Murky Clarity

The Journey Thus Far

Last night, Selangor Young Talent Awards (SEYTA) took place at the MBSA auditorium, Wisma MBSA. This was the second year the ceremony was organized, celebrating the Arts, but catered for artists aged 35 and below. Four main categories were covered: creative writing, music, visual art and performing art.

Late last month, one of the organizers, Ammar Gazali, emailed me saying that he was nominating me for the award. I read the email three times before I jumped in my seat. So I sent all 19 of my published stories, compiled in a pretty PDF form, with a cover Kasha designed--she gave me four covers to choose from. How cool is that?

For the record, my 20th story, "Gestures of Faith" (previously "Remember Atlantis") has been contracted for publication, and from what Amir Muhammad said last night, I may hear good news from Esquire Malaysia. Here's to hoping.

So I went on with my life, sporadically writing my novel with a burst of 3000 words at a go, followed by a week of silence, until last Sunday Amir FB-messaged me to free my Saturday. My story "A Long Sigh Goodnight", which CCC Press had bought for Black and White and other new short stories from Malaysia, was chosen as one of the five finalists for the creative writing: English novels/short stories category.

Wild, isn't it? I originally wrote the story for MPH-Alliance Short Story Competition 2009. It didn't even make the long list. I rearranged a few scenes--the story was complete, and I didn't want to edit much--and when I read the call for submission from CCC Press on Sharon Bakar's blog, sending the story there felt right. It's one of the seven stories selected for the anthology, due out sometime this year.

I didn't get my hopes up. Having a best friend who more often than not ended up disappointing me, I learned the hard way not to hope for good things; that way I don't get disappointed. I arranged for a flight home--I needed to see my dermatologist anyway--and reserved SEVEN tickets for the ceremony. Kasha, Ayis and Arwen had arranged for a Pekan trip for the long weekend, so Mama, Faiz and Ili came, plus Tita, her husband and her friend. Yep, I had my posse along, like I always do.

I'd be lying if I say I was a nervous wreck throughout drive to the auditorium. When we arrived, I felt like peeing, defecating and barfing at the same time.

I'd never been to an award ceremony--school award ceremonies don't count. It was uber cool. It was airwolf. Awesomesauce. There was even a harpist, yo! When my category came, with my name on the screens, and hearing it announced, my heart thumped against my chest, threatening to fall at the slightest move, my mouth and throat dried up, and I clutched the armrests of my seat until my fingers hurt.

I didn't win.

Lee Eeleen did, with her story Amplitude, which was published in Selangor Times. You can read her story here. I took the link from Amir Muhammad's blog. The story deserves the win, hands down.

I'm totally fine not winning the category because the rush of anticipation, the jumble of excitement and anxiety, I won't trade it for anything. I got to experience it. I'm thankful for it.

But, more than that, I attended the ceremony with a clear intention. In our FB exchanges, Amir Muhammad mentioned he wanted to see me if possible. A publisher wanting to talk to me. How cool is that? So, after the ceremony, we met up, and he pitched me an idea for a novel for him to publish (and more). I told him I'm working on a novel, and I have to finish it--partly because I've never written any novel-length work before, and partly because the story needs to be told. Amir asked where I plan to send the novel, and I said I'll think about it when the time comes. But definitely I'm going traditional with it. He said not to rush on the novel idea, and he'll be waiting for it, because he loved my writing.

Awesomesauce, right?

I'm still reeling from the excitement, the possibilities that lie before me. Two-and-a-half years ago, Tita nudged (as in forced) me to pick up writing again. I had stopped writing stories since 2004. I didn't start writing immediately; I knew I needed to learn how to write. I knew that in my arrogance back in the earlier days, I thought I wrote well. I still cringe when I read my earlier works. I bought books after books about writing. I devoured them all, and I would have literally done it if it were possible. When I felt I was ready, I wrote "A Long Sigh Goodnight", then I wrote "The Last Anniversary". Both didn't make the long-list, but I didn't stop writing.

When Tita told me about Writing.com, I joined it. I wrote flash fictions (stories under 1000 words) for their daily flash competition. I think 75-80% of my entries won. I wrote more. I joined Let's Publish!, a group within Writing.com that concentrated on publishing short stories and poems. We reviewed and edited one another's works, and I learned to edit better, to write better.

I posted some of my flash fictions on my old blog, and one of the readers suggested sending "Mother" to Quarterly Literary Review Singapore (QLRS). The accepted the story for their October 2009 volume. When the good folks of Let's Publish! challenged ourselves to write something out of our normal style, "Vision" was born. Scared the crap out of me writing it, but I sold it to "Expanded Horizons". USD30, my first payment for writing. I had asked Dash to mail me the check.

And I started getting payment for all my subsequent stories. I also won second place for SFReader Short Story Contest 2010 for "Blood Debt", and I sold "Act of Faith" to COSMOS Australia, my first professional market (USD 0.05 and above per word). I received a whopping AUD300 for the 4000-word story.

And now, a finalist for an award, and an offer for novel publication (and more).

I have tasted the sweet drug of award nomination, and I want more. I've only been actively publishing my works for two years now, and I hope there will be more years to come. I know my stories are publishable. I'm getting paid for them. I think it's time to aim higher. I want to write great stories, award-winning stories, stories that resonate, that linger, that matter.

I hope that you'll come along for the ride. After all, I'll always need my posse with me.

Peace be with you.

Always.

 

You tell me: are stories lies?

Got into a discussion with Tita last night over WhatsApp, about equating storytelling with telling lies. I don't see it as offensive, but Tita does. She sees it as a personal affront, in fact.

While I can give definitions like I sometimes do, why not I approach this the way I know best: illustrating using words.

 

The room is small but the mirror covering one whole wall gives it an illusion of added space. The open windows on the opposite wall adds to that illusion. Everything is white, from the walls to the ceiling and floor, to the windowsills, to the curtains gently billowing with the morning breeze, and to the ceiling fan revolving with a lazy grace.

Because of this pristine whiteness, the apple in the middle of the room stands out even though its red skin is dull. Its surface is smooth and gleams in the light coming in from the window. You pick it up and you think about the sweet juice that escapes your lips as you take a big bite. You imagine how good the flesh tastes in your mouth. Not too sweet, not too sour. Just right.

Something wiggles between your finger. Soon more wigglings tickle your palm, your fingers, and the back of your hands. You drop the apple and it lands with a thud. It cracks, and out pour countless maggots, white as the walls, white as the curtains, white as the ceiling fan.

They wiggle toward you, climbing up your feet, your calves, your thighs. The maggots keep coming.

 

I'm sorry if I have caused any discomfort. Did you visualize the scene I described? Did you see the white room, the billowing curtains, the revolving fan? Did the image fill you with a sense of calm? Did you see the apple on the floor? Did you see the maggots, and how white no longer gives you the same sense of calm, but of oppression and revulsion?

Yes. I am arrogant enough to hope that at least some of you experienced what I hope you did. But that's not the point. The room I described? Doesn't exist. Well it could exist somewhere, but that's not the point either.

Point is, I described a scene out of my imagination, a scene that to me doesn't exist in real life. A scene that is made up. When we were little, our parents would scold us for making up stories, for telling lies.

When we say 'fiction' or 'novel', we know right from the start that what we will read is make-believe, even when it's a contemporary general fiction. When we watch movies like "Wanted" and "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" and "Ever After", we know that the movies we watch didn't really happen. If the pills in "Limitless" really do exist, the world would have been a different place.

For the duration of reading stories and watching movies, as well as afterward, we take these lies as truths. We accept the possibility of the events unfolding as real. This is called suspension of belief. Our mind prepares itself to be lied to. If executed correctly, the readers and the audience will forget that what's happening isn't real. But when the presentation is blundered, you'll get movies like "Sharktopus" and books like "The Lost Symbol". You're consciously aware that you're being lied to, that you're being preached. Your suspension of belief is betrayed.

Back to my original point. I have lied, I have been lied to. Sometimes I willingly accept a lie because I know the intention behind it is good: to stop me from worrying, to make me feel better, to ease the situation. The lie is told not to harm, but to protect. Then there are lies told to protect the person telling it, lies to cover the wrongs, lies told with ill intent.

To simplify matters, lie is just a word. Its context is the factor that makes a world of difference. This is why I don't mind when people say that storytelling is a lie that tells truths. Even the first storytellers embellished to make their tales more dramatic, to have that oomph. People keep asking me if my stories (especially the non-SF ones) are based on true events, or that I'm the one pining over a lost love. And I have to keep telling them, "No, they're just stories."

But my stories are based on certain emotions, memories or longings that I felt before and while writing them. Not everyone likes my works, and I don't expect every single person to like what I write. But to have even one person to shed a tear for my characters, to feel hope for a better tomorrow, to laugh at quirky moments, to sigh over a loving couple's exchanges, I've successfully conveyed the emotions I felt while writing.

I seldom write for others; I write for myself. I write to remind myself of the good times, to show myself how things could have happened differently, to show myself the possibilities that lie ahead. I lie to myself, I suspend belief, so that for just a moment, for that moment alone, I feel good about who I am, what I am.

You guys are just along for the ride.

So you tell me. Is it okay to say storytelling is the same as lying? Or do you get offended? Do you think it's an insult?

If

If only I was a patch of cloud
My shadow will bring respite
from the glare that burns your back
My tears will bring nourishment
to help you grow, to help you prosper.

If only I was the grassy field
Where you can rest for a while
in the still of the day
Where you can catch a glimpse of you dream
out of the corner of your eyes.

If only I was the open road
That you choose to travel upon
down the unknown where your future is
That you choose to stroll unhindered
up the vista of memories, old and new.

If only I was the world
If only I was your world
If only, as you were mine.

One of the things to do when sick

 

 

Yeah...could have done something more productive, like reading (preferably textbooks, but even a storybook would have been adequate), continuing that novel WiP, writing another Tender Moment, or eating, for that matter.

But, no.

I trolled the internet when I was well enough to get out of bed, and found a karaoke recording of Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah". Well, I know I don't sing well, and my choice of background music/minus one is limited due to my weird key--yeah, yeah, plenty of excuses--but I'm in Kelantan, I'm bored, and I just have to upload a song, to get it over with. And, you know, so that I can have a blog post without having to write anything.

Yeah. Thought so. My already-pathetic pageview per day will dwindle further from now on. Please don't hate me for this.

New Story Published

Okay, the story isn't exactly new, but it has finally found a home. Expanded Horizons has bought and published my dark fantasy, "Kuda Kepang".

Here's the link: Expanded Horizons Issue 31 (September 2011)

Hope you enjoy reading all three stories in the issue!