Friday, November 29, 2013

Short Story - Skies on Fire



 
The day the sky changed colour, Kayla and I snuck out to the shore to watch. It wasn’t every day that the oldest story you had ever been told came true, after all.

When Kayla and I were still small enough to weave through corals, Mom had told us about the winged beasts that would take over the world. She told us how the massive span of their wings, hundreds and thousands of them, would blot out the sunlight and turn day into night. She told us how their talons would tear through the skin of the water and pluck us out before crushing our bones. How the wounds they left on us would run as deep as their hate.

Those were reasons enough to stay underwater, in the deepest chamber where it was safest. But there was a certain perverse pleasure to take in witnessing first-hand the end of the world.

Kayla and I had imagined a million ways this moment could play out, but we could never have prepared ourselves for this sight.

They arrived with much fanfare, their shrill, terrible cries spearing the air as they loomed closer. Mom was wrong on one account so far. The sunlight had been blocked out, yes, but instead of plunging into darkness, the world was set alight with their flame-tipped wings. We were drenched so thoroughly in shades of gold and amber that we were practically gilded beings on the sand.

When Mom first told me and Kayla the story, we had no concept of fire or its properties, having never been allowed ashore until we were ten. Now, that we had ventured beyond the waters more times than Mom would have liked, though, we were well acquainted with the heat, enough to sear upon contact.

But we were enraptured. We were immovable. We could only stare at the reeling creatures in the sky and wait for the urgent press of bodies and the clash of beaks and claws to descend on us.

And in a flurry of fire and wingbeats, they did.

Up close, I could only snatch glimpses of brass-clad wings and steel-grey eyes before the whirlwind of sand forced me to clamp my eyes shut and reach for my sister.

“Don’t look, Amber,” Kayla whispered in my ear, pulling my head against her shoulder.

We huddled close together, pressed against the rock we would perch on when sunlight illuminated every part of the shallows. I was glad for the warmth of her body against mine, despite the encroaching heat around us.

There in that rocky nook we remained crouched, until we could no longer feel the abrasive scratch of sand against our skin or hear the strident calls of the birds. Until all we could feel was our hearts drumming against each other and all we could hear were our ragged breaths.

When at last the dust settled, I ventured open an eyelid to find the birds – hundreds of them skimming the surface of the sea – extending their talons into the water. I sent a silent plea to Nyssa, the Goddess, for the safety of my people, prayed that they had managed to duck into the deepest, darkest recesses of the sea, away from the birds’ determined grasps.

“Amber,” Kayla hissed, nudging me. “Look!”

We weren’t alone on that disturbed shore. What remained here were no longer birds, only human. They were dressed in full-body armour, men and women alike, just as how their wings had been dressed before the transformation. Rising from the ground, there was no trace of their previous visage. They were entirely and securely human.

We all knew about these shape-shifting beasts. They could turn into anything – woodland hunters armed with spears, silent deadly wolves or shrieking birds of prey – but never into creatures of the sea. It was why they were desperate in their attempts to possess our magic before destroying every one of us.

Now more than ever, I felt the urge to slip back into my sea-body, feel the weight of my tail again in case I never get the chance to.

The beasts – no, humans now – shook off the sand dusting their brass-plated bodies and surveyed the beach with their keen mercury gazes. Among them stood a raven-haired man with shoulders hard and hulking like a boulder. He straightened to his full height, scanning the surroundings.

From a few metres away, a tall svelte woman called, “All clear, Krothos.” The words snapped off her tongue like twigs.

A grim nod and Krothos’s jaw unclenched. His voice pelted me like a handful of chipped stones. “Advance as planned. Destroy everything that moves on this shore.”

Right then in Kayla’s eyes I saw the same fear that pulsed through me, the sickened fascination that stayed our legs. Our stupidity hit me hard then – how conceited and naïve we were to think we could escape the fate that our people were bound to!

There was nowhere to run. We might not have been severely outnumbered, but the beach was an open stretch unmarked by anything but a scattering of rocks. Any movement, however slight, would not go undetected. In any case, my legs were starting to cramp up –

Much like how my heart seized when a shadow fell over us. I thought of the roll of those massive shoulders, the unrelenting cruelty in those cold, cold eyes, and curled into a tighter ball, willing the shadow to recede.

But what appeared before us was not the hefty figure of Krothos. This one was of a slimmer build, but no less imposing. He was silhouetted against the dying light of day so I couldn’t make out his features, but his eyes flashed with a startling luminescence of their own, like molten iron.

When he shifted from his position and leaned down to survey us, sunlight threw his face into clarity. It was the face that would feature in my storm-tossed dreams for nights to come, the one that would interrupt my thoughts during the desolate lulls of the day.

“Run,” he said. Unlike Krothos’s harsh bark, his voice was a warm and treacherous wave.

I stared into his heavy grey gaze and tried to understand the intent behind that word. The beasts stayed their hands for nothing and no one. Predators they were, territorial and always hungry for domination. There had to be a price for our freedom.

I didn’t know then just how thoroughly that split second of mercy would come to destroy us all in the end.

In that moment, I only felt Kayla tugging at my arm, becoming more insistent in her efforts when I didn’t budge.

“Run,” he said again, looking straight at me. “Now.”

With Kayla’s effort, we ran without a backward glance. The stones in my feet dissolved with every fervent step I took, but my mind lingered by that rock where he had stood before me, outlined by the sun’s gilded glow.

When we finally left dry sand behind and returned to the water, Kayla and I shot straight for our chamber. The muffled cries of distant birds reeling above drove us further, faster, deeper into the sea. Fear was an anchor in my chest, dragging me down through the still and quiet waters.

After the onslaught of heat and noise and battering winds, the chilly emptiness down here was a terrifying change of scenery. The stone walls of our chambers rang with unsung songs, and, a moment later, the sob-choked wails of my sister as she tore around in search of our parents.

It seemed Mom was right about one thing after all: the beasts’ hatred for us ran as deep as the wounds they left on us.

Monday, November 25, 2013

feeding your soul

So it's Monday again. Gosh, how quickly we're zipping through the year. We're almost done with 2013? Where did the last 300-odd days go?!

Anyway, so I know I intend for this blog to be mostly about writing, but I don't want to be one of those writers who go on and on about the craft and their book and writing process and blabbity blah blah blah. So here are some updates on the personal front before I end with something writing-related again.


1. Last Saturday, I went for my first ever facial and pedicure. I know, it sounds unbelievable that a 23-year-old city girl has never experienced either of those, but I've just never really cared about stuff like that before, and I don't have older sisters or mom to bring me to these places. My friends aren't really into facials and pedicures either. I don't know - it's strange. But the bottom-line is: I'm not a facial or pedicure virgin anymore!

My dad's the one who kept nagging at me to go for a facial and start paying more attention to my face, so I've been scouting several places to do one. But then Body Contours, a body-grooming spa, randomly contacted me in the middle of the workday and offered me a complimentary trial session as part of their marketing plan. I Googled the company and found that it seemed relatively credible, so I headed down for my appointment.

Of course, before anything else there was the sales talk by the manageress, who wanted me to throw down 800 bucks as deposit for a laser treatment package, which she almost had me convinced I needed because my skin is RAVAGED by the effects of my environment and age. (We Libras are notoriously indecisive and impressionable.) But after half an hour of dithering, I eventually decided to try out the skin renewal facial before making any drastic commitment.

My biggest problem is blackheads, and to say that the beautician was appalled at the state of my skin is an understatement - she kept tutting at the state of my skin, though not in a mean way. While they don't look blatantly terrible in photos and upon first glance, up close my pores are HUUUUUGE. Plus, they're clogged up with accumulated dirt and oil. So all in all, UGH.

What ensued was A LOT of steaming (the heat was very unpleasant, even though a lot of girls seem to enjoy that), kneading, squeezing and pinching out the crap in my pores (which HURT), before essential oils were rubbed on, along with a cold mask (which was the loveliest part, since it felt good and smelled lovely, all mint-y and lavender-y).

I ended up signing up for the facial package, for which I tossed down a $500 deposit for 6 more similar sessions. It's actually quite worth it, in retrospect. At least my pores can breathe now, and they aren't crater-like anymore when you scrutinise them up close (which I wish you wouldn't do, because hello I'd like my personal space, thanks).

And as for the pedicure, it was $40 at City Nails, which I know isn't the best deal out there, but it's in a mall near my house so I'm okay with paying for the convenience. Besides, the shop was spacious and bright and each customer is led to a private booth (unlike many nail salons, which are usually cramped and everyone can see each other). The service was good, too. So that was $40 well spent, since my calluses are gone and my cracked skin is healed.

I just realised how much we have to do to maintain the condition of our bodies as we grow older. From dry hair to cracked heels, clogged pores to crooked teeth, there is so much to look out for. I would just leave them be if I could, but my dad has always emphasised the importance of personal grooming, because like it or not, people tend to associate more positive character traits with a person who keeps herself in tip-top condition. His words, not mine. And I suppose there is some truth in that, but phew, personal grooming is hard work!

(I know, First World Problems. I apologise for my insensitivity.)


2. MAMA 2013, aka MNet Asian Music Awards on Friday evening was a blast to watch, particularly with pop acts like Icona Pop and Big Bang present. Newbie group EXO performed well too.

I've never really been a K-pop fan. In fact, less than a year ago, my impression of K-pop fans are rabid tweens who fangirl over pretty boys and pretend very hard that they're Koreans living in Korea. My interest in Korean pop culture only extended to the occasional K-drama, and it was only a few months ago that I started listening to K-pop and tried to pick up Korean. All thanks to Super Junior. And this boy:



Ahem.

The way I see it, you may turn up your nose at other brands of music and stick staunchly by your cool-as-shit indie music, reject other cultures and other types of pop culture. But then you're just restricting yourself to what you know and allow yourself to be exposed to.


After I started watching Korean dramas, I learned of many other stereotypes and archetypes that are different from those in American dramas. There are new narratives to be discovered in different cultures, different personalities and way of life, and that can only make your book characters richer and more varied.

Likewise for music. There are only so many times you can listen to P!nk or Adele without wanting to stab yourself. And while I regularly source for new music online such as this:


And:


What's a few more options for some listening pleasure, right? It doesn't really matter that I don't understand half of what they're singing, as long as the music's good: it either sets the right mood for a scene I'm writing, or gets me pumped up and grooving (in the privacy of my room, of course) ... Wait, do people still use the word "grooving"? Ah, whatever.

And really, K-pop is just harmless good fun. (We need some of that on this cold, grey and wet Monday.)

Girls Generation with their catchy track I Got A Boy.



Bittersweet by Super Junior, which was perfect for writing several scenes in UNTIL MORNING.

Some Fantastic Baby by Big Bang to get you leaping out of your seat!



Still hopped up from the previous track? Here's more: I Am The Best by 2NE1.


See? Does it matter that it's in a foreign language? Music is a universal language on its own! Music is meant to be fun and engaging! If you open yourself up to new music, you'll discover a world even larger and richer than the one you've cooped yourself in.


sarah dessen quote

And while we're in the vein of music recommendation, this track by Bassnectar helped immensely while I wrote a scene for BLOOD PROMISE:



While this track by Paper Kites is soooo lovely - it reminds me of Where the Wild Things Are, for some reason:

The band's just released its first full-length album, and their songs are just as pretty!

Also, this one called Safe Hands by Paper Aeroplanes is bittersweet in some way:



Hope you enjoyed those tracks! And if you have anything to recommend, do share! I am ALWAYS on the lookout for new music, regardless of genre or nationality. My soul is starving, and only music and stories can satiate it.


3. Here's me and my dad taking a selfie (there's something to be said about the world we live in for the fact that it's the Oxford Dictionary's word of the year) after our usual Sunday brunch.


He's been transferred to the west end of the island, so this will be our last Sunday brunch together in a long while. He gets occasional weekends off, but they're rare. Plus, now that he's working further, we'll get less time to spend together. Which sucks. But if I look on the bright side, it means the time we spend from now on will be even more precious. On my more emo days, I wish I can provide sufficiently for the both of us so my dad doesn't have to stress so much at work or just kick back and do the things he wants to do instead of what he has to.

Okay, I'll stop before I get completely maudlin.


So finally, as promised, I'll leave you with some beautiful writing quotes:

"There are some books which refuse to be written. They stand their ground year after year and will not be persuaded. It isn't because the book is not there and worth being written - it is only because the right form of the story does not present itself. There is only one right form for a story and if you fail to find that form the story will not tell itself."  
~ Mark Twain

"Giving up is for giver-uppers. It's the lamest thing ever. Your book is just a book; it can't beat you. You are a real live person with will and imagination and typing fingers! You are superior to it in every way. How could it possibly beat you? That's just silly. Of course you'll win."   
~ Laini Taylor 

~ from CORALINE, by Neil Gaiman


"I think that the reason I write what I write is because of the passion and urgency and hunger of those younger years, the intensity of that period of becoming, when we are dreaming ourselves into being."
~ Laini Taylor 




Hope the writing's going well for everyone! Keep feeding your soul and keep telling stories!

(Speaking of stories, I am just about done with the BLOOD PROMISE rewrite. Just one final tweak in the climax to make, then a complete hawk-eyed read-through, before I beg and beseech my critique partners to read it. In the meantime, I'm finally getting round to reading THE DREAM THIEVES by Maggie Stiefvater. Yay!)

Have a great week!

Monday, November 18, 2013

Monday mood-lifters and a gathering of playwrights

Monday! First, THIS: some helpful advice from ex-literary agent and author Nathan Bransford.

Planning and improvising are the two basic ways to find your plot, but there’s only one way to find your voice: start writing, and keep writing until you find it ... Write your way to your voice.

It took me a while to find Sean and Ian's voices. If you recall, I've received feedback from a literary agent who said that Sean and Ian from BLOOD PROMISE sounded too alike. But after I managed to distinguish what it is that sets them apart - by narrowing them down to three adjectives each (i.e. Ian: angry, vengeful, brash; Sean: concerned, skeptical, protective) - I set about amplifying these qualities and tweaked their voices as such. Hopefully, it'll work better this time. I can't trust myself to be objective about my own writing; I need my critique partners! My saviours.

Speaking of BLOOD PROMISE, I've found a few images that fit the idea of the characters I have in mind. Pinterest, man. I'm addicted. But it's also opened my eyes to so many visuals that lit my brain on fire. Follow me, if you're interested!

APRIL, the changeling struggling to keep her craving for human souls in check:

This is April from Sean's POV - because of his colour-blindness, he sees her eyes as a startling shade of blue. This leads to a twist that I won't reveal here, of course.

I actually had the Australian model Gemma Ward in mind for April. April is not conventionally beautiful. She has eyes a little too widely spaced apart, a button nose and lips that typically curve in a sad wistful bow. Still, she's meant to be beautiful in a strange otherworldly way.

SEAN, who moves to Frosty Island with his mother after he hears the news of his best friend's disappearance while vacationing with his parents on the island: 

He's the closest I can find on Pinterest. The Sean I have in mind is someone with an easy smile, dimples, and wide friendly eyes. Your favourite boy-next-door.

Maybe this one might be a closer approximation of him:

But nah. He's my Peter Pan. Not quite Sean.

Case in point:

Oh Donghae, you are just too precious. (Can you tell I'm obsessed with this little boy? Ha.)

Ahem. I digress.

IAN, who moved to Frosty Island to live with his aunt Mel after his parents died on this island a week ago in an alleged car accident:

This one's perfect. From the hardness of Ian's features to the danger in his eyes, that spark of recklessness when he realises he's got nothing left to lose anymore.

Anyway, how was your weekend? (I never have any idea whom I'm talking to whenever I ask questions like that on my blog. I'd love to hear from you if you're reading my blog! Comment away; don't be shy. I promise I'll reply. Nicely.)


Yup, that's pretty much me. Except this weekend, I finally went for the annual play-writing gathering last Saturday. It's actually the final reading for the semester's EN3271 play-writing students, but Huzir invites the ex-students back for a gathering of sorts. He opens his house up to us and have us all gather around in the living room for a cosy reading session - so generous.

It was so lovely to see my writing comrades again, and reminisce about the times when we stayed up to finish our plays or scramble to print out the copies for readings in class. I took both EN2271 Introduction to Playwriting and EN3271 Advanced Playwriting (both conducted by Huzir), because EN2271 was the most rewarding class I took in uni.

It's wonderful to be part of a writing community and have people to commiserate with when the writing isn't going well. Before that, I've never had writer friends or been part of a writing group, and the class made me see how rewarding it is to be part of one. It's nice to be able to hear other people's stories, share your own with them, and exchange ideas on how to improve one another's scripts. It's nice to have them root for your characters and have your classmates act out your characters; to hear Huzir's insightful and immensely constructive and honest feedback on your writing; to have a group of writer friends you can keep in touch with after graduation because writing will always be the thing that bonds you all together.

These two play-writing modules have given me so much, and for anyone in NUS undecided on whether to try out for these modules, my advice is to TAKE THEM. THEY WILL BE THE MOST FUN CLASSES YOU WILL TAKE IN NUS. At least, for me it is. I'm not forcing anyone! *runs for cover*

There were close to thirty people who attended last Saturday's gathering, including this semester's playwrights. I didn't manage to get everyone in the photo, but here are some of us. To those not in these photos, sorry! Next year, we'll take a proper shot all together.



We basically just decided to make a 180-degree turn because we were profiled against the sunlight. The rest were by the refreshments table or in the washroom, so here's us. I'm obviously the one in pink ;)

The plays this years were great! Funny and poignant character-driven stories. But the feedback was the best, especially when it was served with a dose of candour and insight. All the best with the final rewrites, playwrights! (That totally rhymed.)

Till next year, guys! And all the best for NaNo!

Unfortunately, I missed Lord of the Rings: Return of the King as a result of attending the gathering. When I realised it was airing on TV afterwards, I was like:


And here are your Monday mood-lifters:


Man, I miss this show! GILMORE GIRLS was funny and smart and sweet - almost everything you could as for in a TV show. It ended on a crappy note as it was slated for another season which, sadly, never came to fruition.


Some Harry Potter/Lord of the Rings crossover for you?

I totally heard this in Benedict Cumberbatch's voice.



Oh, Siwon. You are such a derp.

And on a less creepy note:

All together now: AWWWWWW.

Have a great week, everyone!

Thursday, November 14, 2013

More Laini goodness!

In case it's not obvious enough, I've been reading Laini Taylor's old blog and catching up on all her old posts (on both her old and new blogs). In one of them, she recommended this book called A FLIGHT OF ANGELS and hooolyshizzle it looks SO FREAKING GOOD I NEED IT NOW WHERE CAN I GET MY HANDS ON IT?! Here's the blurb:

"A mysterious angel plummets to Earth and lands deep in a dark forest, where his dying body is found by the mystical denizens of this strange place. As the gathered fauns, fairies, hags and hobgoblins debate what to do with him, each tells a different story of who they imagine this celestial creature to be -- a hero, a lover, a protector or a killer. Once all the stories have been told, a final verdict is rendered and the outcome will leave you breathless."

Published in 2011, FLIGHT is a graphic novel written by Holly Black (author of the original and spunky fantasy thriller series, THE CURSEWORKERS) and a few other authors. You know it has to be good if Holly Black is on board. She and Laini Taylor are two of the few authors I would gladly follow to the ends of the earth and back, strung starry-eyed along by their prose and all-around genius. So even though I'm not a fan of graphic novels, I NEED this book now. 

Also, please let April 2013 come quickly. I am thisclose to wetting myself with excitement for the final installment to Laini's epic trilogy, DREAMS OF GODS AND MONSTERS.


Speaking of her books (can I ever shut up about her?), I've finally FINALLY gotten down to reading LIPS TOUCH: THREE TIMES, a collection of short stories with illustrations done by her husband (talk about an artistic duo!). Stories of demons and dancing and kisses and curses. Every word of every sentence of every story in this book is so delicious I'm totally relishing it by taking my time to read them, spinning them around in my mouth and tasting the rhythm of the words, asking myself why she decided to use this particular word or phrase or expression and what its effect is and what I would've written (mine always pales in comparison). 

It is IMPOSSIBLE not to get enticed by her prose. I am addicted.


So when she dishes out advice on revising your first draft, I am ALL EARS: 

I’m not just copy-editing myself here, marking typos and such. I’m still casting my mind out for bigger, better, cooler ideas and solutions, more elegant ways to fit the plot together, new things the characters might say and do. I’m writing whole new scenes; I’m rearranging a lot. I’m cutting whatever I possibly can. I’m hyper alert for any boring parts and I am trying desperately not to deceive myself on that score.
Revising is a huge part of the craft aspect of writing, and it can be a time of luscious possibility. Don’t dread it. Embrace it! Do what needs to be done.

Never has advice been this relevant. BLOOD PROMISE may not be in its first-draft stage, but I treat it as such, because there are so many things to change and shift around, so many things to tweak and ramp up and make into something much more exciting than before - how have I not seen all these possibilities and flaws before?!

I'm at page 156 of BLOOD PROMISE now, and I aim to be done with this rewrite by the end of this month. To all my writer friends either mired in their works-in-progress this NaNoWriMo or rewriting their first drafts like I am:


It may not look like it now, but we will get there.

“You write your first draft with your heart, and you rewrite with your head.”  ~ James Ellison



Neil Gaiman is such an inspiration. He always seems so genuine and passionate about books and writing - no pretensions or self-indulgence - and he got where he is now through sheer determination and hard work. Talent too, of course, but more hard work and true grit. If you haven't read this heartfelt, honest and pertinent essay he wrote a while back, go read it - seriously. There, he argues for the relevance of books - FICTION, in particular. In a world that prizes tangible rewards above anything else, where bankers and scientists are deemed superior to those who pursue the arts, things that we aren't able to quantify - such as the emotions that a well-told story is able to evoke - often get ignored, or worse devalued. Gaiman completely hit the nail on the head with this essay.

"We writers – and especially writers for children, but all writers – have an obligation to our readers: it's the obligation to write true things, especially important when we are creating tales of people who do not exist in places that never were – to understand that truth is not in what happens but what it tells us about who we are. Fiction is the lie that tells the truth, after all. We have an obligation not to bore our readers, but to make them need to turn the pages."

 Here's to writing the truest things we know that won't bore our readers.

Monday, November 11, 2013

writing wisdom (not mine) and some delightful things

And here is today's snippet of wisdom:

Don’t think your first draft is perfect. It’s natural to be very proud when you finish something, to see it as the perfect flawless flowering of your talent - but Sophie’s Choice aside, first drafts always need work. They might even need drastic amounts of work. You may in fact need to cut 25,000 words out, make the secondary character the narrator, lose the first six chapters and start with chapter 7, or any variety of extremely painful, drastic things. You will not be able to see this when you have just finished it.
You need to put it in a drawer for a few weeks or a month, even longer if you can stand it. Give yourself long enough that you can gain some distance from it and read it with fresh eyes. This is really, really important. Then when you come back to it, hopefully you can read it with joy and pride, loving it, but also be able to see how it can be made better. Be clear-eyed and honest, and be brave. Open your mind to new ideas and new ways to make your story better. It’s never too late to make a bold change. Be willing to rewrite a scene a dozen times or more - as many as it takes. Go above and beyond the call of duty. You’re striving for your best - never be content with a scene or even a single line until you love it. 
Remember: something is not good or valid just because you did it. I know there are people who will argue with me on this and assert that all creative product is “valid”. Maybe it is in kindergarten, but not when you’re a grownup striving to get published. It doesn't matter how important the story is to you, how much you want it to be published. All that matters is how good it is. How interesting, and how well told. How much it makes the reader care about it.

How is it that I've only just discovered Laini Taylor's old blog and this post?! If only I'd read this before I'd sent out BLOOD PROMISE to literary agents, it would've saved me a LOT of waiting and dashed hopes and subsequent angst. Ah, well. Never too late to learn, I guess.

I'm plodding through the middle of BLOOD PROMISE. Right now, it's a lot of goo and unpleasant things slowing me down and threatening to eat up the rest of my story, so I'd have to rewrite practically everything. *tears at hair and claws at face, bangs head against desk and rolls up sleeves* So I'm plunging into the icky mess and hopefully emerging with a new and improved manuscript. Watch this space for updates.

And since it's Monday, I figure we all need some perk-me-up. Babies, pink anything, sun, sea, sky, and pretty faces (not necessarily in that order) are perennial fail-safe mood-lifters - at least for me.



Those kind, sweet eyes. I die. And yes, I'm a fangirl. Shut up.

 The ultimate happy colour for me.


Who can resist a baby in an animal suit? So cute and cuddly!

And the ultimate getaways: Jeju Island and Greece.


 
The dream is to go on a writing retreat to these places one day.


And with that: happy Monday, everyone!

Wednesday, November 06, 2013

Unfolding your dreams

For today, THIS: your weekly motivation from the ever lovely, ever encouraging Laini Taylor, whose wildly romantic post on seizing your dreams made me tear up.

"Daydreaming, however awesome it is, is passive. It happens in your head. Learning to make dreams real is another matter, and I think it should be the work of your life. Everyone’s life, whatever their dream."

I'll admit, on my long swims in the morning, I often daydream about making it big, getting my stories out in the world and having people - many people - appreciate them. I dream about having fans who gush about my books the way I gush about other authors' books; I dream about earning enough money to buy my dad a bigger house, a new car, take him on a trip around the world, earning enough so that he doesn't have to face all that stress at work anymore and work late nights; I dream about having the financial and creative freedom to write the things I want to write and not feel guilty about that, like I ought to be doing something else to prove my worth.

But once I get out of the water, it's back to reality and I'm making my way to the office. My job doesn't suck, but it's not my dream job. My dream job is still somewhere out there, beyond my reach, because I'm too afraid to drop everything and chase it.

But then:
"The thing is, there will be pressure to adjust your expectations, always shrinking them, shrinking, shrinking, until they fit in your pocket like a folded slip of paper, and you know what happens to folded slips of paper in your pocket. They go through the wash and get ruined. Don’t ever put your dream in your pocket."

What I don't quite agree with, though, is this:
"And “backup plan” is code for, “Give up on your dreams,” and everyone I know who put any energy into a backup plan is now living that backup plan instead of their dream. Put all your energy into your dream. That’s the only way it will ever become real."

Well, no. That may be the ideal way, but sometimes we have no choice but to make do. I'm not saying we have to settle, but we do have to survive. Especially for a fresh grad like me, the pressure is on to come out and make my mark, achieve something or watch my peers get ahead without me. There are expectations, particularly from my dad, to get a well-paying job with good career prospects.

It sounds romantic, doing everything you can to reach your dreams, fighting the good fight and emerging victorious in the end. But many times, it's time-consuming and morale-draining, and we need a regular income AS we work for the life we dream of. It may sound like we are settling, and living the life others want us to live, but I see it as surviving. Dreams don't put food on the table or pay the bills. And while we are doing all we can to fulfill them, we need our income. We need a backup plan.

And such is life.

Maybe I'm being realistic, or cynical, or maybe I'm just afraid. It's always nice to have someone remind you why it's okay to dream big and let go of your inhibitions, remind you to strive for what you TRULY MADLY DEEPLY want. It's nice to borrow some courage from someone who dared to fight for what she wants and is living proof that dreams can come true if you hold on long enough and work your ass off for it.

Hence:



Maybe when life makes us put our dreams in our pockets, the best thing to do is fold them into paper cranes and let them fly. Sounds noble and impractical, but Steve Jobs did advise us to stay hungry and stay foolish, and sometimes hungry fools do get the happiest endings of all.