In an effort to just shut up and write, I rummaged my proverbial attic (read: my email inbox, gdocs, and my hard drive) for the stories I’ve written/have a digital copy of. I’ve posted what I’ve found in my website, so they’re all in one place and I can find them easily (and shake my head and let out the little voice in my head that says they all suck hairy rocks). As an additional note to self and for easy access, I’ve inserted all the links to my Tumblr page called Free Shit, a page that was created because of a highly presumptuous notion that anybody would want to read them.

They’re a curious mix, I realize as I re-read them while posting. There’s the juvenile fiction, the experiments, the works in progress, and the creative exercises. They’re not much, and I think this motley collection explains why I need a break and why I need to go back to square one. 

Anyway. Are you bored? Free Shit.

Neil Gaiman: Reposted as something that can be reblogged. ON WRITER'S BLOCK.

Neil Gaiman: Reposted as something that can be reblogged. ON WRITER'S BLOCK.

neil-gaiman:

I’ve seem to be hitting writer’s block far too often now. My grade in my creative writing class is suffering because i don’t turn in anything because i’m never really satisfied with anything i do. all my good ideas seem to turn into bad ones once i write it down. How do you get pass writers…

Yuppie Travels: Cebu-Bohol

Yuppie Travels: Cebu-Bohol

I’m back on my desk, back to work, and back to breathing Metro Manila air so thick that on some days, you can almost touch it. I’ve just come back from a week-long break in the hopes that I’ll be able to leave my stress on a baggage conveyor belt at NAIA Terminal 3. 

It does help, to be a writer, to have the sort of crazed ego that doesn’t allow for failure. The best reaction to a rejection slip is a sort of wild-eyed madness, an evil grin, and sitting yourself in front of the keyboard muttering “Okay, you bastards. Try rejecting this!” and then writing something so unbelievably brilliant that all other writers will disembowel themselves with their pens upon reading it, because there’s nothing left to write.

Neil Gaiman, On Writing (via neilgaiman)