Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Wish list, reading list and a whole lot of rambling

My Book Wishlist for 2011:

1. FOREVER, the third and final installment in the Shiver trilogy by the ever-amazing Maggie Stiefvater. She writes about werewolves and kissing and is funny, modest and so talented. Here are some advice she's dished out on her blog (okay, I admit - these links are mostly for my benefit, so I can return to them whenever I get stuck):

i. Seven Steps to Starting a Novel
ii. The Giant NaNo Prepping Post: Or, How Maggie Writes a Novel
iii. Hi, I Suck
iv. Ten Rules for Query Letters

Among other awesomeness.

2. BLOOD MAGIC, a debut novel by YA author Tessa Gratton, also Maggie's best friend and critique partner. Along with Brenna Yovanoff, author of YA urban fantasy THE REPLACEMENT, they form the Merry Sisters of Fate, who write a short story each and post it on their common blog for rabid fans like us to enjoy. Tessa's style seems to be as gritty as Maggie's. Brenna's is quietly disturbing, and the characters are not as spunky as Maggie's. They're all very talented and dedicated writers, but my favourite's still got to be Maggie.

3. RED GLOVE, the sequel to WHITE CAT, by Holly Black. (The use of colours seems intentional.) YA urban fantasy about a family of curse-workers. Black's prose is tight and compelling, and add to the equation an original plot with twists and turns, and you've got a bestseller.

4. STAY, by Deb Calettie. I've been a long-time fan of her work, ever since I picked up WILD ROSES (to date her best novel written yet, imho) when I was fifteen. Her prose is always so lyrical yet the narrator's voice is always relatable. No distance between the narrator and the reader, but Caletti manages to keep her writing pure and filled with fresh imagery. Not to be corny, but I always reach the end of her book with a smile.

5. WHAT HAPPENED TO GOODBYE, by my all-time favourite YA author Sarah Dessen. I've been a fan since I was fourteen and picked up KEEPING THE MOON, a story where a girl finds confidence after spending a summer staying with her aunt in the close-knit town of Colby. Her stories are simple and not heavily reliant on plot, but her characters transform in dramatic ways throughout the story and you feel yourself learning those life lessons - so subtly conveyed - along with them. As long as it's by Dessen, you know it won't disappoint.

6. ABANDON, by Meg Cabot. She's prolific, and she's frequently on bestseller lists - for good reason. She knows what to deliver, and she knows how to deliver. She may be the one of the queens of commercial contemporary fiction, and literary types may turn up their noses on the heavy doses of pop culture present in her stories, but in terms of plot, you have to admit she has a way with it. She just has it.


Books that I've recently read and think they deserve some mention:

1. THE DARKEST POWERS series, by Kelley Armstrong. Tight pacing, characters you would root for, enough plot turns to keep you glued to the pages, ghosts, necromancers, werewolves, kissing, sorcerers and witches, evil corporations trying to genetically modify the magical gene and end up having their efforts turning around to bite them in the asses. Enough said, right?

2. NOCTURNES, by Kazuo Ishiguro. As I mentioned on FB, reading Kazuo Ishiguro is like returning to a warm, safe place, like reading Roald Dahl. Their writing styles are so amiable it's like you're settling in for a bedtime story told by your father or grandfather (in Dahl's case, that is). NOCTURNES is a compilation of short stories about heartache, regret and the uncertainty of the choices people people make.

3. KISS ME DEADLY: 13 TALES OF PARANORMAL LOVE, by assorted writers, including Maggie Stiefvater, Carrie Ryan (YA urban fantasy author of FOREST OF HANDS AND TEETH), Michelle Zink (author of PROPHECY OF THE SISTERS), Becca Fitzpatrick (author of the HUSH, HUSH series, about fallen angels and kissing), Rachel Vincent (author of MY SOUL TO TAKE), Sarah Rees Brennan (author of THE DEMON'S LEXICON), and many more. In this book are short stories of paranormal romance by the most popular YA authors of today ... and okay, I'll admit, I'm reading it mainly because of Maggie Stiefvater, but there are other writers I'm coming to be aware of because of this book, such as Karen Mahoney and Justine Musk. Reading their short stories is like getting a taste of their writing style before you decide to devote your time to reading their novels, don't you think?

That's all for now. But man, my wallet's going to get quite a workout in the days following!

Saturday, March 12, 2011

汪東城 Jiro Wang's story behind the family portrait [Eng Sub]

My dear Jiro. My wish for you is to stay happy and strong, like you've always been.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

From Nathan Bransford's blog (7 March 2011):

Let's look at a back-of-a-napkin breakdown of a print book vs. an e-book (all numbers approximate):

$24.99 hardcover:
$12.50 to the bookstore (roughly 50% retail price) - [me: so half of the amount we pay goes to the freaking bookstore, not the actual, you know, CREATOR, of the stories? Shocking.]
$2.50 to $3.75 to the author (between 10-15% of the retail price)
$1.50 for paper, shipping, distribution (again, approximately. UPDATE this would be for a high-print-run book, HarperStudio cited $2.00 as average)
=
Around $8.00 to the publisher, which is split between overhead (rent, paying editors, copyeditors, etc.), marketing, other costs, and hopefully some profit assuming enough copies are sold.

$9.99 e-book (agency model):
$3.00 to the bookseller (30% of the retail price)
$1.75 to the author (25% of the publisher's share)
=
Around $5.24 to the publisher, split between overhead, other costs, and hopefully some profit

Wednesday, March 09, 2011

When Your Writing is Too Safe


For this week's assignment, we were supposed to come up with three ideas for our final one-act play. I sent my medical certificate (for the horrible scrape I got on my foot after a bad fall yesterday morning before my swim - don't want to think about it) along with my assignment. And here's his reply:


Dear Joyce,

Sorry to hear about your accident -- hope you recover soon.

Re your play ideas: forgive me for being blunt, but I think that as a writer you are doing yourself a huge disservice if you continue to set your plays in some quasi-American no-space. I would really like to see you write about Singapore -- or somewhere in Asia at least -- and I strongly urge you to do so. Is there a reason you don't? You have so consistently steered clear of anything grounded in this region that I find myself wondering what it is you're avoiding.

Please dig deep within yourself and come up with ideas that say something about what's going on with your society, your country, your family, your generation, your gender, your ethnicity, whatever. Just please ENGAGE with the world around you; don't waste any more time on exercises in narrative technique displaced to some strange television-like America.

You are a fine, fluent, and committed writer. But you have to connect with your own reality before you can start conjuring up other realms worth visiting.

Start again, please.

Warm regards,
Huzir


I understand where he's coming from. And I guess he is right. My stories take place in a no-space setting that don't exactly speak like Singaporeans. Their sentences are complete, and there are no colloquials or accents or anything to suggest they're from Singapore or even Asia. I was just concerned with the story, and the flow of it, not the voice. I try hard, in fact, to keep the natural setting and flavour out of my stories. Maybe, like Huzir suggests, I'm avoiding something. I don't know. But I do know that stories in a localised setting don't appeal to me. They just don't. I'm sure they are very well written, but they just don't appeal to me, the way historical fiction or memoirs don't.

The stuff I read are Western. The stuff I watch (apart from Taiwanese variety shows and dramas) are Western. The music I listen to ... well, it's 50-50 now. It used to be completely Western. Maybe it is this Western influence that is directing my writing style. I don't know any other literary realities or settings that I can experience or experiment with. Maybe because I don't read local authors, I don't know how I can write a story in a local setting with local flavour and realities. Why localised stories don't appeal to me is because the details are too distracting, almost to the point of annoying. That's just my own opinion. Or maybe I'm just too used to reading in a Western setting that I find anything else jarring and therefore unwelcome.

I really don't know. Huzir's feedback has yanked the carpet out from under my feet, and I don't know what to do anymore. And I have to accept his feedback and work with it - I mean, he's the one deciding my grade for this module. But I have no idea how to erect another narrative dimension that I should be familiar with, but am not.

I'm not ready to face this. I've always been working within the cocoon of a generic, formulaic space, and now I'm asked to break out of that and get in touch with my actual environment.

And I only have one week more to submit my second try. If anyone has any suggestions or advice, I'd only be too happy to listen.

Monday, March 07, 2011

Play - The Program


1.

A projector screen at stage centre. Newscaster RYAN DE SILVA’s face appears onscreen. He is formally dressed, well-groomed, poised and almost artificial in his manner.

RYAN (Onscreen): A very good evening to you, dear citizen of the Republic. Thank you for joining me, Ryan De Silva, on the 9pm news.

Two groups of ASYLUM PATIENTS, dressed in black, enter from both ends of the stage, each led by a WARDEN in white. They stand in rows at either end. PATIENTS at stage left are blindfolded. GABBY, ERIC, KRISTEN and JAEGER are dispersed within the group on the right.

In HOME news: The esteemed government has announced that all mental health institutions will be shut down from 0800 hours tomorrow. Any corresponding or related institution will also be shut down. Government officials have also declared that as of 1700 hours today, all 22,000 individuals suffering from incurable mental instability have been terminated.

BLINDFOLDED PATIENTS on SL suddenly collapse soundlessly. WARDEN on SL exits.

Patients that have passed the 'Curable Test' will be cured of their mental illnesses through 'The Program' in the comfort of their own homes. They will rejoin us at a later date as fully contributing members of society. The general public is reassured that minimal costs will be borne by the state in the administration of ‘The Program’.

WARDEN on SR marches the remaining PATIENTS offstage as RYAN continues to speak.

The public is reminded that these actions are in accordance to the 'Complete Extermination of Tax-Dollar Liabilities' Act – Chapters 89A-90B. You may refer to this new law at the Ministry of Finance website. Should said website content be unclear to any citizen of the Republic, you may call the MOF hotline 2271, to enquire further.

Screen goes blank. Lights out. Four partitioned cubicles, each with a chair and a laptop. MODERATOR sits in a corner at his desk. He is dressed in a dark suit and comes under a spotlight only when he speaks. He appears to be busy and is sorting out multiple things constantly. Lights up on two of the cubicles, with KRISTEN and JAEGAR at their chairs. GABBY and ERIC are unlit.

Kristen: What I feel isn’t real.

Jaeger: That’s the first step.

Kristen: Hello. It’s nice to meet you.

Jaeger: Hi. It’s nice to meet you too. This is odd, isn’t it.

Kristen: I don’t quite know what to say. (Pauses) That’s an interesting name you have.

Jaeger: Thanks. I think my dad was drunk when he named me. So we’re supposed to be helping each other, or something?

Kristen: Seems like it. Only, I’m not sure I’m exactly in a position to help anyone.

Jaeger: Yeah, me neither.

Kristen: It was so much easier in rehab. At least we were guided there. But I guess it’s not worth helping people like us anymore.

Jaeger: Oh, you know. Apparently paying for real human therapists is too expensive. I didn’t enjoy my real life sessions anyway. But this online thing beats getting sent to the Recycler.

Kristen: I had a friend who got dragged to it. She wasn’t even sedated when they threw her in there …

Jaeger: I’m sorry to hear that.

Kristen: We have to be cured. The esteemed government has done a lot for us; we can’t let them down.

Jaeger: I don’t see how forcing us to talk to strangers on these badly designed chat rooms is supposed to help.

Kristen: Shh! You shouldn’t talk this way. You know they’re all listening in on us.

Jaeger: So you’re a paranoid personality?

Kristen: Not quite. Just anorexic.

Jaeger: Ah. That explains a lot.

Kristen: How so?

Jaeger: (evasively) So … how long have you been in the system?

Kristen: Close to two years, when they found out about my eating disorder in junior college. I’ve been trying. I really have! But I can’t help it.

KRISTEN waits for a moment; there is no response. JAEGER starts back into action.

Jaeger: Whoops, sorry for the wait. I’m back. To be honest, I’m looking at the clock now. How much longer do we need to be on this thing?

Kristen: As long as it takes for us to be cured. We have to be cured.

Jaeger: I’ve been trying for five years. To be honest, I think they only keep me around because youth is too precious to waste.

Kristen: You don’t mean that. They must think you can be cured. What are you here for, anyway?

Jaeger: Eating disorder, like you. You wouldn’t believe the whacked-out Freudian theories they come up with to explain it. Wasn’t hugged enough as a child, wasn’t fed enough, has deep-seated desire to have sexual relations with a parent. Hey, how old are you?

Kristen: Neither too young nor old.

Jaeger: Haha. Nicely done. How’d you know I was a guy?

Kristen: I didn’t.

Jaeger: Ah. Awkward.

Kristen: That hardly matters, anyway. We’re here solely to be cured.

Jaeger: I guess you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t share your perspective. Especially if talking to a fully qualified psychotherapist-analyst-psychiatrist for years hasn’t changed the slightest thing about me. No offense, though. I’m sure you’re a very good listener.

Kristen: Thank you. It is most kind of you to say so. Tell me more about yourself, Jaeger. Why do you binge and purge?

JAEGER is silent for a while.

Moderator: #ED271, you are warned to share your issues with #ED2408.

Jaeger: Fine. You tell me why you starve yourself, and I’ll tell you why I want to vomit.

Kristen: You are not cooperating, Jaeger. We have to be cured.


2.

Lights up on ERIC and GABBY’s cubicles. ERIC is sitting stiffly before his computer, fidgeting as he waits. GABBY abruptly bursts onstage. Breathless, she throws herself down on her chair, which swivels around until she manages to still it.

Gabby: (deeply flustered, typing furiously) OH, DEAR ESTEEMED GOVERNMENT! I am sorry I am late for my session! My name is Gabriella May Tan, #TS0910. I am reporting for my session at the program and I apologize formally for keeping the moderator waiting.

Moderator: Patient #TS0910, you are forgetting decorum.

Gabby: What I feel isn’t real.

Eric: That’s the first step.

Gabby: Okay ... So look, I don’t really have a problem. I don’t really need to be here. So ... let’s just talk about whatever you have.

Eric: I can’t. I can’t go first.

Gabby: Why not.

Eric: Well … I’m not really used to this. I’m actually perspiring. Under my armpits. As I type this to you.

Gabby: Ridiculous. This is not even real life social contact.

Moderator: #TS0910 you are out of line. Do not abuse the system. The system knows that you are a Stage Intermediate case. You would have been sent to the Recycler if not for your recognized contribution to society.

Gabby: Send me away then.

Moderator: #TS0910 this is your first warning.

Gabby: I am not afraid!

Moderator: #TS0910 this is your second warning. You are reminded that your registered status as a Widow means that your four children will be sent to the Recycler with you should you not comply with the program. You have been warned.

Gabby: (taking a deep breath, clenching her fists) So! Social anxiety, huh? Do you have any friends? Why are you a Stage Intermediate, like me?

Eric: (tenses, folds arms) I have some friends.

Gabby: Not to be mean, but that’s a little of a surprise.

Eric: I do have friends.

Gabby: You do know that those monsters you run around with in video games aren’t real right?
Eric: (silence)

Gabby: Eh? You there? There? You can’t leave before the hour’s up, it won’t count as a full session then and then how will we get cured, huh?

Pause.

Eric: Do you live with your children?

Gabby: … No. You know I can’t! Why must you ask me if you know I can’t stay with them …

Eric: Some people can. Especially if they are certified to be Loving Parents … Even with … mental issues, some people can stay with their children. Do they stay with your husband then?

Gabby: He’s dead. Are you not paying attention? I am a WIDOW.

Eric: Oh. Then ...

Gabby: My … My parents. And I … I’m not a certified Loving Parent. Because I have this …

Eric: What is it you have?

Gabby: I … I like it when people touch me.

Eric: I cannot relate.

Gabby: I know what you mean.

Eric: Huh?

Gabby: I also … I also don’t like to touch my, my parents. Or my siblings.

Eric: Ah. I see.

Gabby: They call this Terroramantifronication. And I have been in therapy since I had my children 5 years ago.

Eric: I am sorry to hear that.

Gabby: Stop being sorry. Help me finish this. Help me be certified sane so that I can see my babies again.

Eric: I cannot promise you anything.

Gabby: You have to hurry, we’re running out of time.

Eric: I can’t work under pressure. My armpits are perspiring again.

Gabby: (Flinging hands up) OH, DEAR ESTEEMED GOVERNMENT.

Moderator: Half session mark. Break for 7 minutes only. Do not be late in your return.

Lights out.


3.

Lights up on KRISTEN and JAEGAR’s cubicles.

Jaeger: What I feel isn’t real.

Kristen: That’s the first step.

Moderator: Subjects may commence on proper, in-depth discussion of ED. #ED271, you are to share with #ED2408 more details of your condition. Disciplinary action will be taken otherwise.

Jaeger: … That bot is a right pain in the neck sometimes.

Kristen: It only wants what’s best for us. Now, let’s talk about our problems. I’m Kristen Kirk, and I’m an anorexic. How do you do.

Jaeger: Hi. I’m Jaeger Lee. I’m a bulimic. Now it sounds like we’re both sad members of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Kristen: You’re bulimic?

Jaeger: Well you don’t have to sound so surprised.

Kristen: I’m sorry. It’s just … rare for a guy to have an eating disorder. Why do you do it?

Jaeger: I don’t think it’s that rare. Just rare for one to be talking about it, I guess. With a girl. You can skip the whole concern thing, I’m quite resigned to whatever it is I have.

Kristen: But we’re supposed to give support to each other. Besides, I understand how you feel. You don’t want to talk about it. It’s awful, but we have to start somewhere. We have to be cured. I, for one, can’t look at food without feeling the urge to vomit.

Jaeger: No, you don’t. I don’t think you could possibly understand how it feels for a guy to have bulima. It’s as though I lost my dick and my sanity in one fell swoop.

Kristen: My counselor explained briefly before what bulimia is like. She said you just keep stuffing your face with food, and then you feel so bad about it you stick your finger down your throat. Wouldn’t it be easier to just not eat, though?

Jaeger: I don’t see what’s wrong with liking to eat. I like food. Food is awesome. And then getting rid of it later as though it never even existed is having the best of both worlds.

Kristen: I can barely recall the taste of pizza. Or a muffin. Or a fry.

Jaeger: Delicious, delicious, and mind-blowingly delicious.

Kristen: Stop. Just stop!

Jaeger: Look, just because you don’t have the guts to purge...

Kristen: It’s not about purging. God, I wouldn’t want to stick my finger down my throat anyway. Besides, it doesn’t work that way. Carbs go right into your system at the mouth. And we should be helping each other. You’re supposed to tell me anorexia’s no good for me. I already told you, bulimia doesn’t work.

Jaeger: Tell that to my six-pack. Still, think about it. An all-you-can-eat buffet. International cuisine as far as the eye can see. Smoked turkey with a light honey glazing, thin crust Italian pizza dripping with stringy mozzarella cheese and topped with juicy, succulent meatballs, the smell of freshly baked flaky croissants warm from the oven, chewy chocolate chip cookies with hot fudge, cheese fries with beef relish, hot dogs drizzled with mustard -

(Side re-enactment: JAEGER force feeds KRISTEN various foods.)

Kristen: Stop it. Stop it now! (Hallucinates a feast spread out before her - all of her favorite “sinful” foods) No, no, no! This is not real. (The food starts inching towards her. In the chocolate cake, she sees the grotesque grinning face of her old ballet teacher.) Leave me alone! (Starts to cry) Please…. (She feels the stab of the needle on the weighing scale) I’m fat. I’m a horrible, sour-faced lard-ass no one will ever love. Just leave me alone!

Jaeger: Jeez. Calm down, Kristen.

KRISTEN is lost in her own world, crying and batting her arms around to ward off the encroaching food.

Jaeger: Face it. You want some of it. No, all of it. Give in to the Program, Kristen. (To Moderator) Happy, my dear esteemed Moderator? I’m helping someone, the way you want me to.

Moderator: #ED271, you do not address me unless you are addressed by me first. However, you may maintain this mode of therapy for #ED2408.
Jaeger: Look, Kristen. What you feel isn’t real. Your irrational fear of food isn’t normal.
Kristen: Like you are normal. You’re a guy who sticks his finger down his throat after eating.
Jaeger: But you want to be free. Don’t you?

Kristen: I’m afraid. Every time I look in the mirror, I see rolls and rolls of fat. I feel like no one can ever love someone like me.
Jaeger: That’s just it. There’s no possible way anyone could ever love us.

Moderator: Half session mark. Break for seven minutes only. Do not be late in your return.
Lights out.


4.

Lights up on ERIC and GABBY’s cubicles. ERIC is already in his seat. Gabby’s seat is vacant.

Moderator: One minute left.

GABBY walks in, apparently attempting to carry herself deferentially. She deliberately nods in the direction of the Moderator before sitting at her place.

Gabby: Oh, dear Esteemed Government, I am not late in my return. Please recognize my efforts to change my wayward ways.

Eric: They don’t care about good things.

Gabby: It doesn’t matter. I want them to know I care. That I care about changing. That I care about this program. That I want to get better.

Eric: They do not care that you care.

GABBY suddenly rises from her seat.

Gabby: I care. About my babies.

ERIC looks towards her cubicle, although he cannot actually see her through the partition.

Eric: I care about mine too.

GABBY slowly sits back down.

Gabby: Oh dear Esteemed Government, where are they, Eric?

Eric: That’s the first time you mentioned my name.

Gabby: Never mind that. Where are they?

Eric: (sitting even more stiffly) Recycler.

Gabby: I am so, so sorry Eric.

Eric: There is nothing to be sorry about. That is what you said.

GABBY draws her hand towards the screen as though trying to offer some comfort, then withdraws it. Long pause.

Moderator: You are reminded to continue with the program.

Gabby: Is this how you became the way you are?

Eric: No. I was originally like this. But when I had them, when I was with them, I was all right.

ERIC walks out to Stage Centre with a bucket of sand and beach toys. He is seen as being accompanied by children and family.

Was certified Loving Parent. Certified cured. (Freezes, realizes that his wife and children are not actually there.) But my children have Down Syndrome –

Gabby: Oh, Esteemed –

ERIC scoops up a handful of sand from the bucket and watches it spill out of his hand. The tighter he holds it, the faster the sand trickles out.
Eric: To me they were beautiful, perfect twins. But then the new law was passed and they were going to be sent to the Recycler, and when I found out I simply lost it. Epileptic fits and all that. My wife sank into severe depression. Couldn’t walk or go to work. I thought they should just send me to the Recycler with them. I tried to fail the Curable Test. But somehow, I passed. And so here I am.

Gabby: And your wife?

Eric: She failed the Curable Test on purpose, successfully. I don’t know why she could do it and I couldn’t. So... she’s gone now too, with the twins ... and I’m here all alone ….

Moderator: TS#868, please note that this is off topic.

Gabby: What? How is this off topic?! You are FREAKING CRA-

Eric: We apologize, Moderator. We will continue.

Gabby: (Heaving a big sigh) Thank you. That was a good save.

Eric: (Shaking his head) You have your babies to return to. Can’t piss anyone off here. (Deep breath) I’m looking at the proposed questions sheet they gave us. Let me ask you this, under the “Facing your fears” section. “Tell me in detail about how your fear makes you feel.”

Gabby: That is the million-dollar question.

Eric: Try.

Gabby: (Swiveling on her chair to stall time before speaking) I like it when people I don’t know well, touch me. Because it sends shivers down my spine. All my senses are stimulated.

As she speaks, she rises from her seat and walks up to stage centre. Masked figures come up to her and she hugs and high-fives them enthusiastically. As they exit, she watches after them.
I feel loved. I feel safe. I feel like everything is okay, for that one fleeting moment. And then, after I receive this from one person, I can go onto the next. It’s like free happiness. I love it. It’s liberating. (Confidentially) But It got really bad because then, I’d be promiscuous too, because in coitus, everything is just heightened by a thousand fold … I had about 50 partners one month, and that was when someone reported me to the Esteemed Government … Said I was a threat to the spread of HIV and SYPHILIS. But I never got any of those … It was all worth the risk … that closeness with a person.... it’s priceless and I crave it relentlessly …

Eric: It’s not so much a fear then.

GABBY retreats to her seat, as though ashamed, as she speaks.

Gabby: But I am afraid. I am afraid of my parents touching me. And my siblings.

Eric: Why?

Gabby: Because!

Eric: That doesn’t answer anything.

Gabby: (Runs her hand through her hair) It is so hard to talk about.

Eric: Why?

Gabby: (Grabbing at face, hair and upper torso with increasing violence as she speaks.) When I talk about it, my skin crawls and I want to peel it right off my body. I want to gorge my eyes out and pull all my hair on my head out. I feel like rubbing my skin on the rough ground, to erase the feeling of them touching me at those specific places. (Stops movement abruptly) I want to erase it.

Eric: Were you molested, Gabby?

Gabby: Sometimes. But that is not the real reason why I hate them touching me.

Eric: How can that be so? It must be the reason.

Gabby: (Jumps to feet, shouting) NO! LISTEN TO ME. I AM NOT AFFECTED BY THAT KINDA THING.

Eric: Then why are you typing in caps?

Gabby: BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT LISTENING TO ME.

Eric: I am right here. I cannot leave. The program won’t let me.

Gabby: My nose is off centre.

Eric: That is random.

Re-enactment begins as GABBY speaks.

Gabby’s FAMILY enters. One of them is carelessly lugging along a toddler-sized, ragged doll meant to represent her. The doll has a distorted, overly large nose, making it grotesque. They sit in a semi circle facing the audience, and pass the doll around, looking it over critically.

Gabby: When they look at me, they look at me with disgust. When they picked me up as a child, they would only choose to pick me up if my siblings didn’t want to be picked up. They always had this look of pure loathing in their eyes. Like I was some alien creature, some intruder. A tarnish to their otherwise perfectly Esteemed Government Civil Servant Life in the Republic. They were so ashamed of me and they never hid it.

The FAMILY rises gradually. At this point all of them should already be standing. They leave, clustered together as if conversing and interacting naturally. The doll is forgotten and left onstage.

I hated them because they hated me, and I know they hated me because of my nose. They always talked about my nose. I understood language at an early age, way before anyone knew I could. I was barely walking, and I did not talk. But somehow, I remember I could understand everything.

Eric: Impossible.

Gabby: I swear on the name of the Esteemed Government –

Moderator: #TS0910, you DO NOT USE THE GOVERNMENT'S NAME IN VAIN.

Gabby: I apologize, Moderator.

Eric: We will continue, Moderator. Gabby?

GABBY walks out from her cubicle and sits down next to the doll. She is holding a large pair of scissors. She holds the doll tenderly and as she speaks, she slowly cuts the doll up into pieces.

Gabby: And so, because I could understand everything, by the time I decided to talk, I saw how they tried to mask what they were saying and how they felt. There was this paradigm shift in the way they communicated with on another so that they could “protect” my feelings. But it was futile. I was no idiot. It was painful to witness and unbearable for me as a child. My parents were such hypocrites, and they taught all my siblings to be the same as well. They say the youngest child always gets doted on - but that was not the case for me.

Eric: What happens when they touch you, if you let them or if they had to?

GABBY puts down her scissors and looks up.

Gabby: (Still sitting, demonstrating ramming action as she talks) Initially as a child, when I had the understanding that they were plain hypocrites, I developed a defense mechanism to hold my nose with one hand and ram myself against the wall if they came near me or motioned to carry me or touch me.

Eric: Destructive, you were.

Gabby: Exactly. My parents padded the whole house and would tie me to a chair with my hands behind me if I did that. So I learned that I couldn’t do anything physical. So I just avoided them at all costs.

As she grows increasingly agitated, she begins to rip at the doll, ripping wads of cotton out violently.

But, if they ever brushed me, or touched me, inwardly I would feel like that part of my skin was burning in such pain. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything but the pain. I would roll about the floor for hours, just wailing in agony. Then my father would slap me to make me stop, once, twice, sometimes five or six times. But that would just make it so much worse and I would convulse and wither even more … It was terrible.

Eric: Funny how the one set of people who are supposed to be closest to you in the entire world can hurt you the most, huh?

GABBY leaps to her feet, clutching a remaining arm from the doll, brandishing it in the air.

Gabby: FUCK THAT SHIT. Those very people who’re supposed to love me sent me away to an Institution and they never once visited me. The one time that my Father came was to pay the bill that the GIRO system didn’t transact. Had to pay the Institution in cash. To see if I made any progress, they indicated that he had to shake my hand. (Demonstrating with the doll’s detached arm, almost hysterically) They forced me to shake his hand, Eric!

Eric: And then?

Gabby: I tried to get into the operating theatre in the basement. I wanted to saw my hand off.

She drops the hand, slightly surprised at the mess around her. Slowly, she walks back towards her cubicle.

Eric: But you had your babies by then, right … so you had to keep that hand.

Gabby: (Stopping midway and turning) You bet. But, oh it was painful. I know I will never be cured –

Eric: Moderator? MODERATOR! Isn’t it time for our break?

Moderator: You do not address me unless you are addressed by me first. Your break can commence. I did not stop you because you both were making progress. That is the aim of the program. Break for 3 minutes. We must finish this session. Do not be late in your return.

Lights out.

5.

Moderator
: Moderator #3456 reporting, Sir.

Boss (Voice Over): Report on progress of Social Ability Dysfunction cases #910 and #868.

Moderator: These two cases have interacted substantially, Sir. They should be certified as CURED, in a few more sessions.

Boss: Are you sure this is an affirmative?

Moderator: Yes.

Boss: How about your other assignments?

Moderator: They have not made the same progress as the ones you have noted.

Boss: Why?

Moderator: It is my fault, Sir. I will not let this happen again, Sir.

Boss: Moderator #3456, you are reminded that the Esteemed Government is counting on you to make these useless scums useful to society again. Are you forgetting the Code of Fairness and Self-sufficiency? No Person Should Live Off Another Person. No Tax-payer Dollar Unaccounted For or Wasted. No Form of Welfare Shall Persist in the Glorious, Glorious Republic!

Moderator: I have not forgotten the Code of Fairness and Self-sufficiency, Sir! I have recited it from young and hold it dear to my heart, Sir! I apologize for giving you such an impression – it will not happen again. I will be more efficient. For the Esteemed Government, for the Republic.

Boss: It best be the case. You’re not the only one with a boss to report to. Here are your next 200 cases. I have uploaded the files on the server .These are all Stage Advanced cases. Feel free to send them to the Recycler at the slightest hint of insanity. Do you understand?

Moderator: Yes, Sir!

Friday, March 04, 2011

I came across this...

From http://www.purgatory.net/merits/personality.htm:

Schizoid Personality Disorder
A person who has a detachment from social relationships and a restricted range of emotional expression in interpersonal situations is considered a schizoid personality. This can be verified by four out of seven symptoms. These symptoms are: a loner, always chooses solitary activities; doesn't want or enjoy any close relationships, including family; has very little interest in having sexual experiences with another person; has no close friends except for immediate family; demonstrates emotional coldness and detachment; takes enjoyment in very few activities; and appears indifferent to what others think of him/her.


Holy crap, that is so me. Oh, my gosh. I have a personality disorder.

Play - Art Therapy


[Leigh: girl suffering from schizophrenia
Jared: partially amnesiac boy who hates musicals
Flynn: effeminate boy who likes to think he is the star of every play he creates in his head]










A stale room reeking of air freshener. A ring of chairs in the middle of the room. LEIGH, JARED and FLYNN are the only ones who have arrived.
Jared Just so we’re clear, I’m not here because I’m crazy, okay?
Flynn Oh, but we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad. You wouldn’t have come here if you weren’t.
Leigh Alice in Wonderland.
Flynn (beams) Spot on, girl.
Jared (mutters) Great. Therapy session with Disney fanatics. This must be a first.
Flynn First off, Alice in Wonderland is not a Disney original. Disney adapted the story from Lewis Carroll. You get me, sugar? Secondly, (leans closer) what’s a treat like you doing in therapy, anyway?
Jared (backing away) I’m here under court orders. Not that this is any of your business. Now, let me introduce you to my friend, Personal Space. You can’t see her, but she’s right here (pushes FLYNN away from him).
Flynn Oh, don’t be shy. We’re all in the same boat here.
Jared (with reluctant interest) You’re here under court orders too?
Flynn Well, no. But I’m here for (drops voice to a whisper) research.
Jared (frowning) Research?
Flynn For my next character, see? I’m playing a hapless young pianist who loses his memory after a car accident, the poor soul, and is trying to sift through the discordant symphony in his mind to retrieve his identity. Although, if you ask me, I’d say he’s being a little melodramatic. Losing your memory isn’t that horrible. It’s like how an actor becomes a blank slate every time he is cast in a new role.
Jared (snaps) You think losing your memory isn’t that horrible?
Flynn Well, who needs them? We should all cleanse ourselves of unpleasant memories once in a while.
Jared What about the happy ones, if any?
Flynn Then you make more of them.
Jared But what is the point if you’re going to lose them later?
Flynn Exactly why you keep making new ones! You see my point now, sugar? Took you a little long, but that’s okay. You look so cute when you’re confused. (Giggles)
JARED decides he has had enough of FLYNN and turns to LEIGH, who is staring out the window behind her. Sunlight makes her auburn hair glow a vibrant red.
Jared What are you here for, then?
Leigh (not turning around) Look how the sunlight illuminates each speck of dust. Look how each speck dances. They all look the same to us, don’t they?
Jared Um. I guess…?
Leigh Sameness is the same to those who are different, but only the same difference will be different to those who are the same.
Jared (mutters) Nutjobs. I’m stuck here with a bunch of nutjobs. Delightful.
Flynn (tugs on JARED’s t-shirt) She’s boring, leave her be. I, though, I could make a song about you. What’s your name?
Jared Names give other people power over you.
Flynn (tearing up) That’s lovely. Who told you that? Well, I’ll call you the Trojan Warrior, then.
Jared What? No!
Flynn What’s wrong with that? Listen to this, it’s impromptu. I’m rather good at making up songs impromptu. Oh, look how the mighty Trojan Warrior walks / With his tail up high and brandishing his sword. / With his pretty hair and his brawny chest / Oh, have you ever witnessed such a lovely fest!
Jared Will you stop singing!
Flynn Sure. Whatever you say, Trojan Warrior.
Jared (agitated) I am not Trojan Warrior! Stop calling me that. The name’s Jared, okay?
Flynn (grins) Jared it is, then. We could’ve spared ourselves all that if you’d just given me your name.
He prepares to launch into a new song about JARED when the therapist walks in. JARED looks relieved, FLYNN annoyed, while LEIGH continues staring out the window.
Dr York Ah. I see we’re all starting to get acquainted. Don’t let me interrupt –
Jared Please do.
Flynn Oh, he’s shy. (Reaches over for his hair) The sweet thing.
JARED flinches and backs away.
Dr York (gaze flicks between JARED and FLYNN) Right, well then. I’m glad you came, Jared. I was a little worried you wouldn’t, given your condition. And as for you, Flynn, I see you’ve extended your … affectionate welcome to your peer. And … (trails off as he looks at LEIGH) Leigh? Are you here with us? (He gets no response.)
Jared (through clenched teeth) Let’s just get this over with.
Dr York (consults his list) Certainly. We just have to wait for one more friend to arrive before we proceed.
Jared You mean there’s one more crazy person joining this suck-fest? Is the world over-run with nutjobs these days?
Drew Melodrama becomes you, Jared.
DREW enters the room and takes a seat next to DR YORK.
Jared (in surprise) What are you doing here?
Drew I’m here as his assistant. An intern.
Jared The irony is dancing right in front of you. (Gestures to somewhere on DREW’s right) Right there. See it?
Drew I forgot how precious your humour can be.
Dr York Now, boys. Drew’s stint here is history, but a person’s history can influence his future. I’d say Drew’s doing well now, wouldn’t you, Jared?
Jared (rolls eyes) Spare me the chipper attitude. We’ve got Happy here for that already. (Gestures to FLYNN)
Flynn I’m acknowledged! (Claps hands) It’s nice to hear you referring to me in such a positive light, Warrior.
JARED shoots him a venomous look.
Flynn My, look who’s a few fries short of a Happy Meal.
Dr York Right. Let’s get started. Why don’t we share something about ourselves and talk about how we’re feeling today? Leigh, ladies first.
Leigh (turns around and stares at the floor)
Dr York Maybe we’re all feeling a little shy now. Don’t worry, take your time. Here, we don’t judge, we only listen and share.
LEIGH is still hesitant.
Flynn Oh, come on, sister. (Wraps an arm around LEIGH) We’re all family here. No secrets, no betrayal, only love, no fear! I’m Flynn. In my free time, I like horse-riding, reading plays, singing and rehearsing for my performances. Also, I adore the colour of your hair, and I think it’s time for me to get a haircut. I’m growing tired of this shaggy look. So 2010, don’t you think?
Dr York Excellent! Now, Flynn has offered us a good start. Now, why don’t you give it a try, Jared?
Jared (glaring at DR YORK) Why don’t I just walk out right now, Dr York? You told me this is a legitimate form of therapy. How is sitting around in a circle talking about sharing and big love a legitimate form of therapy? I didn’t sign up for this.
Flynn You’re grumpy. Here, let me give you a song: Once there was a man called Grumpy / Who didn’t like his therapist. / He stomped around with his brows knitted close / And let everyone eat his fist.
Drew (smirks) What do you know, the guy’s a poet!
Flynn (bows) Thank you. One must learn to be spontaneous if he wants to make it big on stage. Come on, everyone! Try it with me. You can be male-lead quality like me if you practice hard enough!
Leigh There once lived a lovely princess / In the darkest wood up on the hill. / She danced to the full moon and the beastly sea, / And grew roses on her windowsill. / But she battered the air with her lovelorn sighs / And stained the warm earth with her blood. / She wanted to be free of the pretty monsters / that, in her dreams, come out to play. / Her castle was a steely prison with bones for bars; / She could not tear away. / So under the swollen moon on her eighteenth birthday / She lay quietly in wait. / And beneath the eye of the star-strewn heavens / She threw herself off the cliff, towards the sea’s embrace.
A beat of silence. DR YORK scribbles something in his notebook.
Jared Wow. That is one messed up chick.
DR YORK sends him a look.
Jared I mean, a mentally distressed girl. Whatever.
Dr York Thank you, Leigh. Did you compose that yourself?
Leigh My mother used to sing that to me and my sister when we were young.
Jared No wonder you ended up here.
Dr York (sternly) Jared, your turn now.
Jared Look, I’m not going to break out in song, so don’t hold your breath. (To LEIGH and FLYNN) Basically, I’m here because Dr York thinks I’m doing well enough to attend group therapy sessions as opposed to one-to-ones. But well enough compared to what, I’m not too sure, seeing as how I remember shit about what happened before….
DR YORK and DREW share a dark look.
Flynn So you’re an amnesiac? How come you remember how to talk, then? Or form a sentence?
Jared I’m a partial amnesiac, not a moron.
Flynn Well, you don’t even know why you’re here. At least I have a purpose here. A good actor does his homework. This therapy session is for me to get an insight on how crazy people behave.
Jared (bristling) You just said we’d all have to be mad to be here! That includes you.
Dr York (loudly over the squabble) I have a stack of cards here (waves cards) and I want all of you to throw out the first thing that comes to mind when you see it –
Jared The Rorschach test? Please. Haven’t you already worked that crap on me?
Drew Obsolete methods, Yorkie. As an intern and an ex-patient of yours, I’d expect more from you.
Dr York I’m not finished yet. Your medium of response has to be the one with which you best express yourself. Jared, you’re an artist, so I’d like to see you draw. Flynn, you –
Flynn I can sing. (Breaks into a rendition of Mariah Carey’s Without You) I can’t liiiive / If living is without youuuu –
Jared (covers ears) Holy crap, make him stop!
Dr York (sighs) As long as it’s an original work, Flynn. And Leigh, you can write. There is no time limit for this, so take as long as you wish, as long as I get to enjoy your masterpiece at the end of this session. Now, with each card I flash at random intervals, you can choose to string your work into story or compound it to your first creation.
After passing out pencil and paper to LEIGH and JARED, DR YORK flashes the first card of a monarch butterfly.
Flynn (starts to sing Miley Cyrus’s Butterfly Fly Away) Butterflyyy, butterflyyy, butterfly fly away…
Jared (snaps) He said original work, idiot. (To Dr York) And I can’t focus with him wailing in my ear.
Flynn You don’t play very nice with others, do you?
Jared I don’t play with others, period.
Flynn (pulls a sympathetic face) Did losing your memory make you this way, my pet? (Sings to the tune of Van Morrison’s Brown-Eyed Girl) Do you see him go / He treads down the hallway / He walks real slow / Trying to find his way / Try to find his way home hey, hey / Like a lost alley cat / Without milk or cuddles he / cries for some love he is / My amnesiac boy / You my amnesiac boy.
Drew (looks impressed) He’s good. Did you come up with that spontaneously?
Flynn (beaming) Now there’s someone who can appreciate talent when he sees it. What’s your name again? Dylan?
Drew Um…
Dr York Maybe you’d like to pen down the song before you, um, display your vocals to us, Flynn. Now, for the second card.
He flashes a second card of a flame in the dark. LEIGH drops her pencil when she sees that. Everyone stares at her as she begins to tremble visibly.
Flynn (channels Blue Oyster Cult, oblivious to LEIGH) Fire of unknown origin / Took my baby away –
Dr York Leigh? Are you okay?
Flynn I think she’s going into anaphylactic shock.
Jared Do you even know what anaphylactic shock is?
Flynn Do you?
Dr York Children. Please. Leigh? Is there anything you wish to share?
Leigh (in agitation) You know something, don’t you? You know something. And you’re not telling me.
Jared I think you may need to sedate her, Dr York.
Flynn Ah, just another day in the nuthouse. (Leans back to watch the show)
Jared Are you being a dick to compensate for your lack of it?
Dr York Leigh, if this is too stressful for you, we’ll move on to the third card. If you find it difficult to voice your distress, you can express that in your writing. The idea is to keep your fingers moving in time with your thoughts. Let your words mirror everything that is running through your mind.
Flynn (starts to sing – again) Something’s getting in the way, / Something’s just about to break. / I will try to find my place / In the di-a-ry of Jane.
Jared (glares at him) Inappropriate and inaccurate. Her name isn’t even Jane.
Dr York (sharply) The second card, everyone.
He hands FLYNN a pencil and paper, and they get back to work. FLYNN hums under his breath while JARED works with a finger in his ear. DREW and DR YORK share a private conversation.
Drew I still can’t believe he clean forgot all that’s happened.
Dr York I told you before, it’s his brain’s instinctual reaction to the trauma. It’s not uncommon. But he’s showing good progress. Amnesia aside, I’d say he’s actually behaving like a normal teenage boy.
Drew And when – if – he remembers?
Dr York Then we shall deal with that accordingly. (Addresses the group) Ready for the last card? (Flashes the last card, one of a blood-stained carpet, and watches each of them closely for their immediate reaction)
JARED stiffens noticeably.
Dr York Problem, Jared?
Jared (collects himself) Shock tactic, Dr York? I appreciate the effort, but (shakes his head) nothing, nada.
Dr York But why do you think you might have a reaction to this particular picture?
Jared You’re the therapist. Give me some answers. (Turns to DREW) And I bet you know something too. I’ve known for a long time you two are keeping something from me.
Flynn Are you going to turn psychotic like her too (jabs finger in LEIGH’s direction. LEIGH does not notice)? I didn’t know you had a knack for drama.
Jared Shut up, choir boy. (Turns back to DR YORK and DREW) Look, I’m tired of guessing and second-guessing about my past.
Dr York If you can’t remember, it means your mind isn’t ready quite ready for you to handle the memory yet. I’ve said before that you have to come to terms with it on your own, at your own time; I can only prod you along.
Flynn (sniggering) Prod.
Jared So my past involves a blood-stained carpet? That sure is a whole lot to go on.
Dr York It will come to you. When you are ready. Be patient.
Flynn Does anyone want to hear my songs, or not? I have to go for a casting in (checks watch) fifteen minutes.
Jared (takes a peek) Your watch doesn’t even work!
Flynn Doesn’t it? I must have forgotten the jam.
Leigh Alice in Wonderland.
Flynn Right again, sister. (Winks)
Jared (to DR YORK) Seriously? You think I belong here with these people?
Dr York Be patient. You just need some time to get used to all this. (Smiles.)
Blackout
.




So the above is the play that I received less-than-warm reviews for three weeks ago in playwriting class. You see, we were supposed to write a musical comedy. My first thought was, Right, well I'm screwed, seeing as how I'm completely not a musical person, much less a musical comedy. I don't know. There's just something that creeps me out about musicals/musical comedies, maybe because they just seem so detached from reality, like everyone in there lives in a parallel universe where people spontaneously burst into song and dance and are inherently chirpy all the time and have to translate their words into song. I don't watch Glee (I'm relieved to say I am an un-Gleek), and I gave Hairspray a miss. Save for The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins and My Fair Lady (because they're beautiful classics and everyone should watch them) and The Phantom of the Opera (because it's dark and romantic) and half of High School Musical (I decided to spare myself the rest of the torture), my encounter with musicals ends there. Suffice to say this isn't a genre over which I wet my pants with excitement.


It turns out that this play completely missed the essence of a musical. It hardly feels like one at all. Huzir said that the characters were just singing for the sake of it (no, he didn't put it that bluntly - that's just my interpretation), and the only song that seemed to contribute anything to the musical aspect of the play was Leigh's song (yes, it is an original piece, in case you were wondering). Were it not in that week's requirement to come up with a musical, this play might have worked. But factor in the requirements, I totally missed it.


And you know, after listening to what the others have come up with - some even brought their guitars and sang self-composed songs (thanks, Nick! lovely compositions, but talk about spoiling the market) - I understood that, unlike mine, theirs did convey the mood of musical comedies.


Oh well. I was beating myself up after that not because I failed to write a proper musical comedy, but because I was trying so hard to explain my play and failing to let the others feel about my play the way I do. Retrospectively, I can't help but cringe at my desperation. THAT was what was chewing at me for the rest of the day afterwards.


But, you know, as many writers say, real writers face their failures and work through them. Since writing's an act of constant experimentation, failures only attest to your persistence. If you've never written badly before, you've never really written anything because you're too safe. Besides, if you don't fail, this writing thing would be too easy, and then where's the fun in that?


So I shelved this episode in the back of my mind, took away what I could from it, and worked on the next assignment: a group play. Till next post!