Nowadays when people ask me what I do, I say I'm a “novelist” with a straight face. Sometimes I add “fulltime” before the “novelist” to increase the shock factor some more. At other times when I do not feel the need for shocking people, I just say “writer” and most just nod understandingly.
Because I think of myself now as a fulltime writer, I feel the need to be writing fulltime. No room for excuses now. Thus, when all the partying from the holiday and birthday seasons died down, I locked myself in a room I borrowed from an aunt that was approximately a hundred meters from where we lived and started writing. For three consecutive days during the first week, I was writing for eight full hours a day. I did not even allow myself afternoon naps except for the third day when I could hardly concentrate and make the words on the computer monitor stand still. It was the most productive time ever in my writing life.
During those three days, I was able to write 45 pages of my novel, including the hard parts. The ones I had been worrying about since the idea of the novel first entered my mind. The ones I did not know whether I will be able to write at all. While the novel still has a long way to go before I can finally let anyone else read it, I feel that I have already let out many of the vital scenes in it and this has brought me a deep sense of relief. My novel-writing mantra seems to be proving itself true: It’s hard but it’s not impossible. It’s going to be written.
I do not know the process by which other writers write but I’m a very emotional writer. When I write nonfiction, for example, I am known to weep while writing heartbreaking, at least for me, parts. I will have to pause from typing because I will need a minute to hug my knees tight, sob a couple of times, then breathe slowly to collect myself. I will write some more then repeat the whole process when I get to another scene where the tears will just start falling. I was a bit surprised with myself when I started crying during the course of writing my novel. And not from sheer exhaustion. I get goosebumps and shortness of breath but I do not remember ever crying when writing fiction.
So I cried and felt good so I cried some more. I wrote some and I cried some and I felt good some. And then again I am reminded of the reason why I persist on writing, why it has always been a part of my life, and why it will always be a passion.
The next day, the third day of my 8-hour days writing spree, my nose bled profusely. While it was not particularly very hot these days, my nose bled a bit the night before that while I was brushing my teeth. I did not think much of it and blamed not drinking enough water and snacking too much on junk food while writing so I vowed to drink more water and minimize my junk food consumption. On that third day when it bled a lot, I finally mellowed a bit on the writing and allowed myself the half-hour afternoon nap I felt I finally deserved.
And so after three days of hard work, I and my friends took a three-day out of town break to La Union. We ate a lot, we slept early, we breathed in fresh air, and we frolicked on the beach. To cap my three-day vacation, we watched “Kawil” at the new PETA Theater Center in New Manila, QC. It was good. :)
When I turned off my computer last night, I had, and still have since today was spent fulfilling my internet needs which I suppressed for weeks, 68 pages. Hopefully, I’ll reach my 100th page mark on the second week of February. I hope to be able to complete the whole thing by mid-March.
No nosebleeds again, please. No time for it. That’s not part of the plan.
Pictures of the La Union trip are here: http://sanapakaininmoko.multiply.com/photos/album/120
