Writing Practice (2)

This is an all too familiar scene. A room devoid of all colors. Nothing really stands out from the ordinary. The shelves are choke full of files which contains what I presume are drafts. The chairs and tables are all wooden. The same old standing fan is plugged into the power socket in the corner. Only the occasional figurine differentiates this failure of an office with the rest. I wonder... Do all the editors in the world have the same boring room?

What I'm going through now is hardly anything foreign either. Sitting down facing an almost grumpy man who is currently reviewing my drafts. The minutes experienced felt like hours. And even without doing anything, I'm breaking out into a cold sweat. This nervousness of mine should have long been conquered, but it always reemerges at the wrong time. As usual, this is a make-it, break-it moment. Maki said she had a good feeling about this one. Maybe the editor will share her sentiments? My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a loud clearing of throat. I looked up to see the editor with a grim look. Damn, this didn't work out either..

"Rejected. Sorry, but we cannot accept this."
"I... I understand. Sorry for wasting so much of your time."

I gave a polite bow to the editor and walked out quickly.

This feeling of dejectment isn't new either. I always end up feeling this way after a trip to the editor's office. This makes the sixth draft already. I must be breaking some sort of rejected manga drafts record by now. This also poses a new problem: What the hell am I supposed to survive on next month? My paltry savings can only last me till the end of the month, and that's already pushing it. Ugh. Well, guess I can try to look on the bright side. Maki owes me dinner now. Knowing Maki though, it probably isn't going to be a very good meal. Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. At least that's one meal I don't have to worry about.

As usual, Maki is waiting for me at the cafe near the editorial. All these thinking nearly made me forget that I was supposed to meet her straight after. I walked into the cafe. This is hardly a fancy cafe. Everything about this place is ordinary. The decor in here makes my plain room look like a hotel suite in comparison. That's okay though. Maki and I like this place because it reminds us of home. Not to mention the foodand beverages served here are a lot cheaper than those fancy joints. I kinda wonder how the owner stays in business for so long though, given the fact that Maki and I were his only two regulars.

"The usual please."
"Ah, that friend of yours have already ordered for you. Still want a second cup of Joe?"
"Uhh, yeah sure, why not? Couldn't hurt to drink more."
"Coming right up then."

And sitting over at the far end of the cafe with a blank look on her face was Maki. I can't really consider outselves to be childhood friends, especially since we only got to know each other in high school. Back then, she was one of the few who did not laugh at me when I wrote drawing in our future career form. We've been getting along ever since.

Maki was apparently lost in thought as she failed to notice me approaching. My butt meeting the soft cushioned chair seemed to have changed that fact however, as she quickly looked up in surprise.

"That took longer than usual."
"How'd it go?"
"No good this time either. Looks like you owe me a meal."
"That fat lecher rejected your drafts again?"
"Yeap, he did."
"I wasn't surprised somehow though. Kinda thought this would happen again."

"Here's your coffee."
The cafe owner set down a steaming cup of hot coffee on the table. Without saying another word, he walked back to his usual place bshine the counter. Instinctively, I reached out for the handle of the cup and proceeded to take a sip. Tastes normal, as usual. But it always has this flair to it.

"Too much coffee isn't good for your health y'know?"
"Ah, give me a break. I happen to like coffee. A little extra wouldn't hurt."
"Don't expect me to help you when you're suffering from a heart attack."

She looks grumpy. Maybe it's because I didn't manage to make the cut again. Or maybe it's just because of my caffeine addiction.

"So what's next for you?"
"I don't know. Try again perhaps?"
"Ever thought of changing editors instead? You still have your old drafts right? I'm sure one of them will be successful."
"Ah, well. I told myself that this is a personal challenge I'm giving myself. If I'm able to get through this guy, I should be able to conquer everyone else right?"
"....."
"Sometimes I wonder where you get all this positiveness from."
"Well, fine. Keep working on it. I'm always behind you."
"Thanks Maki, I wouldn't be able to last this long without you."

Troubles (1)

Because I have something on my mind, I'll try writing it down in the form of a story. Writing practices are always helpful. This will be my first time writing a non-fiction story. Even now, I'm wondering how to start this off. No idea how well I'll fare either, but like I said, writing practices are always helpful. Gives me an opportunity to learn in any case. Well, here goes.

....

Stress. A strange word. A foreign word not commonly found in my dictionary. This word however, has managed to inch it's way in little by little this past month. The deep recesses of my cranium had tried to put up a defense against this foreign entity. A defense which proved to be highly ineffective. Now, I start to feel that my very hair is turning ash gray. My usual daily motions has turned shallow. Those who know me might even say that I'm a shadow of my former self. What if they're wrong? What if my true nature is always like this, and my other self is just another mask I wear to protect my true self? Regardless, they aren't entirely wrong.

My problem stems not from that accursed place in which I currently work at. No. It stems from myself. Myself from a few years back to be exact.

I've always known what I want to become in the future. It may not be a childhood dream, but it is a dream I have had for more than 7 years now. Many people say that this isn't a good dream to pursue. The hours are long and the pay little. So little that you can never hope to make a living based on this alone. The sad, cold, and hard truth is they're right. I've already known this fact for a little while now, so I keep telling myself it's alright. And yes, I keep believing that as long as I don't give up, I can make this dream a reality. But now that my 2 years of service is almost done, the reality is coming back to me again. I've been escaping. Escaping from the fact that I will most probably lack the capabilities to support myself in the future. The world is harsh, and money is about the only thing that matters to anybody now. With the cost of living in the world inflating so horrendously, I might not survive out there. People more talented than me in ways I can only imagine already have a tough time working in this industry. So where does this leave me?

After talking so much about this, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I regret deeply that I wasted my youth away while I can be practicing on my drawing and writing. I've been trying to make up for the lost years and trying to get back to where I left off. Time however, is a luxury I do not have. Back at the accursed place, I've been slapped with all kinds of duties and things that are not really my obligations. These duties keep coinciding with whatever day offs they have scheduled for us. Needless to say, these offs are but a distant dream. It is so near, yet so far, and I will never be able to grasp onto them. I can only watch as these things drift furthur and furthur away from me. What little time I have now, I try to keep them in check. Trying to balance my wants and needs along with my desires to furthur myself in terms of artistic and literal progress have proven to be rather difficult.

That isn't the end of my troubles however. I needed to find a Japanese animation school that will take me. But before that, I needed to get my command of the Japanese language up to speed, which admitably is proving to be a rather difficult task in itself. All these, and covered with the real fact of cold hard cash. Going to a foreign country to study isn't cheap at all. Although my family isn't poor, I can't say that we're rich either. We make just enough to get us by every month, and sending someone abroad to study will take a significant amount out of our savings. I only have the thousands to go by in my bank account, and with the paltry amount I make every month, It isn't going to be antwhere near enough. I try not to depend too much on my parents for financial support. The money that they painstakingly made should only be used by them, and not for my personal needs.

All these problems are bearing down on my psyche. Coupled with the fact that I know I'm alone pursuing all these. None in my circle is going anywhere similar and some haven't even thought about their plans for the future. I feel that I'm wandering into a deep dark abyss without any light, without any company. It scares me. For once in my life, I'm genuinely afraid of the future and the uncertainty it holds. Will starting a family be possible? Will I die a lonely, miserable death in some old apartment without fulfilling my dream? I desperately need some help, but from whom? Who has knowledge enough to lead me into the unknown? Am I able to find out the answers to these problems myself? I have no idea.

I'm not getting any younger, yet I haven't done anything worthy to make people remember that I existed. Maybe I'm too sheltered. Maybe I'm just overthinking things too much. But the problems are very real. And now, I'm starting to doubt that I have the ability to solve these. I'll still press on ahead, and try to make these last few months as fulfilling as possible. It isn't too late. I can still salvage this with proper self discipline and some hard work.

I just wish I could get a few more extra days to clear my mind...

.....

After thoughts: turned out too much to be a normal blog post. But considering my current state of emotion, that is to be understood.

The feelings conveyed through that short story is very real. I cannot afford to fuck around any longer. Time to buck up... Me.

Writing Practice (1)

My eyes squint as I stare at the window beside me. Rays of the morning sun has begun to pour into my otherwise dark room. My curtains lay dangling as I had forgetten yet again to shut them at night. The air conditioning I had on since yesterday had degraded my room temperature into a winter-esque degree and is making me shiver. I stood up and stretched my frozen body, letting out a loud yawn in the process. Sleep has eluded me once again and seems to be turning into a foreign and mysterious word nowadays. Satisfied with the stretch and feeling a little less sleepy than before, I returned my attention to the computer screen in front of me. A blank document. It isn't actually blank though... It was filled with a bunch of incoherent sentences and words that I presumed I typed out in my sleep, so it might as well be a blank piece of document. I didn't know what to write. Spending a few sleepless nights thinking about it didn't help either, as evidenced by the rubbish that is in front of me. Trying again to write down something so that it wasn't a complete waste of time staying up, I looked around my mess of a room for inspiration. Reference materials are lying all over the floor, to the point that it was almost impossible to see the floor beneath. Empty lunchboxes still in their plastic bags are bundled up in a corner of the room. ...It's kinda impossible to derive any sort of inspiration from this mess.

My mind, apparently having decided to shut itself up like a young teenager that just broke up with his other half, did not function as well as I'd like it to be. Resolving to return to this a little later, I stood up again, knocking a few of the many empty energy boosting drink cans that was sprawled all over my computer desk. I dragged my feet towards the kitchen and opened the small refridgerator door. Food however, was non-existant inside, and I grabbed another energy boosting drink again. Returning to my other workspace near my computer table, I slammed the can of drink onto the wooden table and picked up a pencil that was carelessly left at the edge. This particular workspace wasn't exactly tidy either. Pieces of half-drawn materials and blank pieces of paper are sprawled all over the already small table. Crunched up rejects are around the table, building up to a sizable amount. Maybe I'll start to seriously clean this room up when I have the time, which seems to be a luxury these few days. A luxury which I don't have. I gave myself a light slap on the cheek to stay awake, which worked for a good 10 seconds before I felt groggy again. Without much of a choice, I snapped open the lid of the can drink next to me and gulped the entirety of its contents. Unfortunately though, any form of energy boosting seems to have lost its effects. Probably because this was my entire diet for the past 2 days. Despite my body's overwhelming cry to let it sleep, the hand which is loosely gripping a pencil started to move on the blank canvas. The rough image of what I wanted on the canvas had started to slowly appear in my mind. Although, the current fragility of it caused the image to quickly disappear, and what appeared on the canvas is a distorted monstrosity that vaguely resembles a human. Maybe I have a talent for drawing gorey monsters.

At this point in time, my bodily functions has started to shut down. My hand lost grip of the pencil. The coldness of my body could no longer be felt. The light sound of the air conditioner running had stopped. Now this is bad. My mind, while not my strongest and most durable feature, was one of the last to shut down and die. The last thought in my head was a bed. And out of compliance with this fact, my legs started to automatically move towards the nearest bed. That's weird... I remember my bed being here. What was in its supposed place however was a mountain of books. Oh well, I guess sleeping on a chair isn't that bad. I retraced my steps, but my chair - no - my entire workspace was gone. In its place is a grumpy old man wearing a sweater. I know him. He's my editor. Probably here for my drafts again. Hahahah. Fuck you old man, you ain't gonna get it now that my workspace's disappeared. Come to think of it, even if it hasn't, all he's going to get is an empty document and a half drawn humanish monster. Guess it doesn't really matter anymore. I'm so tired that I could sleep anywhere. And look at that, my entire room turned into a flower garden. "I'm sorry flowers, but I going to have to sleep on you". I let my instincts take over and fell face first into the flower field. Huh. Pretty hard for flowers. But I didn't care, sleep is the utmost priority now. Maybe I'll go and look for my room once I wake up. Yeah, that's a good idea...

I suddenly felt a sharp jab to my sides. Ouch. Didn't know flowers had thorns. Ignoring the pain, I went back to sleep. But no sooner came another sharp jab. The flowers are seemingly reluctant to let me sleep on them. But I didn't care. The flowers are not taking this gesture very well apparently as I felt a sharp pain to my abdomen. "Ouch!" I sat up in pain quickly... face-to-face with an all too familiar female. And apparently I'm back in my own room too... sitting on top of opened hard-covered books. "It's about time you woke up." yelled the female. I ignored her and stretched. Wow, what an insane dream that was. I took a peek at the clock dangling off my wall. 8.30am. Guess I've been asleep far longer than necessary. "Hey, don't ignore me!" yelled the female again. "Shut up, I'm getting up already." I said lazily. After awhile, I do actually get up and started to stretch again. The female gave an exaggerated sigh. "You know, you can try sleeping on your bed for once." she said I looked at her with my half asleep eyes. "You changed your hairstyle." I think that got her blood boiling. "W..wha!? Don't ignore what I said! Yeah, I changed my hairstyle, so what?" "...It looks good on you." "...!" Her cheeks flushed red. "Shut up! Get changed! We're almost late!" she yelled before stomping off outside. "Heh, that got her off my back."



After thoughts: Deviated too much from what I originally intended. Story warped when approaching the "dream" portion. Must take into consideration original intention and a clear path to convey that intention.


Oh yes, I'll be doing more of these practices. If I'm writing, might as well show it to the occasional guy who stumbles into this place right? Anyway, it's good practice, and goes to show how much I have to go to improve.