I are all tied at one win each. My brother won our first game by hoarding three railroads and cruising to victory on the rent; My sister won our second game when she managed to land on all the light-blue properties early in the game; and finally, I won our most recent outing when I started charging them $900 rent every time they landed on Pacific Avenue.
While Monopoly's still far from being a purely strategic game in my book (there's too much of a luck requirement for my taste), it makes for a passable evening diversion. Somehow, though, I keep hearing stories of people who play it often enough to develop expert skills. I wonder just how many hours you have to spend at the game just so that you can crush your opponents' hotels beneath your feet.
Three games looks like a good enough start, though. I figure that it's possible to assess my stratagem now, make a few changes, and see if they do anything for the next couple of matches. That's probably where the educational value of board and card games lie, I think: They constantly get you wondering whether or not you're playing things right. If you're not, the games encourage you to fix your play style; otherwise they get you considering how you can one-up those opponents who use the same strategies.
I outlined six propositional strategies in my previous article on the subject, and I'll revisit each in turn:
A1. Favor certain properties.
As Roy carefully noted earlier, it's simply not viable to expect to land on certain key spaces on the board. While players are more likely to land on certain properties over others, the variance between them is so low as to be untrustworthy.
That said, Baltic Avenue and Mediterranean Avenue are still probably the worst places to set up shop. With the low frequency by which people seem to land on them, $50 per house simply won't get any substantial return. Boardwalk and Park Place suffer from a similar problem with low frequency, and on top of that, the $200-per-house charge will probably bankrupt you by itself. But it's worth seeing an opponent's face, at least, when he comes up short of Go and has to shell out $35 or $50 because of his misfortune.
A2. Know when to hold 'em.
It turns out that there might not be much strategy in buying idle properties at auction. In addition, deciding which deeds to mortgage at which times is probably an easier decision than expected. Both have the same underlying logic behind them, and it involves, quite frankly, whether you have the money or not. No money, no moves.
A3. Know when to fold 'em.
This was extremely obvious at first glance, particularly because properties don't diminish in worth over time. It's too obvious, though, which really questions its worth as a strategic element.
I suspect that the real issue of timing comes about when you're given the opportunity to un-mortgage your properties. When's the right time to do that? Should you buy the place back and prevent your opponents from seizing it, or should you keep the cash in case you suddenly run into a vicious case of rent? A good deal of the risk-management aspect of the game is reflected in the mortgage mechanic, I think.
A4. Track your income.
Yes, you get $200 whenever you pass Go. The longer the game goes, the lower the value of this $200 gets, but it's still free income, and free income never hurt anyone. In fact, for some players, the regular $200 infusion could mean the difference between staying in the game or going bankrupt.
This is in all probability why the "Income Tax" space is so frustrating: You either lose that $200 you just got, or you cash in ten percent of your available funds. In addition, anyone who manages to pull in the Light-Blue properties places three more areas on the board that can take peoples' hard-earned money away from them.
A5. Sometimes you'll want to Go to Jail.
This was the only one I pegged exactly right the first time. When it's early in the game, you'll want to get out as soon as possible in order to buy up more properties. Otherwise, however, you'll want to stay inside just to avoid a treacherous path across the board. The only downside to staying in Jail is the fact that you're not getting the $200 from passing Go, and even then, this won't mean much if you're already in the late game.
A6. Hoard the houses.
Five words: "You are assessed for street repairs." The card only appears once in each of the Chance and Community Chest decks, but it's enough to give you second thoughts about insane levels of house-buying.
That said, three houses appears to be sufficient for most properties. At that point, the rent becomes substantial enough to trouble your opponents, you hoard a good-sized portion of the supply of tiny green tokens, and having to pay for street repairs won't hurt as much.
Now, considering our last three games, I have a bit more to add:
B1. Ride the railroads.
By themselves, the properties in Monopoly are fairly pathetic when it comes to rent. You may pay $280 for Marvin Gardens, for example, but how long will you probably need to recoup your investment if you don't own both Atlantic and Ventnor as well?
The railroads, interestingly enough, are almost certainly the best deals when it comes to receiving rent. One railroad gives you $25 rent, which is average for the game. Two railroads, however, give $50 rent, and double the chances by which you can ensnare opponents. If you somehow manage to own three or more railroads, then you're probably cruising to a win right then and there.
B2. Position is everything.
Board positioning is remarkably important in Monopoly. I think I've even covered this before, considering that we know that Baltic Avenue, Mediterranean Avenue, Park Place and Boardwalk probably aren't exactly the best places to buy.
For one, position determines the price of houses and hotels. Structures on the cheaper areas of the board, for example, have much lower prices than structures on the more expensive sections. While the Light-Blue properties don't offer as much as some of the later properties in terms of return, for example, it's easier to develop them because of the cheaper structures. You could theoretically be kicking opponents in the shins before they even get their first house on Indiana Avenue.
Another couple of items to note is that everyone inevitably wants to pass Go as often as possible, and that in the later stages of the game, everyone wants to stay in Jail for as long as possible. That makes properties around those areas somewhat attractive; Controlling the Orange properties, for instance, gives you a good chance of charging rent right after a player walks out of prison.
The Go to Jail space on the board may also be a distinct factor in this regard: Why invest heavily in the Green properties, for example, when players heading in their direction have a good chance of being sent back halway across the board? The presence of the Jail mechanic probably makes the more expensive properties more than a little risky.
Finally, there's always the prospect of building a "minefield" -- teaming up with a player in order to develop all the properties that lie on a single edge of the board. Opponents are going to have to pass through eventually, and it'll obviously be difficult for them to get through without having to pay you or your allies huge sums of money.
B3. Build in bursts.
It's difficult enough to expect to land on specific spaces of the board, I think. In fact, it's a lot more unreasonable to expect opponents to land on those specific spots.
Let's suppose that you own all the Green properties, where the houses and hotels are worth $200 each. Now let's suppose that an opponent is slowly moving towards those properties, and you only happen to have enough cash on hand to build one house. Where do you build it?
The simplest and most correct answer to this, I think, is that you shouldn't bother. If you manage to build only one house in that situation, the chances of your opponent landing on that exact same spot within the next turn are pretty slim. In addition to that, he'll have to do one more lap around the board before you get that chance again. Even worse, you're now down a couple hundred with almost nothing to show for it.
I've noticed that it's probably best to buy "rounds" of houses in this regard: If you're going to develop a set of properties because an opponent is coming up the walk, then you might as well buy for all of them at the same time. This increases the chances of forcing a large payout from that opponent. In fact, if your opponent's lucky enough to land on one of those developed properties, his rent will help finance your next round of construction in the same area.
B4. Talk turkey.
One of the interesting aspects of Monopoly is that you can negotiate with opponents when it comes to title deeds (although sadly, you can't lend or borrow money). This supposedly adds something to the risk-taking element of the game, but it can also be seen a good control mechanism for certain situations.
Every now and then, someone's going to get lucky and gain an advantage that puts him ahead of everyone else. That person may have gotten three or four railroads, or have acquired all properties of one color group, or have had multiple houses waiting in certain zones. In those cases, I feel it's clear that if the rest of the players in the game don't do something quick, the offending player is going to bleed them dry.
I think that pragmatic negotiation should really take over at this point. If somebody's charging you an arm and a leg for hotel rental on Atlantic Avenue, then you should start making offers that are more than a little skewed in nature. You say that you don't want my St. Charles Place for your Illinois Avenue even though it means that we'll both complete our color sets? Then we both might as well sit back and lose the game. If somebody's way out in front of the rest of the pack, then the rest of the players need to take drastic measures in order to catch up.
After three games, our interest in Monopoly has petered out a little, so I guess that I might have to hoard these strategies for a while. If anyone's interested in a game, though, do drop me a line. We can set something up, I suppose. :)
Now where did I put that Clue gameboard...?
Three games of Monopoly later, my siblings and I are all tied at one win each. My brother won our first game by hoarding three railroads and cruising to victory on the rent; My sister won our second game when she managed to land on all the light-blue properties early in the game; and finally, I won our most recent outing when I started charging them $900 rent every time they landed on Pacific Avenue.
While Monopoly's still far from being a purely strategic game in my book (there's too much of a luck requirement for my taste), it makes for a passable evening diversion. Somehow, though, I keep hearing stories of people who play it often enough to develop expert skills. I wonder just how many hours you have to spend at the game just so that you can crush your opponents' hotels beneath your feet.
Three games looks like a good enough start, though. I figure that it's possible to assess my stratagem now, make a few changes, and see if they do anything for the next couple of matches. That's probably where the educational value of board and card games lie, I think: They constantly get you wondering whether or not you're playing things right. If you're not, the games encourage you to fix your play style; otherwise they get you considering how you can one-up those opponents who use the same strategies.
I outlined six propositional strategies in my previous article on the subject, and I'll revisit each in turn:
A1. Favor certain properties.
As Roy carefully noted earlier, it's simply not viable to expect to land on certain key spaces on the board. While players are more likely to land on certain properties over others, the variance between them is so low as to be untrustworthy.
That said, Baltic Avenue and Mediterranean Avenue are still probably the worst places to set up shop. With the low frequency by which people seem to land on them, $50 per house simply won't get any substantial return. Boardwalk and Park Place suffer from a similar problem with low frequency, and on top of that, the $200-per-house charge will probably bankrupt you by itself. But it's worth seeing an opponent's face, at least, when he comes up short of Go and has to shell out $35 or $50 because of his misfortune.
A2. Know when to hold 'em.
It turns out that there might not be much strategy in buying idle properties at auction. In addition, deciding which deeds to mortgage at which times is probably an easier decision than expected. Both have the same underlying logic behind them, and it involves, quite frankly, whether you have the money or not. No money, no moves.
A3. Know when to fold 'em.
This was extremely obvious at first glance, particularly because properties don't diminish in worth over time. It's too obvious, though, which really questions its worth as a strategic element.
I suspect that the real issue of timing comes about when you're given the opportunity to un-mortgage your properties. When's the right time to do that? Should you buy the place back and prevent your opponents from seizing it, or should you keep the cash in case you suddenly run into a vicious case of rent? A good deal of the risk-management aspect of the game is reflected in the mortgage mechanic, I think.
A4. Track your income.
Yes, you get $200 whenever you pass Go. The longer the game goes, the lower the value of this $200 gets, but it's still free income, and free income never hurt anyone. In fact, for some players, the regular $200 infusion could mean the difference between staying in the game or going bankrupt.
This is in all probability why the "Income Tax" space is so frustrating: You either lose that $200 you just got, or you cash in ten percent of your available funds. In addition, anyone who manages to pull in the Light-Blue properties places three more areas on the board that can take peoples' hard-earned money away from them.
A5. Sometimes you'll want to Go to Jail.
This was the only one I pegged exactly right the first time. When it's early in the game, you'll want to get out as soon as possible in order to buy up more properties. Otherwise, however, you'll want to stay inside just to avoid a treacherous path across the board. The only downside to staying in Jail is the fact that you're not getting the $200 from passing Go, and even then, this won't mean much if you're already in the late game.
A6. Hoard the houses.
Five words: "You are assessed for street repairs." The card only appears once in each of the Chance and Community Chest decks, but it's enough to give you second thoughts about insane levels of house-buying.
That said, three houses appears to be sufficient for most properties. At that point, the rent becomes substantial enough to trouble your opponents, you hoard a good-sized portion of the supply of tiny green tokens, and having to pay for street repairs won't hurt as much.
Now, considering our last three games, I have a bit more to add:
B1. Ride the railroads.
By themselves, the properties in Monopoly are fairly pathetic when it comes to rent. You may pay $280 for Marvin Gardens, for example, but how long will you probably need to recoup your investment if you don't own both Atlantic and Ventnor as well?
The railroads, interestingly enough, are almost certainly the best deals when it comes to receiving rent. One railroad gives you $25 rent, which is average for the game. Two railroads, however, give $50 rent, and double the chances by which you can ensnare opponents. If you somehow manage to own three or more railroads, then you're probably cruising to a win right then and there.
B2. Position is everything.
Board positioning is remarkably important in Monopoly. I think I've even covered this before, considering that we know that Baltic Avenue, Mediterranean Avenue, Park Place and Boardwalk probably aren't exactly the best places to buy.
For one, position determines the price of houses and hotels. Structures on the cheaper areas of the board, for example, have much lower prices than structures on the more expensive sections. While the Light-Blue properties don't offer as much as some of the later properties in terms of return, for example, it's easier to develop them because of the cheaper structures. You could theoretically be kicking opponents in the shins before they even get their first house on Indiana Avenue.
Another couple of items to note is that everyone inevitably wants to pass Go as often as possible, and that in the later stages of the game, everyone wants to stay in Jail for as long as possible. That makes properties around those areas somewhat attractive; Controlling the Orange properties, for instance, gives you a good chance of charging rent right after a player walks out of prison.
The Go to Jail space on the board may also be a distinct factor in this regard: Why invest heavily in the Green properties, for example, when players heading in their direction have a good chance of being sent back halway across the board? The presence of the Jail mechanic probably makes the more expensive properties more than a little risky.
Finally, there's always the prospect of building a "minefield" -- teaming up with a player in order to develop all the properties that lie on a single edge of the board. Opponents are going to have to pass through eventually, and it'll obviously be difficult for them to get through without having to pay you or your allies huge sums of money.
B3. Build in bursts.
It's difficult enough to expect to land on specific spaces of the board, I think. In fact, it's a lot more unreasonable to expect opponents to land on those specific spots.
Let's suppose that you own all the Green properties, where the houses and hotels are worth $200 each. Now let's suppose that an opponent is slowly moving towards those properties, and you only happen to have enough cash on hand to build one house. Where do you build it?
The simplest and most correct answer to this, I think, is that you shouldn't bother. If you manage to build only one house in that situation, the chances of your opponent landing on that exact same spot within the next turn are pretty slim. In addition to that, he'll have to do one more lap around the board before you get that chance again. Even worse, you're now down a couple hundred with almost nothing to show for it.
I've noticed that it's probably best to buy "rounds" of houses in this regard: If you're going to develop a set of properties because an opponent is coming up the walk, then you might as well buy for all of them at the same time. This increases the chances of forcing a large payout from that opponent. In fact, if your opponent's lucky enough to land on one of those developed properties, his rent will help finance your next round of construction in the same area.
B4. Talk turkey.
One of the interesting aspects of Monopoly is that you can negotiate with opponents when it comes to title deeds (although sadly, you can't lend or borrow money). This supposedly adds something to the risk-taking element of the game, but it can also be seen a good control mechanism for certain situations.
Every now and then, someone's going to get lucky and gain an advantage that puts him ahead of everyone else. That person may have gotten three or four railroads, or have acquired all properties of one color group, or have had multiple houses waiting in certain zones. In those cases, I feel it's clear that if the rest of the players in the game don't do something quick, the offending player is going to bleed them dry.
I think that pragmatic negotiation should really take over at this point. If somebody's charging you an arm and a leg for hotel rental on Atlantic Avenue, then you should start making offers that are more than a little skewed in nature. You say that you don't want my St. Charles Place for your Illinois Avenue even though it means that we'll both complete our color sets? Then we both might as well sit back and lose the game. If somebody's way out in front of the rest of the pack, then the rest of the players need to take drastic measures in order to catch up.
After three games, our interest in Monopoly has petered out a little, so I guess that I might have to hoard these strategies for a while. If anyone's interested in a game, though, do drop me a line. We can set something up, I suppose. :)
Now where did I put that Clue gameboard...?
Disclaimer: February 2006
Once more, is the time proposes my deadline and the condition for the article in this blog.
All articles in this weblog are entire primitive in the creation except the concrete instance, clearly famous. All projects adopts which from exterior origin attribute to officially their origin, although, if anybody has in this weblog any opposed their existence, then I am am willing to remove them in clear and the attendance notice.
In all exterior alone hopes the use, quotes or publishes article all situations in these, I will be the morning am willing to give me to permit their endeavor, so long as they ask for trouble, otherwise, and, only then when they and my writing attribute to fully connects such use in this blog. Otherwise, I will send out the direct warning for theirs motion and the request payment compensation. If that collapse and I actively seek the legitimate method of portrayal right request payment.
From this writing time, I do not reduce the any comment left achievement from the user approval basic freedom of speech. I, however, does not forgive in this kind of privilege any one hateful or the malicious abuse, and not impossible to hesitate adopts the measure opposition suitable individual.
Finally, no matter this entry looked that badness, I may guarantee which your Systran is quite good tool serves for the translation. Meaning, you attempt to translate something I to become Chinese and behind. Two times. It is not pretty.
All articles in this weblog are entire primitive in the creation except the concrete instance, clearly famous. All projects adopts which from exterior origin attribute to officially their origin, although, if anybody has in this weblog any opposed their existence, then I am am willing to remove them in clear and the attendance notice.
In all exterior alone hopes the use, quotes or publishes article all situations in these, I will be the morning am willing to give me to permit their endeavor, so long as they ask for trouble, otherwise, and, only then when they and my writing attribute to fully connects such use in this blog. Otherwise, I will send out the direct warning for theirs motion and the request payment compensation. If that collapse and I actively seek the legitimate method of portrayal right request payment.
From this writing time, I do not reduce the any comment left achievement from the user approval basic freedom of speech. I, however, does not forgive in this kind of privilege any one hateful or the malicious abuse, and not impossible to hesitate adopts the measure opposition suitable individual.
Finally, no matter this entry looked that badness, I may guarantee which your Systran is quite good tool serves for the translation. Meaning, you attempt to translate something I to become Chinese and behind. Two times. It is not pretty.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Fingers Drumming on the Table
According to the Chinese calendar, New Year's has just come and gone. It's now the Year of the Dog, and depending on which Feng Shui experts you've consulted, we're either headed for a troublesome year or an optimistic outlook.
I believe that I'm Chinese enough to realize that you really can't phrase the traditional New Year greeting into Pinyin English without making it look really strange when read. So I'll just keep it simple: Happy New Year, everyone.
I'm still busy at work, so if you've got any stories I have to read, or pictures I have to see, or animations I have to watch, I'll have to ask that you wait a little longer. My schedule should free itself up somewhere in the middle of this week, I hope. Maybe I'll have enough time to get back to writing.
Of course, I'm horrible with schedules... they tend to sneak up and bite me on the leg whenever I'm not looking. But hey, an educated guess is usually better than no guess at all.
I believe that I'm Chinese enough to realize that you really can't phrase the traditional New Year greeting into Pinyin English without making it look really strange when read. So I'll just keep it simple: Happy New Year, everyone.
I'm still busy at work, so if you've got any stories I have to read, or pictures I have to see, or animations I have to watch, I'll have to ask that you wait a little longer. My schedule should free itself up somewhere in the middle of this week, I hope. Maybe I'll have enough time to get back to writing.
Of course, I'm horrible with schedules... they tend to sneak up and bite me on the leg whenever I'm not looking. But hey, an educated guess is usually better than no guess at all.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Absence Without Official Leave
Hmmm... interesting.
It's obvious that I haven't posted here for a while. In the interim, however, I've taken to analyzing the nature of blog visits as well as audience presence, and I'm surprised to see that most of my initial assumptions were correct.
For anyone who's been wondering why I haven't been around lately, you're welcome to select any or all of my excuses from the following list:
Despite these reasons, however, part of me can't help but think that my ending of the Suman Latik posts may have precipitated this to some degree. I'll admit that I found the Suman posts to be refreshingly... regular. That is, whenever a Wednesday rolled around, I would find myself making a mental note to sit in front of the computer later that same evening, and write. Just write.
The Suman posts made me worry for my constant updates as well. How would you feel, for instance, if you placed a Wednesday post online, only to find that it was hovering directly above your previous consecutive Wednesday post? You'd be ashamed at not updating your blog more often, that's how you'd feel. It was probably more obvious on my part, seeing that I was using the same Suman Latik image week after week.
In a sense, therefore, it was the Suman posts that were getting me to write something at least three times a week. No kidding there.
That, I think, puts a certain idea into the realm of consideration: What could I write as a weekly feature for this blog? It would have to be vague enough to support multiple attempts at writing, yet curious enough to attract the attention of a multifaceted audience. I'd rather not have to write fiction every week (for fear of burnout), and I'm sure that those few readers I have would not appreciate me airing my vituperations on a regular schedule. On the other hand, I also want to make sure that I feature something totally different from what most other blogs are doing out there.
I suspect that I can't really just decide on something and proceed to do it. I find that the successful endeavors, the real deals, the great journeys, all often grow out of a completely unassuming routine. It could be that the key to a weekly feature lies somewhere in the stuff I'm already writing; It could also be that I'll find inspiration in somebody else's blog or web site. Who knows, really? Who knows?
All the same, however, I'll be looking around for a bit. There's probably something interesting that I can find somewhere...
It's obvious that I haven't posted here for a while. In the interim, however, I've taken to analyzing the nature of blog visits as well as audience presence, and I'm surprised to see that most of my initial assumptions were correct.
For anyone who's been wondering why I haven't been around lately, you're welcome to select any or all of my excuses from the following list:
1. I've been busy at work. The new general manager hasn't come in yet, we're experiencing a staff exodus common to most companies at the start of each year, and I find myself doing everything at work that I really shouldn't be doing at all.
2. I've been coming home late. If it's not because of work, it's because of the planning sessions for my sister's 18th birthday. Hey, somebody's got to scare all the hormone-driven young men away. :)
3. I've been playing a lot of computer games. Sometimes when you're sitting in front of the computer late at night, there's nothing much else you feel like doing that doesn't involve stomping on rogue Koopa Troopas.
4. Er... my dog ate it.
Despite these reasons, however, part of me can't help but think that my ending of the Suman Latik posts may have precipitated this to some degree. I'll admit that I found the Suman posts to be refreshingly... regular. That is, whenever a Wednesday rolled around, I would find myself making a mental note to sit in front of the computer later that same evening, and write. Just write.
The Suman posts made me worry for my constant updates as well. How would you feel, for instance, if you placed a Wednesday post online, only to find that it was hovering directly above your previous consecutive Wednesday post? You'd be ashamed at not updating your blog more often, that's how you'd feel. It was probably more obvious on my part, seeing that I was using the same Suman Latik image week after week.
In a sense, therefore, it was the Suman posts that were getting me to write something at least three times a week. No kidding there.
That, I think, puts a certain idea into the realm of consideration: What could I write as a weekly feature for this blog? It would have to be vague enough to support multiple attempts at writing, yet curious enough to attract the attention of a multifaceted audience. I'd rather not have to write fiction every week (for fear of burnout), and I'm sure that those few readers I have would not appreciate me airing my vituperations on a regular schedule. On the other hand, I also want to make sure that I feature something totally different from what most other blogs are doing out there.
I suspect that I can't really just decide on something and proceed to do it. I find that the successful endeavors, the real deals, the great journeys, all often grow out of a completely unassuming routine. It could be that the key to a weekly feature lies somewhere in the stuff I'm already writing; It could also be that I'll find inspiration in somebody else's blog or web site. Who knows, really? Who knows?
All the same, however, I'll be looking around for a bit. There's probably something interesting that I can find somewhere...
Monday, January 23, 2006
Blog Theory
Sean's Note: The results of the 2005 Philippine Blog Awards have produced a bit of a controversy in the blogosphere. Some quarters have pointed out a number of needs for improvement in its process, particularly with regards to mechanics, marketing and general judging. Others have openly questioned the credibility of the awards, and have denounced the fact that no concrete criteria was established prior to the contest in the first place.
Despite the fact that I have no direct involvement in the organization that gives out the Philippine Blog Awards, and despite the fact that I'm more of a shifty-eyed weasel than I am a proper blogger, I feel as though I have to react to these recent developments. My words here do not intend to defend any honors I have received from such authoritarian entities, nor do I expect a greater audience to stop, listen, and take them to heart. I write what I write here because I feel that it should be said. I write what I write here because I think it makes sense, and frankly, that's all that matters to me.
So what makes a good blog?
Let's be serious, now: There's got to be a number of worthwhile blogs on the Internet. Otherwise, you wouldn't be reading them regularly, now wouldn't you?
Of course there are a bunch of worthwhile blogs out there. Any Internet reader will probably be able to show you his or her collection of bookmarks and favorite links. The chances are good that there will be at least one or two regularly-visited online journals, or news feeds, or recipe books, or event handlers, or whatever in there.
Heck, most bloggers themselves have this handy little thing called a "blogroll" that tells you exactly what places the writer tends to visit. In a way, it's like a suggested reading list: If you liked this work, then you can try reading other works by authors of similar mind or interest.
But then, I shouldn't be explaining this to you, right? If you're reading this, then you're most likely aware of weblogs as a whole, what they're like, and how they work. I can probably take it in good faith that you either have a weblog yourself, or had one before, or are planning to establish one in the future.
Seeing that you're obviously qualified for rational discussion on the matter, I can sit back and ask you my question without any trace of discomfort: What makes a good blog?
...uh huh.
...mm-hmm.
...yes, quite so.
...good point.
...uh huh.
All right, then. But we have to remember that you're not the only one reading this article. There's a whole multitude of people reading this as well; some, perhaps, at this very moment. We can't assume that you're the only one who answered my first question, after all.
So, I give you my second question: Do you think that your answer perfectly agrees with that of every other person reading this article?
...
...
No.
Unequivocally, no.
Every person out there looks for different qualities in what he or she reads. Some look for friendship and fellowship. Some look for enlightening experiences. Some look for laughter and entertainment. Each and every one of us has his or her own preferences. There is no single specific group of characteristics that defines what a good piece of writing is. There is no single specific group of characteristics that defines what a good blog is like.
You can probably make such a case for every positive quality that we see in a blog. After all, while certain aspects may be important to some readers, these same aspects may mean little more than chicken scratches to others. It's obvious that each such quality does not have the same level of significance to each and every person out there!
Let's take popularity, for example. Popularity, you say? Hah! What does it mean, really, if a blog is popular? A site may draw a significant audience, but we must really ask ourselves how it's drawing them in. I could theoretically create a brand, spanking-new blog that shows nothing but pictures of naked women in hardcore sex positions, and it would obviously draw a large segment of the international male population. But would you nominate me for the Blog Awards simply because of my blog's popularity?
How about writing? Some people would make the argument that any blog with good writing deserves an award. But in truth, writing doesn't mean anything by itself. I mean, I could spin stories that make children laugh. I could write words that make men weep. I could read rhymes that espouse the beauty of life and bring fulfillment to the human soul. But what if I somehow manage to write all this, and yet decide to keep it all to myself? Do I deserve to be nominated for the Blog Awards despite the fact that I have no devout readers who can testify to my strengths?
So is it a question of influence, then? Is it a question of audience and regular readership? To that, I ask this: What's the difference between audience influence and popularity? You could make the argument that there must be something that the audience sees, something in the blogger's style, technique and presentation that allows him to exert influence over such a wide stable of readers -- but then you'd fall back to the questions of how and why. Could I then create a blog that caters to an existing audience (Philatelists? Musicians? Reality TV fans?) and cruise to a Blog Awards nomination on my newfound influence? Or what if I create a blog that just happens to promote blogs themselves, generating an audience through the many writers and RSS feeds with whom I come into contact? Should that automatically qualify me for a nomination?
Okay, then what about linkage? Can I theoretically whore out my blog's address to every single aggregator, place it on every journal collection I can think of, produce thousands and thousands of hits on Google, and expect myself to be nominated on the sheer number of links alone?
Hard-hitting commentary, perhaps? I mean, it draws readers, right? Sure, but does that mean that I can write a blog that insults every entity in existence and expect a nomination just for my plucky, balls-to-the-wall attitude?
Prolific writing, perhaps? Does that mean that I deserve to get nominated just because I happen to post something three times a day on a regular basis, regardless of the quality of my resulting work?
Layout and design? Please. Do you mean to tell me that I can have the prettiest-looking blog on the face of the earth and score a nomination for the Blog Awards regardless of whatever I've written inside?
I don't think that much more needs to be said at this point. The answer to each and every one of these questions is obvious. Can we -- should we -- do we even deserve to qualify for a set of Blog Awards nominations on the strength of a single one of the above qualities alone?
...
Yes.
...
Hell, yes.
What makes a good blog, we wonder? What makes a good blog stand out from the rest? After all, we've already named more than a few positive qualities that can evidently not stand on their own.
That, however, does not automatically mean that we can discard them, either.
Good blogs do not depend on the weight of a single one of the above qualities, but are a consensus of all of them. That's what it is, really: a Consensus. It's all of the given factors taken together and judged with an equally significant weight for each.
A blog can be nominated for popularity, for example, and it can be acknowledged for such -- even if the blog in question is merely a glorified porn site.
A blog can be nominated for good writing, and be acknowledged for that. A blog can be nominated for its influence across a wide audience, and it will be acknowledged for that. A blog can be nominated for its sheer number of referring links, its spotlight on relevant issues, its prolificacy in updates, its awesome graphic design, and millions of other aspects... and it will be acknowledged for those.
But a blog will be judged on the sum of its combined qualities. Each of the factors will be given an equally significant weighing with regards to the whole.
That is what a consensus is, ladies and gentlemen. It is an agreement between multiple entities who each have different ideas as to what makes a good blog in the first place.
That, I believe, is the essence of a true Blog Awards. We may or may not agree with any final decision that comes forth, but we must never let it be said that we do not try to accomplish this despite the differences. We should not judge a blog on the basis of a single quality that we just happen to hold higher than the rest of the reader population, if only because of the presence of a reader population in the first place.
There are aspects of quality out there other than the ones we hold close to our hearts. We can rant and rave all we want about whether or not certain things fulfill what we like to see in a weblog, but when it comes right down to it, we have to look at the big picture. We have to take things in as a whole. We need to reach a consensus with those around us.
The question is not what you think makes a good weblog, but what we all think makes a good weblog.
In the end, I believe that that's what matters.
...
Despite the fact that I have no direct involvement in the organization that gives out the Philippine Blog Awards, and despite the fact that I'm more of a shifty-eyed weasel than I am a proper blogger, I feel as though I have to react to these recent developments. My words here do not intend to defend any honors I have received from such authoritarian entities, nor do I expect a greater audience to stop, listen, and take them to heart. I write what I write here because I feel that it should be said. I write what I write here because I think it makes sense, and frankly, that's all that matters to me.
So what makes a good blog?
Let's be serious, now: There's got to be a number of worthwhile blogs on the Internet. Otherwise, you wouldn't be reading them regularly, now wouldn't you?
Of course there are a bunch of worthwhile blogs out there. Any Internet reader will probably be able to show you his or her collection of bookmarks and favorite links. The chances are good that there will be at least one or two regularly-visited online journals, or news feeds, or recipe books, or event handlers, or whatever in there.
Heck, most bloggers themselves have this handy little thing called a "blogroll" that tells you exactly what places the writer tends to visit. In a way, it's like a suggested reading list: If you liked this work, then you can try reading other works by authors of similar mind or interest.
But then, I shouldn't be explaining this to you, right? If you're reading this, then you're most likely aware of weblogs as a whole, what they're like, and how they work. I can probably take it in good faith that you either have a weblog yourself, or had one before, or are planning to establish one in the future.
Seeing that you're obviously qualified for rational discussion on the matter, I can sit back and ask you my question without any trace of discomfort: What makes a good blog?
...uh huh.
...mm-hmm.
...yes, quite so.
...good point.
...uh huh.
All right, then. But we have to remember that you're not the only one reading this article. There's a whole multitude of people reading this as well; some, perhaps, at this very moment. We can't assume that you're the only one who answered my first question, after all.
So, I give you my second question: Do you think that your answer perfectly agrees with that of every other person reading this article?
...
...
No.
Unequivocally, no.
Every person out there looks for different qualities in what he or she reads. Some look for friendship and fellowship. Some look for enlightening experiences. Some look for laughter and entertainment. Each and every one of us has his or her own preferences. There is no single specific group of characteristics that defines what a good piece of writing is. There is no single specific group of characteristics that defines what a good blog is like.
You can probably make such a case for every positive quality that we see in a blog. After all, while certain aspects may be important to some readers, these same aspects may mean little more than chicken scratches to others. It's obvious that each such quality does not have the same level of significance to each and every person out there!
Let's take popularity, for example. Popularity, you say? Hah! What does it mean, really, if a blog is popular? A site may draw a significant audience, but we must really ask ourselves how it's drawing them in. I could theoretically create a brand, spanking-new blog that shows nothing but pictures of naked women in hardcore sex positions, and it would obviously draw a large segment of the international male population. But would you nominate me for the Blog Awards simply because of my blog's popularity?
How about writing? Some people would make the argument that any blog with good writing deserves an award. But in truth, writing doesn't mean anything by itself. I mean, I could spin stories that make children laugh. I could write words that make men weep. I could read rhymes that espouse the beauty of life and bring fulfillment to the human soul. But what if I somehow manage to write all this, and yet decide to keep it all to myself? Do I deserve to be nominated for the Blog Awards despite the fact that I have no devout readers who can testify to my strengths?
So is it a question of influence, then? Is it a question of audience and regular readership? To that, I ask this: What's the difference between audience influence and popularity? You could make the argument that there must be something that the audience sees, something in the blogger's style, technique and presentation that allows him to exert influence over such a wide stable of readers -- but then you'd fall back to the questions of how and why. Could I then create a blog that caters to an existing audience (Philatelists? Musicians? Reality TV fans?) and cruise to a Blog Awards nomination on my newfound influence? Or what if I create a blog that just happens to promote blogs themselves, generating an audience through the many writers and RSS feeds with whom I come into contact? Should that automatically qualify me for a nomination?
Okay, then what about linkage? Can I theoretically whore out my blog's address to every single aggregator, place it on every journal collection I can think of, produce thousands and thousands of hits on Google, and expect myself to be nominated on the sheer number of links alone?
Hard-hitting commentary, perhaps? I mean, it draws readers, right? Sure, but does that mean that I can write a blog that insults every entity in existence and expect a nomination just for my plucky, balls-to-the-wall attitude?
Prolific writing, perhaps? Does that mean that I deserve to get nominated just because I happen to post something three times a day on a regular basis, regardless of the quality of my resulting work?
Layout and design? Please. Do you mean to tell me that I can have the prettiest-looking blog on the face of the earth and score a nomination for the Blog Awards regardless of whatever I've written inside?
I don't think that much more needs to be said at this point. The answer to each and every one of these questions is obvious. Can we -- should we -- do we even deserve to qualify for a set of Blog Awards nominations on the strength of a single one of the above qualities alone?
...
Yes.
...
Hell, yes.
What makes a good blog, we wonder? What makes a good blog stand out from the rest? After all, we've already named more than a few positive qualities that can evidently not stand on their own.
That, however, does not automatically mean that we can discard them, either.
Good blogs do not depend on the weight of a single one of the above qualities, but are a consensus of all of them. That's what it is, really: a Consensus. It's all of the given factors taken together and judged with an equally significant weight for each.
A blog can be nominated for popularity, for example, and it can be acknowledged for such -- even if the blog in question is merely a glorified porn site.
A blog can be nominated for good writing, and be acknowledged for that. A blog can be nominated for its influence across a wide audience, and it will be acknowledged for that. A blog can be nominated for its sheer number of referring links, its spotlight on relevant issues, its prolificacy in updates, its awesome graphic design, and millions of other aspects... and it will be acknowledged for those.
But a blog will be judged on the sum of its combined qualities. Each of the factors will be given an equally significant weighing with regards to the whole.
That is what a consensus is, ladies and gentlemen. It is an agreement between multiple entities who each have different ideas as to what makes a good blog in the first place.
That, I believe, is the essence of a true Blog Awards. We may or may not agree with any final decision that comes forth, but we must never let it be said that we do not try to accomplish this despite the differences. We should not judge a blog on the basis of a single quality that we just happen to hold higher than the rest of the reader population, if only because of the presence of a reader population in the first place.
There are aspects of quality out there other than the ones we hold close to our hearts. We can rant and rave all we want about whether or not certain things fulfill what we like to see in a weblog, but when it comes right down to it, we have to look at the big picture. We have to take things in as a whole. We need to reach a consensus with those around us.
The question is not what you think makes a good weblog, but what we all think makes a good weblog.
In the end, I believe that that's what matters.
...
Thursday, January 19, 2006
A Few Little Tweaks
It's Wednesday night (Thursday morning, actually), and the deadline for the Draconic Fiction Anthology has just elapsed. I was fortunately able to attach something to an e-mail at around 11:45 pm and send it in as a submission, although at this point in time, I'm not quite sure how it's going to turn out. It'll come to be regarded as either a work of genius or an abomination of nature, I suppose.
I actually went on leave for the whole day today, slept until noon, and then spent the afternoon and the evening pounding out drafts on the computer. I went through five or six drafts before I came up with one that I finished, and so I tweaked that and sent it in. I'm not particularly satisfied with it, if anyone's wondering; it's probably workable, but I need at least one or two more days to find out what I did wrong and what I did right.
I've observed that I need a lot of "lead time" before I come up with a legible short story. Apart from the long process of figuring out the plots, the characters and the settings in my head, I need at least two or three days to come up with a succession of drafts. I don't think that this is a normal practice, mind you, but more of a personal thing -- it's akin to rattling away at a typewriter, occasionally tearing out old drafts and tossing them into the wastebasket.
Obsession-compulsion, perhaps? I doubt it. I like tweaking finished drafts, yes, but if I ever leave something unfinished, it's usually because I've lost interest in the work somehow. And if a work is so bad that I find myself losing interest right in the middle of the narrative, then I'll almost certainly leave it behind without looking back. I lose more drafts that way, yes.
And if you think that this is bad, must I remind you that the deadline for the Fully Booked writing contest is on the 28th of February? Once again, it's time to get cracking, guys.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Draconic
I'm still trying to think up a Dragon story.
In the midst of heavy work, staff problems, independent projects, L5R, bedside reading, Photoshop wrangling and Super Metroid, I'm still trying to think up a Dragon story.
Writing a Dragon story is easy, really. Any writer can put together a nice Dragon story. It's the search for a different Dragon story that's taking up most of my time.
My deadline's on Wednesday, and I'm still trying to think up a Dragon story.
I just wanted to say that.
...
...
Ah, well. Back to work now.
In the midst of heavy work, staff problems, independent projects, L5R, bedside reading, Photoshop wrangling and Super Metroid, I'm still trying to think up a Dragon story.
Writing a Dragon story is easy, really. Any writer can put together a nice Dragon story. It's the search for a different Dragon story that's taking up most of my time.
My deadline's on Wednesday, and I'm still trying to think up a Dragon story.
I just wanted to say that.
...
...
Ah, well. Back to work now.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Who Watches
Dominique was nice enough to inform me yesterday afternoon that the local Powerbooks was selling copies of Watchmen again. Seeing as it's one of the items on my list that I hoped I'd get for Christmas (but didn't), I dropped by later that same evening to pick it up. Dominique, for that matter, was nice enough to let me borrow his discount card for the duration of the sale.
Watchmen, for the non-readers out there, is one of the greater works of the last century. Time Magazine has it in their list of the 100 Greatest Novels of all Time (circa October 2005), in fact. It is an utterly fantastic read that covers an alternate version of our modern world, and it offers us glimpses into the flawed and often disjointed personalities that human heroism often wears. It's a comic, but it can definitely not be judged by the fact that it's "just" a comic.
I first read the book back in college and loved it then. Seven years later, I apparently still love it enough to shell out a good chunk of cash for a copy. And seven years later, the book still holds the power to keep me turning the pages -- I went to bed at 4:30 am last night, just going through the story.
Good books are like that, I think. You don't just read them once and put them away; you read them, remember them, and when that memory sparks in your mind one cold day seven years later, you wish that they were in your hands once again.
You can always tell whether or not a book is loved. These books are invariably scratched, folded, dogeared, marked and stained. Their spines are broken in more than once place. Their covers are long gone, torn completely off their pages by the mere passage of time. Their words are smudged or crumbling in particularly favored passages.
This could be why I don't like people who have private libraries. I think you know the type -- the rich, dapper ones who manage to have an entire room dedicated to shelves and shelves of formal hardcovers. I spend hours in those places. I look at the glass displays, frown in dismay at the fact that they're locked shut, and generally give people a look that says, But does he actually read these?
Strangely enough, there's even a Feng Shui tenet that advises people to fill rooms with books in order to subconsciously absorb the knowledge within. Sad, but true.
Of course, Watchmen isn't the only item on my list of good reading. I've covered a small selection before, and even that doesn't scratch the surface of what I read, like and love. The best part about good books, of course, is that barring a catastrophic occurrence that affects the universe as we know it, books like these will continue to be written.
All that remains, then, is for us to find the time to drop by the nearest place and pick them up. They may cost us only two bits, or they may cost us a whole roll of bills, but if they stand out in our memories so well, then at least we know that they're well worth the experience.
In my opinion, everyone out there should have a book that they're constantly looking for.
Here's to more of their kind. In both ways, yes.
Watchmen, for the non-readers out there, is one of the greater works of the last century. Time Magazine has it in their list of the 100 Greatest Novels of all Time (circa October 2005), in fact. It is an utterly fantastic read that covers an alternate version of our modern world, and it offers us glimpses into the flawed and often disjointed personalities that human heroism often wears. It's a comic, but it can definitely not be judged by the fact that it's "just" a comic.
I first read the book back in college and loved it then. Seven years later, I apparently still love it enough to shell out a good chunk of cash for a copy. And seven years later, the book still holds the power to keep me turning the pages -- I went to bed at 4:30 am last night, just going through the story.
Good books are like that, I think. You don't just read them once and put them away; you read them, remember them, and when that memory sparks in your mind one cold day seven years later, you wish that they were in your hands once again.
You can always tell whether or not a book is loved. These books are invariably scratched, folded, dogeared, marked and stained. Their spines are broken in more than once place. Their covers are long gone, torn completely off their pages by the mere passage of time. Their words are smudged or crumbling in particularly favored passages.
This could be why I don't like people who have private libraries. I think you know the type -- the rich, dapper ones who manage to have an entire room dedicated to shelves and shelves of formal hardcovers. I spend hours in those places. I look at the glass displays, frown in dismay at the fact that they're locked shut, and generally give people a look that says, But does he actually read these?
Strangely enough, there's even a Feng Shui tenet that advises people to fill rooms with books in order to subconsciously absorb the knowledge within. Sad, but true.
Of course, Watchmen isn't the only item on my list of good reading. I've covered a small selection before, and even that doesn't scratch the surface of what I read, like and love. The best part about good books, of course, is that barring a catastrophic occurrence that affects the universe as we know it, books like these will continue to be written.
All that remains, then, is for us to find the time to drop by the nearest place and pick them up. They may cost us only two bits, or they may cost us a whole roll of bills, but if they stand out in our memories so well, then at least we know that they're well worth the experience.
In my opinion, everyone out there should have a book that they're constantly looking for.
Here's to more of their kind. In both ways, yes.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Monday, January 09, 2006
"We're Not Bad People."
He was about six inches shorter than me, his hair had considerably thinned, and his tiny eyeglasses did little to dispel the effect of his age. As the traffic moved around us, I noticed that he was wearing a blue shirt... although I could merely have been mistaken about the color. It was dark, after all.
"We're not bad people," he told me, and I realized that a little girl -- presumably his daughter -- was hugging him about the knees. A tall woman, close enough to look like his wife, hovered in the background. All three of them were watching me intently.
"You see, sir," he said, "we thought that you were a Chinese or a Japanese."
"No," I said, "I understand what you're saying."
He breathed what seemed to be a sigh of relief. They had been walking around since 4:30 in the afternoon, he explained, because they wanted to drop by the church across the street. The pastor there was a friend, he said. By the time they arrived, however, they found out that he had left work early, and so they decided to go home.
It was only when they reached the station, however, that they realized that they were out of money. "This is the first time it's happened," the old man said, "and we should have checked before we left. We went back to the church to ask the pastor's secretary for fare, but by the time we got there, she was already gone."
The little girl was still staring at me, as though I was some foreign ogre to be feared.
"So...?" I asked.
He told me that they lived somewhere in Bataan or something like that. In truth, I wasn't really listening. Chances were good that, in the encroaching evening of the business district, there would inevitably be one or two people who find themselves trapped by the lack of funds.
My mother used to tell me this story: Once, many years ago, there was this beggar who came to their front door to ask for money to buy food. My mother was only a young married woman then, and she felt sorry for the poor man. So she told him to wait there, and went back inside for her purse.
On the way back out, she ran into my father, who asked her what she was doing. "There's a beggar at the front door," she told him, "and he's asking for a little money so that he can buy food."
"Don't give him anything," my father said. "He's just going to take advantage of you."
But my mother ignored him then, and gave the beggar some money. And the man thanked her and went off.
The next day, the man appeared at the front door again. Once again, he asked for money to buy food, and once again, my mother went inside to get her purse.
This time, however, my father was waiting. "Why not," he ventured, "just give him some food to begin with? We have some bread left over." And my mother agreed that this was a good idea, and gave the beggar some pieces of bread from the kitchen. But when she returned, my father beckoned her to the nearest window, and said, "Watch carefully."
And as they both watched, they saw the beggar spill the bread onto the street, curse a couple of times, and walk away.
My mother never forgot that lesson, and neither shall I.
It was foremost on my mind when the old man finished his story. "All we need is a little money," he said, "just so that we can get home. We've been here since 4:30."
The woman behind him remained silent. The child at his feet remained silent. All three of them were still staring at me.
"How much do you need?" I asked.
"We only need 82 pesos," the man said. "We're not bad people. We just want to go home."
I didn't want to spend more than a few minutes thinking about my decision, so I pulled out my wallet and offered a rumpled 100-peso bill.
"Thank you," the man said, taking it from my hand. "Thank you," the woman said.
The child said nothing. She just walked back to her mother.
"Go home," I told them, and listened to the old man thank me one last time before we parted ways.
Ten minutes later, I'm now sitting in an internet cafe among the dozens of gamers, trying to decide what I learned on this ubiquitous day. I find myself wondering who they were, and where they are now.
Perhaps they're on a bus back to their home in Bataan or someplace like that. Perhaps they're simply having dinner somewhere. Perhaps the man is playing the Lotto with my one hundred pesos while his two companions wait patiently for him to finish.
I can't decide how I should feel. Maybe I should have ignored them and kept on walking, and maybe I should have given them a bit more than just one hundred pesos so that I could be sure that they could make it back to their place.
The chances are good that, on any given evening in the traditional business district of the Philippines, there would be at least one person unable to return home due to a sudden lack of funds. The chances are just as equally good that we've met some already, or that we'll be meeting some soon enough.
The man told me that they weren't bad people. I'm not sure as to whether that's true or not; I just gave him some money.
What do you do when someone stops you in the middle of the street and asks you for money so that he can get home? You have to assess the situation, of course. You have to figure out whether his story's believable or not.
Have we fallen to the point, then, where we must be suspicious of each other's intentions? Or, at the very least, suspicious of our own actions in this regard?
Are we bad people?
...
...
I don't know.
...
"We're not bad people," he told me, and I realized that a little girl -- presumably his daughter -- was hugging him about the knees. A tall woman, close enough to look like his wife, hovered in the background. All three of them were watching me intently.
"You see, sir," he said, "we thought that you were a Chinese or a Japanese."
"No," I said, "I understand what you're saying."
He breathed what seemed to be a sigh of relief. They had been walking around since 4:30 in the afternoon, he explained, because they wanted to drop by the church across the street. The pastor there was a friend, he said. By the time they arrived, however, they found out that he had left work early, and so they decided to go home.
It was only when they reached the station, however, that they realized that they were out of money. "This is the first time it's happened," the old man said, "and we should have checked before we left. We went back to the church to ask the pastor's secretary for fare, but by the time we got there, she was already gone."
The little girl was still staring at me, as though I was some foreign ogre to be feared.
"So...?" I asked.
He told me that they lived somewhere in Bataan or something like that. In truth, I wasn't really listening. Chances were good that, in the encroaching evening of the business district, there would inevitably be one or two people who find themselves trapped by the lack of funds.
My mother used to tell me this story: Once, many years ago, there was this beggar who came to their front door to ask for money to buy food. My mother was only a young married woman then, and she felt sorry for the poor man. So she told him to wait there, and went back inside for her purse.
On the way back out, she ran into my father, who asked her what she was doing. "There's a beggar at the front door," she told him, "and he's asking for a little money so that he can buy food."
"Don't give him anything," my father said. "He's just going to take advantage of you."
But my mother ignored him then, and gave the beggar some money. And the man thanked her and went off.
The next day, the man appeared at the front door again. Once again, he asked for money to buy food, and once again, my mother went inside to get her purse.
This time, however, my father was waiting. "Why not," he ventured, "just give him some food to begin with? We have some bread left over." And my mother agreed that this was a good idea, and gave the beggar some pieces of bread from the kitchen. But when she returned, my father beckoned her to the nearest window, and said, "Watch carefully."
And as they both watched, they saw the beggar spill the bread onto the street, curse a couple of times, and walk away.
My mother never forgot that lesson, and neither shall I.
It was foremost on my mind when the old man finished his story. "All we need is a little money," he said, "just so that we can get home. We've been here since 4:30."
The woman behind him remained silent. The child at his feet remained silent. All three of them were still staring at me.
"How much do you need?" I asked.
"We only need 82 pesos," the man said. "We're not bad people. We just want to go home."
I didn't want to spend more than a few minutes thinking about my decision, so I pulled out my wallet and offered a rumpled 100-peso bill.
"Thank you," the man said, taking it from my hand. "Thank you," the woman said.
The child said nothing. She just walked back to her mother.
"Go home," I told them, and listened to the old man thank me one last time before we parted ways.
Ten minutes later, I'm now sitting in an internet cafe among the dozens of gamers, trying to decide what I learned on this ubiquitous day. I find myself wondering who they were, and where they are now.
Perhaps they're on a bus back to their home in Bataan or someplace like that. Perhaps they're simply having dinner somewhere. Perhaps the man is playing the Lotto with my one hundred pesos while his two companions wait patiently for him to finish.
I can't decide how I should feel. Maybe I should have ignored them and kept on walking, and maybe I should have given them a bit more than just one hundred pesos so that I could be sure that they could make it back to their place.
The chances are good that, on any given evening in the traditional business district of the Philippines, there would be at least one person unable to return home due to a sudden lack of funds. The chances are just as equally good that we've met some already, or that we'll be meeting some soon enough.
The man told me that they weren't bad people. I'm not sure as to whether that's true or not; I just gave him some money.
What do you do when someone stops you in the middle of the street and asks you for money so that he can get home? You have to assess the situation, of course. You have to figure out whether his story's believable or not.
Have we fallen to the point, then, where we must be suspicious of each other's intentions? Or, at the very least, suspicious of our own actions in this regard?
Are we bad people?
...
...
I don't know.
...
Weighted
My monitor's been laid low by what appears to be a technical problem. The good news is that it's still under warranty and the shop was perfectly willing to replace it with a new model. The bad news is that the old monitor has to get sent back to their supplier for thorough checking, and the model's not likely to appear until they're satisfied with what they find.
What this all means, ladies and gentlemen, is that I don't have a computer for the next week or so. I find that kind of ironic, actually, seeing that I'm effectively half-paralyzed despite the fact that my PC is working perfectly on its own. This'll definitely stunt my development for the Dragon Anthology (deadline on January 18), will ensure that I'll be away from computer games for a while, and will affect my blog postings as well.
As I've already told some people, I'm still wandering around a bunch of workable plots for both the anthology and the Fully Booked contest. I haven't written anything yet; In fact, I'm waiting for a couple of two-hour gaps within my schedule so that I can write each of the stories in one sitting. The work pileup at my office, of course, doesn't help much.
It just goes to show you that when life gives you lemons, it's time to stand around the sidewalk wondering how to make your lemonade.
What this all means, ladies and gentlemen, is that I don't have a computer for the next week or so. I find that kind of ironic, actually, seeing that I'm effectively half-paralyzed despite the fact that my PC is working perfectly on its own. This'll definitely stunt my development for the Dragon Anthology (deadline on January 18), will ensure that I'll be away from computer games for a while, and will affect my blog postings as well.
As I've already told some people, I'm still wandering around a bunch of workable plots for both the anthology and the Fully Booked contest. I haven't written anything yet; In fact, I'm waiting for a couple of two-hour gaps within my schedule so that I can write each of the stories in one sitting. The work pileup at my office, of course, doesn't help much.
It just goes to show you that when life gives you lemons, it's time to stand around the sidewalk wondering how to make your lemonade.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Looking Back (Part 3)
Looking back on things, it's been a great run.
It's possible that suman latik may be a strange topic. It's possible that it may be an unworkable topic. But at least I can say that I took it and ran with it.
In addition, I know that it's had at least two beneficial effects on my blogging habits:
First, it's allowed me to write at least three posts per week. Writing at a regular pace is important for both a writer and his blog; it keeps the writer in good practice, and it makes sure that any regular readers of the blog remain regular readers. People don't bookmark sites that tend to become uninteresting and/or stagnant, after all.
Second, it's allowed me to explore multiple angles to a single topic. As far as I know, I've attempted to write suman latik into the comic strip, interactive fiction, and comedic biblio-religious formats, and that's among the many other expository and introspective essays I've turned out. Strangely enough, I've hardly written any suman fiction for this exercise, although I've somehow managed to segue between suman and literary writing every now and then. I can tell you that, once you start running out of ideas, you start looking at a lot of fringe approaches, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. :)
With all that said, and with all the curiosity that goes into both writing and reading posts like these, I have to say that even great runs have to end sometime.
No, this isn't the last suman latik post you'll see from me. That'll probably come next week or so. If anything, that should allow you and me to savor the moment when it comes.
The last bite of suman always works like that, I think. You chew your way through the rice, taste the sweetness of the sauce, perhaps crunch your way through the remaining bits of sugar. Sometimes the last bite is gone before you realize it; you pop it into your mouth distractedly, never knowing that it's no longer there until you reach for that empty plate.
Sometimes, however, you know that the last bite is there. You know that once you consume that final piece, the taste will linger only as a memory. And you pause and think, wondering whether or not it happened to be a good piece of suman. Sometimes you think it was. Sometimes you don't, and just look forward to the next piece.
Whatever the case, once you're aware of the presence of that last bite, you savor the moment.
It's all unconscious, really. But it's fitting, after all, that after you savored an entire piece of suman, then you get to savor your knowledge of the entire experience afterwards.
In that sense, it's quite filling after all.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Disclaimer: January 2006
I find it ironic that I have to start the new year off with a warning like this. I feel that it's probably necessary, though, seeing that a spate of minor plagiarism-related offenses occurred around the Internet for the last quarter of the previous year. As a concession to the fact that 2006 has only just begun, however, I'll leave out the threats this time.
Plagiarism's a huge issue for writers, artists, sculptors, conceptualists, animators and other people who work within the bounds of creativity. Everyone knows that it's not an easy task to be creative, and these people know it much more intimately than the rest of the population. These people take great pains to ensure their continued creativity and organization even with a number of set limitations hanging over their heads. Sometimes it's their job. Sometimes it's their dream. But for the vast majority of them, their ideas are their life.
Every creative person therefore lives in constant fear that their works might be appropriated by a public with no appreciation of the effort that has gone into them. Or even worse, that an unfamiliar name may one day be planted on their many hours of hard labor simply because somebody was too lazy or too stupid to come up with his own work. Every such work is an extension of its maker; Sever any such extension and you will hear the screams of pain.
No matter how easy or convenient plagiarism is, it tends to compromise the position of the affected author. When the acknowledgement for a given work is shifted towards an undeserving person who is unlikely to produce future pieces of the same or better quality, then the public suffers in the long run. The author begins to question the worth of her effort, and the plagiarist begins realizing the ease at which he can continue his theft. We grow up learning that rewards should be given only to those deserving of them, to those who are willing to put in the time and patience to produce quality works. Plagiarism perverts such a lesson, and damages our capacity to recognize the creators for what they have given to us.
Virtually everything written in this blog is an original work as produced from the mind of Sean, with the exception of a few items referenced from external sources. These sources are invariably noted, usually in tandem with the references themselves; Should you find that this blog does not recognize one of these sources in any way, just leave a comment and I'll correct the entry as soon as possible.
Should you wish to use, link or reference anything in this blog for your own use, please leave a comment and I will gladly assist you as much as I can. In the event that you do not contact me in this manner, you are obligated to reference this weblog as one of your sources. Otherwise, I will be compelled to contact you regarding my interests of copyright. (There's more to this, but I promised that I'd leave out the threats this month.)
Finally, all of the entries in this blog are purely the opinion of Sean, and are not connected with any external entities unless otherwise noted. I will be happy to discuss matters of a legal, moral or rhetorical nature concerning the articles in this blog with you, as long as we do it in a mature and cordial manner.
I'm fully aware that very, very few people have bothered to use any aspect of this blog's entries as of this point in time. Whether or not it means that my writing isn't fit to be used is not my concern; At the moment, I only wish to institute some form of protection for my writings. No one quotes me at the moment, but I'd rather be prepared in case someone does.
Besides, how do we not know that maybe the disclaimers are simply working the way they're supposed to be working, hmmm? :)
Plagiarism's a huge issue for writers, artists, sculptors, conceptualists, animators and other people who work within the bounds of creativity. Everyone knows that it's not an easy task to be creative, and these people know it much more intimately than the rest of the population. These people take great pains to ensure their continued creativity and organization even with a number of set limitations hanging over their heads. Sometimes it's their job. Sometimes it's their dream. But for the vast majority of them, their ideas are their life.
Every creative person therefore lives in constant fear that their works might be appropriated by a public with no appreciation of the effort that has gone into them. Or even worse, that an unfamiliar name may one day be planted on their many hours of hard labor simply because somebody was too lazy or too stupid to come up with his own work. Every such work is an extension of its maker; Sever any such extension and you will hear the screams of pain.
No matter how easy or convenient plagiarism is, it tends to compromise the position of the affected author. When the acknowledgement for a given work is shifted towards an undeserving person who is unlikely to produce future pieces of the same or better quality, then the public suffers in the long run. The author begins to question the worth of her effort, and the plagiarist begins realizing the ease at which he can continue his theft. We grow up learning that rewards should be given only to those deserving of them, to those who are willing to put in the time and patience to produce quality works. Plagiarism perverts such a lesson, and damages our capacity to recognize the creators for what they have given to us.
Virtually everything written in this blog is an original work as produced from the mind of Sean, with the exception of a few items referenced from external sources. These sources are invariably noted, usually in tandem with the references themselves; Should you find that this blog does not recognize one of these sources in any way, just leave a comment and I'll correct the entry as soon as possible.
Should you wish to use, link or reference anything in this blog for your own use, please leave a comment and I will gladly assist you as much as I can. In the event that you do not contact me in this manner, you are obligated to reference this weblog as one of your sources. Otherwise, I will be compelled to contact you regarding my interests of copyright. (There's more to this, but I promised that I'd leave out the threats this month.)
Finally, all of the entries in this blog are purely the opinion of Sean, and are not connected with any external entities unless otherwise noted. I will be happy to discuss matters of a legal, moral or rhetorical nature concerning the articles in this blog with you, as long as we do it in a mature and cordial manner.
I'm fully aware that very, very few people have bothered to use any aspect of this blog's entries as of this point in time. Whether or not it means that my writing isn't fit to be used is not my concern; At the moment, I only wish to institute some form of protection for my writings. No one quotes me at the moment, but I'd rather be prepared in case someone does.
Besides, how do we not know that maybe the disclaimers are simply working the way they're supposed to be working, hmmm? :)
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Assessment
So here I am, punching out words on the keyboard and watching a bit of Stephen Chow on the tube. I'm switching back and forth between tabs on Firefox, seeing as there's a list of notable 2005 deaths on MSNBC that's worth reading. In a few minutes, I'll probably resume my brainstorming for Vin Simbulan's draconic anthology and the Fully Booked writing contest (both due next month, which is kind of unfair, really). By 7:00 pm tonight, I'll be in a restaurant somewhere, sitting among relatives and toasting the new year with non-alcoholic drinks.
All in all, it's a normal New Years' Eve afternoon today.
There's nothing as gratifying as lazing around the computer on a Saturday afternoon, I think. If at anytime I stop feeling like writing, I can always turn off the Internet connection and play a nice game of Wesnoth.
No, I'd rather not look back on the year 2005. The anticipation of 2006 is enough as it is, and I try to think of myself as the kind of person who looks forward rather than back. Sure, we've written quite a few works of art. Sure, we've looked at our selves, our souls, and our surroundings. Sure, we've created new endeavors, traveled to fantastic places, and tasted new experiences. But that's all gone now. That's long gone. All that we have left to bring into the future are those lessons we have seen fit to teach ourselves.
That's probably what New Years' Resolutions are for, I think. Every year is a benchmark, a method by which we can ask ourselves what has changed. How have we improved or degraded? Has it been for the better, or for the worse? Have our perceptions shifted somewhat? And most importantly, why?
Different people will tell you different things, depending on just who they are. Some people will actively seek change, while others will be content to let things stand the way they are. It's kind of like conservativism and liberalism -- only without the politics, the activism, and the general name-calling. Either you change or you don't. At the end of the year, it's only the assessment that's really important. Wrap up the bills and close up the books, boys -- it's time for the IRS to step in and do their count.
Back at the beginning of 2005, I remember reading somewhere that this was a specific Year of the Rooster (according to the handy Chinese zodiac); that 2005 was supposed to be a year of upheaval. 2005 was supposed to be a year that tested the denizens of the world for their ability to handle oncoming change. Now, I'm hardly the superstitious or astrological sort, but I'll leave you to decide whether or not that little prophetic announcement was accurate enough for you.
Change, yes. Quite obvious, really. Every year brings change.
But momentous change? You figure out whether or not that's accurate in your case. It's your life, after all. I'm the last person you want to say how much you've grown or shrunk in the last year.
You're your own IRS, in that sense. You should be your own IRS. And for you, it's time to go a-counting.
So... there go my chicken scratches for today. As for me, well: I've slept till noon. I've dragged the computer over to the little corner shop for a wee bit of maintenance. I've had lunch. I've watched some Asian kung-fu action on the small screen. I've opened up my last Christmas gift (Terry Pratchett's Going Postal, which beats the pants off anything else I've received this season). I've opened up Blogger and punched in my last message for the bottomless pit that was 2005, and I'm content.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I might just be able to squeeze off a short Wesnoth game before I leave for my little New Years' Eve gathering.
I wish you all a Happy Holidays, ladies and gentlemen, and a mighty good 2006 besides.
All in all, it's a normal New Years' Eve afternoon today.
There's nothing as gratifying as lazing around the computer on a Saturday afternoon, I think. If at anytime I stop feeling like writing, I can always turn off the Internet connection and play a nice game of Wesnoth.
No, I'd rather not look back on the year 2005. The anticipation of 2006 is enough as it is, and I try to think of myself as the kind of person who looks forward rather than back. Sure, we've written quite a few works of art. Sure, we've looked at our selves, our souls, and our surroundings. Sure, we've created new endeavors, traveled to fantastic places, and tasted new experiences. But that's all gone now. That's long gone. All that we have left to bring into the future are those lessons we have seen fit to teach ourselves.
That's probably what New Years' Resolutions are for, I think. Every year is a benchmark, a method by which we can ask ourselves what has changed. How have we improved or degraded? Has it been for the better, or for the worse? Have our perceptions shifted somewhat? And most importantly, why?
Different people will tell you different things, depending on just who they are. Some people will actively seek change, while others will be content to let things stand the way they are. It's kind of like conservativism and liberalism -- only without the politics, the activism, and the general name-calling. Either you change or you don't. At the end of the year, it's only the assessment that's really important. Wrap up the bills and close up the books, boys -- it's time for the IRS to step in and do their count.
Back at the beginning of 2005, I remember reading somewhere that this was a specific Year of the Rooster (according to the handy Chinese zodiac); that 2005 was supposed to be a year of upheaval. 2005 was supposed to be a year that tested the denizens of the world for their ability to handle oncoming change. Now, I'm hardly the superstitious or astrological sort, but I'll leave you to decide whether or not that little prophetic announcement was accurate enough for you.
Change, yes. Quite obvious, really. Every year brings change.
But momentous change? You figure out whether or not that's accurate in your case. It's your life, after all. I'm the last person you want to say how much you've grown or shrunk in the last year.
You're your own IRS, in that sense. You should be your own IRS. And for you, it's time to go a-counting.
So... there go my chicken scratches for today. As for me, well: I've slept till noon. I've dragged the computer over to the little corner shop for a wee bit of maintenance. I've had lunch. I've watched some Asian kung-fu action on the small screen. I've opened up my last Christmas gift (Terry Pratchett's Going Postal, which beats the pants off anything else I've received this season). I've opened up Blogger and punched in my last message for the bottomless pit that was 2005, and I'm content.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I might just be able to squeeze off a short Wesnoth game before I leave for my little New Years' Eve gathering.
I wish you all a Happy Holidays, ladies and gentlemen, and a mighty good 2006 besides.
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