March 30th, 2006
Pressure
I recently managed to bag a copy of the latest issue of "Dapitan" from Cholo Goitia, and its one hell of a lit collection. Get one if you can, I think the issue's free (diba, Cho?).
In the collection, I read an essay by Joseph Saguid on writers and literary competition winners. The meat of the text, since it was meant as an introduction to the collection and the profanity-inducing lineup of USTEtika winning writers included within, extolled the feats of the said writers in some of the paragraphs. Something like a profile for the writers and their included works. But at the tail end of the text, Saguid introduces a phenomenon happening in the Philippines, which I'll best quote directly from the source:
" . . . sad to say . . . the trend is, writers write only for contests . . . contrary to . . . the west where one has to publish a book first before being . . . nominated for an award or a grant . . . "
This criticism of how creative writers in the Philippines view the importance of winning an award could be pretty spot-on; it might not be native to the Philippines, but it sure is happening. College awards is the dipstick for the budding writer, the Palancas for the, ahem, writer savant. I remember how I accosted Ramil Gulle (author of "Tracks Without Giants"
for his criticism of poems I had him chop up at the post-awarding ceremonies of the 16th USTEtika. I'd just won a measly Honorable Mention for a short story then, but he goes and tells me that I am officially of a different league and should submit newer works. So me winning the USTEtika gives me the distinction of being a better writer.
One of the people from Deviant Art (whose name escapes me, but regularly posts at various deviations by friends of mine) uses a signature taken from the Futurists' Manifesto which goes like so: Regard all critics as . . . dangerous. If we were to take this lightly and apply it sporadically to everyday life, I think it'll translate into something like "Critics are important, but not indispensible."
One of the biggest creative writing critics in the Philippines is the literary competition. The second biggest is the writing workshop. Vince Groyon (author of "The Sky Over Dimas"
once, in an exchange of emails, told me that he was frankly quite wary of me applying for writing workshops. One of the outstanding traits of workshops, he further said, is that it hones your writing skills, in exchange for curbing your own personal style. He, along with Marje Evasco, seem to agree that I have a rather refreshing style of writing. The head of the Peaks poetry group has also commented on my writings in the same manner. Then Natasha Gamalinda, in a YM conversation, tells me that I write like the translated stories of Franz Kafka, and says in the same breath that my style of writing seems to be rather confused (or I think that was what she was telling me. Sorry if I got it wrong! :D). She agrees with Angelo Suarez (author of "The Nymph of MTV" and "Else it was Purely Girls"
that I don't write like a Pinoy. Now, not only am I a confused writer, but I also write like a foreigner.
I borrowed a phrase coined in the blog of Dean Alfar (endorser of speculative fiction in the Philippines and author of the soon-to-be released novel "Salamanca" which was written in a godsmackingly fast thirty days), and dubbed the period between January 1 and April 30 as the Palanca season. This is the time of year where me and my ilk slink back into our caves and force ourselves to come up with passable works to submit to the oldest (if I'm not mistaken) creative writing awarding body in the country.
For the record, I haven't won a Palanca. I submitted the short story "Black Hole" once, but it didn't win. I did, however, have it published in the Philippine Graphic after the results were released. One of my greatest regrets in life is never being able to have a story published in the Graphic whilst it was still under the editorial leadership of Nick Joaquin. If I hadn't submitted Black Hole to the Palancas and had it published in the Graphic instead, I would have had the chance to let Sir Nick read my work. So boo hoo. Flagship story ko pa naman yun.
But there. Do I really want to have "Joust" submitted to the Palancas and render it sterile for the next six to seven months? I know how big an impact having the following words, Winner of the Palanca for so and so, after your name has, but then again, what's stopping me from publishing my works without an award anyway? Or publishing a collection, for that matter?
Personally, I consider myself an Islander in the writing society. I just write, have it sent to the mainland for publishing, collect the money. I don't follow the trends, I don't read the most recent local writers, I don't keep track of the newest literary illuminaries. I don't even go to literary events. I'm happily disconnected.
But there's always this shadow following me around, egging me to do more, to achieve something. In the words of Iñigo last Saturday when people in Jam 218 called our band a fuckin' good time (I take liberties with the wording here): "Tangina meyn, pressure."
Probably true.