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Just a few minutes ago I've been informed by Charles Tan (who manages to read and review several magazines/novels/websites, hold a day job, write fiction on the side, and, possibly, eat, because he has ten clones and/or can bilocate - I'm still not quite sure) that Locus Magazine has praised/mentioned a number of stories off Philippine Speculative Fiction IV - including my story, "Parallel".
*weird dancing commences*
View the table of contents of Locus's July issue here. It lets us know that the review is on Page 27, but unfortunately the content's not available online.
A great honor. Now to find a way to get a copy of the magazine.
Oh, and since you're here, buy a copy of PSF IV. Yes? Yes???
All right, then. :)

I'm tickled that Expanded Horizons gave me a handwritten check. Hee.
I know it sounds like payment for some legally unsavory services (which might be why the people at the bank kept looking at me funny; they were taking so long with the check that I actually started feeling like a criminal), but really, "Night Out" is a story. Which you can read here, if you feel like it.
EH is also currently accepting submissions for its Fairy Tale issue.
They want stories that
reinterpret well-known (or less well-known) fairy tales and fantasy stories, or tropes. A starting point would be stories told from another character's viewpoint, for example. (Women, fae, or even otherkin...)
Stories which flesh out the women characters in fairy tales is another possible angle. Stories which thoughtfully reinterpret or relocate "European" fairy tales in non-European contexts are also interesting to us (especially since many of these stories have non-European origins, for example, Cinderella). What happens to fairy tales when cultures collide is another idea.
If you have something - a story, an idea - then by all means work on it and send it in!
* * *
So I've started watching BBT's Season 2. Some random thoughts:
1. I want Sheldon Cooper's T-shirt folder.
2. I think Leonard looks like a gay beautician.
* * *
Penny: Has Leonard ever dated a girl who's not, you know, smart?
Sheldon: Well, once he dated a woman who has a Ph. D. in French Literature.
Penny: How does that not count as "smart"?
Sheldon: Well, for starters, she's French. And it's literature.
* * *
The rack where I hang my clothes finally collapsed beneath the weight of my various tops and pants, and so I came home and found my clothes on the floor. Being an enterprising homeowner, I Mighty-Bonded the rack to the door.
Evidently I had applied too much Mighty Bond. I now own a blouse glued to its hanger.
True story.
My sister's been pestering me since last week to watch the new Harry Potter film with her (and by "watch the new Harry Potter film with her", she means, "pay for my goddamn ticket"; also, "buy me dinner"). Hundreds of YM messages and emoticons later, we've finally settled on a schedule. She only needs to fly from her place of work to get to the cinema on time on the said date. She agreed. Of course she agreed, flying is a small feat in the city.
If she fails to show up, I'll hand the ticket to the first desperate-looking tween I'll see. (This is an open invitation.)
If you're planning to reserve seats, try using Sureseats. Don't worry, the people there didn't pay me to mention them. Like, if they sucked I'll tell you right away.
* * *
The past few days I realized that this story that I've been working on was fast turning into a novel/novella. Then last night it came to a grinding halt. Wonderful. Stumped. Not too worried. What was getting me worried though was that, every now and then, while writing it, I had started thinking,"Who will publish this?" Stories can be sold (I've done this a number of times to gain a small amount of confidence), but novellas? Or a novel? I was depressed by the non-answer.
* * *
Or perhaps the question really was, "Who will read this?"
* * *
During the summer I applied as a writing teacher at this school. This morning I finally summoned the courage to ask their HR about my application. They said classes have already started last week, and that the writing classes were scheduled on Thursdays. Sure, I told them I could only teach Fridays, but if they had told me earlier I could have exerted the effort to have my schedule changed. What, didn't they think I was serious enough when I applied? And even if my application were rejected, was it so hard to text me and say Hello, turns out we don't need you anymore, we've found a teacher who's free on Thursdays? Was that so hard?
I am seriously pissed.
* * *
I don't know, I just thought it would be more fun to teach than to apply for an MA. I was thinking I would learn more.
Howard: I think I should answer the engineering questions, since I'm an engineer.
Sheldon: If we're to follow your logic, then I should answer all the anthropology questions since I'm a mammal.
* * *
Sheldon's sister: Of course I'm proud of you. I always talk to my friends about my brother the rocket scientist.
Sheldon: You tell them I'm a rocket scientist?
Sheldon's sister: Uh, yes.
Sheldon: I'm a theoretical physicist!
Sheldon's sister: What's the difference?
Sheldon: 'WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE'???

Social awkwardness, 3D chess, and references to Schrodinger's cat. Ah, nerdvana indeed. I've only seen a handful of episodes from Big Bang Theory's first season (from that episode where Sheldon Cooper gets sick, to that episode where Leonard gets a date), but I'll definitely definitely watch Season 2 soon. Whee, geeky goodness!
P.S. I think I'm in love with Sheldon. He's such a bitch.
To many poets whose works appear frequently in the series, poetry seems be a matter of sounding ‘poetic’: inflated, sort-of-heightened language that sounds understandable, but if read closely (or if simply read) either makes no sense, or obscures the small idea that is meant. Often, in effect, sentences descriptive in gesture do not describe anything, images are not achieved, verbs don’t do their jobs, diction is just wrong...—it is as though language in poetry is meant to be a kind of noise that ‘sounds beautiful.’ Metaphors proliferate with no consciousness tracking them, mainly because they derive from unintentional errors in diction. The writers of these poems seem unaware of how their language mangles material in the name of a misguided sense of what is poetic.He gives several examples, and closes with:
...the intention—the wish—is that the poems we write be read not as extensions of people with names big or small, nor as cultural ornaments that one need not consider seriously, but as a written thing that is best read without—in fact may be read only without—fear, without that weird readiness to be intimidated, a readiness which tends to submit too easily to inherited, ‘expert’ judgement and interpretation at the expense of a self vivified by its honest response.Amen. :)
* * *
I adore that phrase - inherited judgment. Which makes me think of the word canon. Which makes me think of those instances in CW classes when you want to raise a contrary criticism about a piece, but you can't because GUSH THEY'RE PILLARS OF POETRY AND FICTION GUSH.* * *
There's a certain "pillar of poetry" whose poems I just don't enjoy. I try to, but I can't. I once shared this with a friend who finished CW (I majored in Journ and just took electives), waiting for the backlash. It didn't come. She looked at me and said: "Yeah, I don't like him/her either." Then we laughed. It was a nervous, exhilarated laughter, as though we had just shoplifted and had gotten away scot-free.
* * *
Just a thought, though: I think Mr. Gaba should have mentioned that a poem of his was included in the 1998 Likhaan.
* * *
I got the link to his review from Conchitina Cruz's blog. Cruz's first poetry collection, Dark Hours, was a defining moment for me as an avid reader and occasional writer of poetry. Here are poems that mean something to me, I thought. Here are poems that move me. Her second book, elsewhere held and lingered, is also excellent.
* * *
Marc Gaba was my instructor in my first and only poetry class, Imagery. I thought he was great, his class another defining moment. As for his poems, I've read only a handful, but this is my favorite:
Study of Linearity
He tasted his tear, tiny orchestra, it fled
itself down his face to the tongue which could not
hold that rapid taste, the lives that quote each other
streamed below his placard, all day and later
the sun pulled out like an ending, it pointed
away from its answers, at us whom it missed,
word by word, the holes in the net we make.
You may have missed them. I mean, I make it a point to read the papers every day, and I only saw Part 3 today.
The Philippine Daily Inquirer has been running reports on game fixing for a while now (I suppose in preparation for the UAAP opening ceremonies). I was not surprised by the idea, but I was shocked by the stakes involved:
As much as P300 million changed hands in recent years in each season of the Universities Athletic Association of the Philippines (UAAP) and the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA), officials say.
I'd rather accept that the UP Fighting Maroons just suck than to hear that its players are dropping games for money.
God, all this cash - for an amateur competition.
Anyway, the series is a good read. Keep your eye out for Part 4.
Part 1 - Stakes reach P300 M in varsity hoops
Part 2 - Player caught in trap allowed to go scot-free
Part 3 - Bookies using text messages make betting easy
* * *

When The Beach came out I was in high school. I saw it, I loved it. Tilda Swinton is just a fantastic actress, and Leonardo DiCaprio is effective. I saw it again last night and I still loved it, though it might have been better without Richard's final VO. I learned that Paradise is not a place but a feeling that you have in a moment yadda yadda it lasts forever. Ugh, no.
A lot of people didn't like it that much, based on the film reviews I've read. Hm. I wonder if the book's better.
Joseph Nacino and Dean Alfar have released their final line-up for The Farthest Shore: Fantasy from the Philippines anthology.
Mr. Nacino writes:
Hear ye, hear ye.
After much deliberation, dean and I have finally decided which stories will be accepted in The Farthest Shore anthology. These are:
1. Balancing Darkness- Rodelle Santos
2. Hindsight- Paolo Chikiamco
3. Rite of Passage- Dominique Cimafranca
4. The Just World of Helena Jimenez - Eliza Victoria
5. Spelling Normal- Mia Tijam
6. Emberwilde - Nikki Alfar
7. Light - Kate Aton-Osias
8. They Spoke of Her in Whispers - Bessie Lasala
9. In the Arms of Beishu - Vincent Simbulan
10. Wildwater- Crystal Koo
The 11th and 12th story will be a contribution from both co-editors to anchor the anthology.
I'm loving the titles of my co-contributors' stories. This is going to be an exciting read. :)

Mark Costello’s novel Big If is populated with some of the most interesting, most contemporary, characters. Walter is a moderate Republican atheist working in insurance. He has the habit of crossing out GOD in his dollar bills so that the statement reads IN US WE TRUST. He has two children: Jens, who has grown up as a software programmer, writing code for and pondering the morality (or immorality, or amorality) of the monster game he has developed; Violet has grown up to work in the Secret Service. Vi is assigned to the VP, who is running for president and will have to go to the Democratic primary in New Hampshire to jog (surrounded by security), eat at a McDonald’s (surrounded by media), and shake hands with the common people to get their vote. Jens’s wife, Peta, is a realtor assigned to manage a supposedly boring building now being attacked by a group of violent right-to-lifers. Gretchen, Vi’s superior, has separated from his douchebag boyfriend, but his son has found the boyfriend’s address by Googling himself, and now wants to spend time with his father. Before Lydia married Secret Service agent Lloyd Felker, her talent agent said, You’re not supposed to marry your own agent. And I’m your agent! He’s not that kind of agent, Lydia said, and her talent agent said, Oh my god, is he a literary agent? How will you be able to feed yourself?
Big If, published in 2002, was a finalist for the National Book Award. I wonder what novel it came up against. Costello's novel was funny and touching and relevant enough to have won.
And the back cover has a blurb from Jonathan Franzen, saying the book is filled with “inside dope”. I mean, come on.
* * *
Next: probably Eden Express. I’m still reading The Blind Assassin, but it’s too rich, I can’t devour it all at once.
I’m also interested in this book:

The last good non-fiction book I've read was Watching the English by Kate Fox. Pop sociology for the win.

* * *
In other news, a story of mine is being considered for a fantasy anthology, but the editors are asking for a major edit. I've already edited it, re-sent it. Hope the new version does the trick. We'll see. ;)
Congrats to
touyatouya for receiving that acceptance letter. Hooray!
In the (e)mail:
Eliza, thank you for your recent submission to THLR [The Houston Literary Review]. I'll take "News About the End of the World" for [the] September Issue.
Yay. :D
I'll link once the issue goes live.The guy at the computer shop played "Closing Time" to check my new purchase's sound quality. This is my favorite song, he said. I said, Yeah, that's a good song.
He said, You know this song?
Uh, yes.
Weh?
Uh -
I must have been in high school when this song came out.
* * *
I'm puzzled. Well, look, it's highly probable that I was also in high school when Semisonic released this song, because we're probably in the same age bracket. Why the hell do you look so surprised?
Do I look like I belong to the Miley Cyrus generation?
I'm offended.
* * *
Anyway. So this netbook thing. Pretty cool. I got the Lenovo S10-2, and it's quite affordable. I was offered a free upgrade to 2 G for my RAM. I didn't even ask. And I spent my lunch hour trying to think up ways of seducing Lenovo's salespeople to give me something extra. (It probably wouldn't work anyway.)
* * *
And I am officially broke in 3, 2, -
* * *
At least now I can safely retire my trusty Toshiba that has served me for more than five years. It's still working, but there's gunk on the screen and it emits this weird smell when I open it (hopelessness, probably, the smell of old technology). Also, it only has 30 G as hard disk memory. And only one USB port.
But at least it has a floppy disk drive.
* * *
See, if you remember goddamn floppy disks, you'd know "Closing Time" and Walkmans and Discmans and buying cassette tapes at the record store because they're cheaper than the CDs and listening to the Top 40 on the FM radio every morning and not really understanding what Wi-Fi is. Internet access with no cables? What? Get out a here.
Unlike this idiot.
* * *
It gets kinda scary when some people don't know the things you know. People who don't know what floppy disks are are being born every day. It's a damn invasion. Now I know what my father felt when somebody said "Brooke Shields" and he said "Blue Lagoon" or whatever the heck film that was, and I said "Suddenly Susan". We were mystified and scared by the things we didn't know.
* * *
I suddenly realized how sucky our office internet connection really was when I tried the Wi-Fi in the condo, and it allowed me to Tweet faster. I mean, it's Wi-Fi, it's not even WiMAX.
Don't tell me you don't know what WiMAX is. Google it. You'll have a nerdgasm.
Here you go. Click and read if you have the time. :)
(Er, there's a letter missing in my name LOL.)The first film was fun, just the right amount of comedy and action and I think just a couple of shots of robots being torn apart (literally, the one with that Decepticon on top of the building; metaphorically, the one involving Bumblebee). This sequel, however, felt like Michael Bay charged at me at full speed and hit me across the face with a folding chair. And I didn't even watch this at IMAX.
The quiet parts were either cheesy (Megan and Shia kissing at sunset, the sunlight bursting through their lips), or corny (Shia's mom eating happy brownies and tackling a college boy). Gah.
If you're planning to watch it, here's a sneak preview -

- and by "sneak preview" I mean "the entire film." Just turn the sand to pavement, add some robots, some explosions, and put Megan Fox on a motorcycle for no other reason than to see her on a motorcycle.
Rainn Wilson's in it but his character just came across as obnoxious and idiotic, or am I just being a girl? No. John Turturro's character entered the film (and showed his butt) too late.
Photo from screenrant.com.
Roger Ebert gives the film one out of four stars. Quote: "The plot is incomprehensible. The dialog of the Autobots®, Decepticons® and Otherbots® is meaningless word flap. Their accents are Brooklyese, British and hip-hop, as befits a race from the distant stars."
Here's a fun review by Jessica Zafra. Quote: "Basically this movie was directed by a dick."
* * *
In other news, I found out that walking aimlessly inside a BookSale branch is a fun activity. I didn't even plan on buying a book but I saw this and I just grabbed it:

Mark Vonnegut is Kurt Vonnegut's son.
* * *
Favorite things: food, books, good movies, 30 Rock and The Office.
* * *
When my sister and I were handed our bus tickets this morning, we noticed that the punched prices seemed lower. My sister thought there was a rollback, while I thought my sister probably told the conductor the wrong stop. Then the conductor came over and said, Isn't that your father, the one who dropped you off?
Apparently my father is one friendly discount coupon.
Back home: My sister, who graduated in April and has been, um, let's say, restless (like most recent graduates - it's a syndrome; I've suffered from this, can be quite debilitating, reduced me to tears at one point), sent me a text message, asking me to take a look at her CV. A good start, I think. (She also asked me to bring home copies of the soundtracks of Phantom of the Opera and Slumdog Millionaire, and don't I dare forget it. I'm almost afraid to ask what for.)
AND. It's my mother's birthday today! *dance*
Last night: I can't remember now when I had the idea for this particular story, but I've been taking notes, the characters just suddenly piping up while I'm busy with laundry or the dishes or while I'm eating (which can be very annoying). Anyway, I took notes. (If you write fiction or whatever and take notes in a little, battered notebook, lord help you if you get involved in a crime and the cops take a peek into this - they'll think you're a nutjob. Maybe I should put a sign on my little notebook: JUST STORY NOTES DON'T PANIC.) Snippets of dialogue, plot comments, character quirks. And I ended up with what? A jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. Oh, what fun. But I sat down and began writing anyway, coughed up five pages without tripping once, and was pleasantly surprised. The beauty of a half-baked idea: you work on it long enough and before long the characters are practically dragging you to the next plot turn. It's freaky and exciting and I hope I won't hit a wall. I hope I'll finish telling the story.
I'm grateful. It's not a bad emotion to feel every once in a while, right. ;)
From the (e)mail:
Your poem made it into the final rounds of consideration, but having accepted another poem about <subject matter>, I felt that it might be too much in one issue.
I'm in love with the tone of this letter but I still went ACK!
Muntik na!
*snaps fingers*