Daily (w)rite

writing about living a dream

Writing about all sorts of stuff for the last few days, from belly fat to ballet dancing….the boring freelance writer’s life.

Some people live their dream, some are at least talking about it. Others, like me, have the dream at their feet, and keep kicking it around instead of just stepping into it.

I wish I would stop toying around with my dream life and just dare to live the dream!

Writing about personal stuff is something that comes up around me from time to time. I have touched upon it in some of my posts, I have wondered about it in my head, I have talked about it with friends, writers or otherwise.

The other day, I heard someone ask a published author on how to go about writing about personal stuff, painful things, toxic things, hurtful things. Especially when the writing would involve not only the writer’s own life but that of others. What happens if you write about people who actually recognize themselves? What are the ethics of the situation?

Such writing has been done, time and time again. But a majority of writers, like Susan Breen, for instance, would not think of lifting a character totally out of life, and leaving him or her as is.

Let us admit it, most fiction writing starts from fact, from personal experience. But most writers use that experience as a springboard, as a platform from where they can ask the “what if” question, so that the resultant people and world they create in their work is “faction” if you like, “fact + fiction”. I belong to this category.

Very few people are as talented and as honest as Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, who could create enduring works out of their often somewhat squalid and relentlessly experimental lives. An open life is not very easy to lead.

If you are a writer, how do you incorporate personal experience in your work?

Writing on this blog sometimes becomes a difficult exercise: because this is a public blog.

A lot of people who know me in real life know about this blog. And some of them definitely read it.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I long to have an anonymous place to rave, rant, let my hair down, whatever.

Time to find some of my fictional characters and let them go on the rampage instead of me…living vicariously is easy when you are a writer

I have been writing in my older posts that I have shifted to a new country, but the important bit also is that I have shifted to a new home.

I was talking to a friend yesterday, and I realized that I do not want a big apartment, smaller is cosier.

It brings people together, it keeps a family more in touch with each other. It requires less cleaning effort, and is more convenient. If I want a cup of tea when I am on my balcony, it should not involve such a walk to the kitchen that I stop wanting the tea altogether! These people seem to have hit on the right idea

Writing has become increasing more difficult over the past week, because all I can think of is packing, hanging, arranging, decorating. Moving into a new house does that to you, I guess.

One particular thing on my most-desired list right now: gecko tape.

I have so many things to hang, and pristine walls I don’t want to nail and damage. Gecko tape would be just the thing….*sigh*

Writing has come to a standstill, how about some gecko-tape to carry the load of guilt as well? Yeah, right!

Oh, there she is! Must go up to her! Is that milk I smell? She does look like she has something in her hand…yes, yes, slurp, it is milk! Come closer, come closer! Oh I am so hungry and this thing at my neck pulls so! I know I stink, girl, but just come closer so I can have a go at that bowl. Come nearer, nearer! Ok, now!

It is silly how useless these legs are, I can drag along so fine with these on the front, but how about having a pair to shove me up at the back too, like my brothers and sisters? Never mind, never mind, I will get to it in time, can I have some of that milk, please, now??

Ok…sigh..that was good! Now why does she look so down? Say something! I like it when you say things, I don’t understand them one bit, but I like the sound. Reminds me of my mum. I like how you touch my head too, I know you avoid the back because I have been sitting around in my own shit, but you see I can’t pull up my behind at all! I try, I try, see how I try! Oh look! I managed a bit! Oh no! I fell down again! Don’t look so low, I will manage, I will!

So you are going to do that washing thing? Why so early today? Usually you do it when I get my food next. I like that food: all that yellow and white fluffy stuff, very smelly, but nice! Ok, now, I hate this cold, why do you have to put me in water? There is not even enough sun yet! I like the way you pick me up tho, by the scruff of my neck, like mum used to.

Not like that monster boy who picked me up, making that awful sound looking really happy, just before he dropped me. I used to be able to move all my four legs before then. But when I fell, I was hurt, oh so hurt. I cried, I yelped, because it hurt. I was scared already because he had taken me away from my mum and my siblings, but now it hurt!

There, you got me all clean, I like the smell of that stuff you put on me. Your hand smells nice too, I like telling you how nice you are by licking your hand, because I don’t know how else to say it. It is like when you pat my head, and say Feenix, Feenix! That’s me right? I know when you say Feenix, you are calling me! You are saying something about me right now!

I have to call you something too, but I know you don’t understand anything when I talk to you, you just stroke me softer. So I lick your hand. You make a funny, happy sound then! But why aren’t you making that sound today? And why is your face all wet? Pick me up, pick me up, so I can lick you clean! I don’t stink right now, so you can pick me up!

Now that I am full, lets play! I cant move much I know, but you can bring your hand near and I can try biting at it, like I always do! Such fun! And such a nice day it is too! I’d like to go a bit further, but this thing at my neck you tie me with! Ah, can’t you just loosen it a little bit? Let’s go, come on, please!

Hey you are picking me up, what fun! There, there, I know you don’t look too good today. That’s alright. I will lick you better. Hey your face doesn’t taste alright, all salty, what is this wet thing all over it? It looks like water, but ugh, it tastes bad! Never mind, I will dry it up for you, there girl! How about some more milk then, eh? I can do with some more! I like it when there is nothing on my neck, so wonderful, so free!

So you are putting me into the basket? We are going to meet that man eh? I don’t like it when he pokes me though, he tries to make me stand, and I hate it when you look so low when I fall. I want to stand, I do! I will too, you’ll see!

Ok we are there. I don’t like that table. I feel scared, don’t put me down, don’t!

Ok, nasty man go away. Give me back to her!

Wait, girl, why are you going away? Don’t leave me and go, please, please, please! I am calling to you, are you deaf? You always come when I cry, don’t leave me with the nasty man!

Oh, he hurt me, he put that sharp thing in me! The nasty man hurt me! Come back!

I feel sleepy now, I feel so sleepy…come back, come back!

I was doing my 1000 words of morning writing, when I stumbled on a very helpful Character Writing Idea. As a beginner at characterization, it helps to be able to describe the characters in deep detail, how they look and what they eat, how they talk and what they wear.

You can choose to write about a friend, an ex, yourself, a partner, a spouse or an acquaintance —-as the guinea pig. Since it will all be in your private journal, you will never need fear them seeing it, but it would give you the practice you need to describe the people you already know, so when it comes to an imaginary character, things would go smoother.

I made one up today, and it went like this: (I needed a character for one of the stories I am writing, and though the description will never itself go into the story, it helps me that I can see her when I write about what she is doing)

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Singapore is a garden city, not much to see. It is a shopping haven, no more, no less.

But on mornings like this when I can see the sun kiss the ships on the bay, then shine on them bright and glaring, when the bay seems to have been painted by a meticulous artist who has captured the water stroke upon stroke with an untrammeled hand, when a white yacht makes it way across, leaving a streak of milk-white behind it on all that gleaming blue, it is bewitching to look at Singapore in all its glorious hues from my window.

Not through the open window, mind, or I can hear all the cars rushing to and fro on the highway to the airport. Closed, sound-proof, enormous windows are my favorite for a reason.

If I look up at the bright, bright sky, I can see airplanes coming in to land, they glint in the sun, bringing people into Singapore on another new day.

I love also the abundance of greenery, the park on the East coast, where I often go for walks.

But Singapore is not the country of my love.

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Love expresses itself in many ways. One desperate act of love caught my eye this morning on the news: a woman literally bit another dog to save her own dog’s life!

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When it comes to poetry, I admit I am a little cynical. I write poems, but they are not really things I’d rather put up on a blog.

Rick Mobbs, who is an artist by profession, but a painter and poet at heart has asked me more than once to share with him the fiction I have been writing. Uh, I thought, why not poetry? Maybe go the whole hog and make a complete fool of myself?

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