Things are supposed to start on a Monday, not end in it, but since this is an unlikely Weekend Closing, then so be it. Early this morning, I prepared myself to write, to some degree, then fell into the lures of sleeping, thanks to my monthly bloodletting. Right. Let’s not call it that. I don’t even know why I am writing now or why I didn’t put this off for another weekend, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to miss any numbers on my blog. It’s still a good reason, yes? Let’s just say that Monday is an extension of this weekend.
“I don’t know if I loved you or liked you, but I’m sure that my eyes will always look for you when we are in the same room.”
Soft eyes, compromise. Guys, I had a strange dream. I know, I should be writing fiction; I’m good at it. This is where I get all my kilig. My emotions are pretty independent. But I haven’t even finished writing a revamp of an old science fiction short story yet, and I don’t think my brain is allowing me to scribble words if they’re not related to my current novel. I’m camping at the shore of the unknown, but I’m sending SOS signals in form of little fires. Today, I got the chance to query after organizing my agent list. I’m pretty sure I’ve sent somewhere within 15, but most authors said they’ve done past 100, so I’m going to do just that.
What should have been written here:
This Sunday, my dad had his first Charge Conference in SIUMC as its local pastor. It was done during the midday, where the core leaders cramped themselves in the pastoral house during lunch and I ate in a corner with what should have been my breakfast. All was good. I got a chance to listen to some of the reports while dawdling with the DS’ kids who visited with them.
My dad was entirely exhausted after the session, but still managed to have a lovely talk with Uncle Tony, Tita Ellen’s cousin, before he fell into an hour sleep. The day was gray and gloomy, and I was wondering if my dog, whom I left by the gate, would get drenched should rain come, but thankfully it didn’t. And so, my first solo jaunt to Hagonoy was successful, and except for two regrets: not having my earphones and ambling down the jeep a few meters ahead of where I should have, everything was perfect.
I’m appreciating the hustle
To sum up the past seven days: it’s been disappointing. Everyday, I ask myself whether this book was worthy enough to be out there. If my writing was good enough. If I was good enough. Minus points for my confidence. Slowly, I’m getting habituated to the fact that HCY / or whatever it’s going to end up being called will stay under the covers as a dream unfulfilled. I’m actually okay with the attempt. I’m also heartbroken with the possible reality.
And then, there’s the grind, a.k.a. my real life work, which loved me so dearly that I’m getting positive responses from the agencies I have sent proposals to. This is where I flourish. This is what’s giving me income. And this is my investment for my future. With that, as the literary world continues to snub me, a non-Asian-American who wrote a non-Asian-American but diverse book, I’m going to do my best and bring my best words to my clients, who welcomed me with open arms. I’m looking forward to new projects and improving on my content with my present ones.