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INFORMATION
Someone speaks softly through the horror and pain:
'Love has gone, but it could come again.'
Spring arrives quietly, warming her skin
Her heart, now red, is beating again
- Hannah Fury, 'Someone Speaks Softly'
Not a writer but a professional student. Instead I can be the jaded passer-by that caught a glimpse of a fling
or a fatal mistake, a murder in the back alley, and I keep it all to myself so I don't lose any of it during the spilling from heart to paper on an unimaginary dark night. I write opinions, facts, emotions and other satisfied sentences that are the offspring of my imagination and external influences. And I do not need your validation to live, for the record.
CONTACT
FS/augustkills
FP/thepapercult
LJ/snipethedoctor
WP/electricsleeves
CREDITS
Icon: DW/tablesaw
Layout: tuesdaynight
Inspiration: DayBefore!Misery
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Say they won't disappoint me.
Written on: Monday, January 11, 2010
Time: 9:48 AM
It's the day. Today. I'm expecting a sunny afternoon, and I'm taking it light in case I disappoint myself. I do not want to do this, but who does one listen to when a voice says 'it would be fine' and another whispers 'do you think so'? Overjoyed or crushed I'll still be making my way to the Central Library for Grimm's Last Fairytale, which would be either a comfort or a reward.
I have been spinning yarn since 8am, and a pitiful 900+ words were the only thing I could coax out of my mind. It does not take into account the two hours I have spent lying in bed thinking about shaping it into form and its overall feel. The words do not come as naturally as before and this is only part of the difficulty. Some words I have forgotten, but there have been space for new ones.
Some like it deviant.Labels: books, school, writer's rambles
Insanity is there for me.
Written on: Friday, January 8, 2010
Time: 11:29 PM
Dated: 2 Feb 2009
English class: I completed yet another composition in less than two hours, which was worth celebrating; usually it takes about three hours to pen out something really well. There's a feeling of satisfaction, like as if one has just emerged from a refreshing shower, except the fatigue still remains and slowly melts into incurable ecstasy. I couldn't stop wondering if anyone else's was done.
'Heroes': what a simple yet deceiving title about maybe saving a drowning citizen or a puppy from potential abuse. Frankly I'd steer clear of happy endings to avoid the plot spinning out of my control and turning into hyper blooming parks filled with blissful children. I would turn every story I write into a tragedy in retrospective if I could, because tragedies are what keeps the plot moving with energy fuelled by pain and suffering. I would like it a lot if my teacher would sing my praises.
I ended with an eulogy: not about how a war hero was put on a pedestal in honour of his country, but rather of a humble mother educating her daughter after the demise of her husband, then perishing from a fire which she saved her daughter from. It is not a tear-jerker, but (hopefully) some piece of writing that leaves people with strange unexplainable feelings lodged deep inside their hearts like shards of diamond.
I wonder how I would fare attempting to write a long-drawn out affair of a murder; the outline (or skeleton; in fact, that was the name's true origin) seemed encouraging; usually what I write in a dreamy stupor at night turns out horribly pathetic in the morning, but this time it was alright.Labels: school, writer's rambles
Literally.
Time: 11:23 PM
Dated: 11 July 2009
Hannah Fury, Emilie Autumn and a hefty dosage of Neil Gaiman's work is the perfect concoction for another short story, but as it uplifts and gives hope it also tells me my talent would never match up to those authors/poets. Like I mentioned to a friend, 'Neil's a genius'.
I wish my way with words would be just as admiring, but I think not. They give me the impression they've been writing since the day they found out that moving a pencil in a structured direction produces a letter, and many repeated similar actions produce words. Well, if only life was better. Then again, without cruelty nothing could be accomplished. Hannah Fury is the perfect lovelorn, jaded poet who seems to know everything and deeper and sings about it in her whispery vocals. Emilie Autumn is the Victorian revolutionist, pretty and frightening in a thrilling way, with lace, blood and surprises in store. Her outbursts of emotion are far more outspoken: while she screams, Hannah's voice trembles quietly in the background. Blood will spill at her feet, but in Hannah's case it seeps through the carpet, soaking like wine.
I came up with another plot an hour before this, but woe, I won't be able to finish it till come December. It's depressing, but priorities are after all, priorities. I've taken an enormous amount of effort to push its beckoning tendrils away to a corner. It'll stew a little further till it's perfectly preserved and ready. Meanwhile the only thing I allow myself to do is to sketch out its structure, minute character details and some useless setting information, preserving it's nature, so it'll be the way it is when revisited. I wonder how Peishwen does it. If she was in my place, she would have finished the whole shebang there and then, no questions asked, no lingering doubts.Labels: music, neil gaiman, writer's rambles
Not so gothy.
Time: 11:18 PM
I'm not sure what I should be doing now. A decent portion of me wants to continue Goth for a little while, but 'little whiles' as most writers/artists ought to have realised, are a misnomer. I'm through chapter one, though I might be heading back for some minor adjustments, correcting the strange, disjointed parts and smoothening out parts of the story that didn't seem to flow well. It has been long since I've tried something from a first-person's perspective, and it amazes me how lack of practice for a year does to things. Mikaela (a temporary exotic name belonging to the lead) has obtained a jaded, curious personality and the sound of a monotonous recitation even though it's just the beginning. Perhaps this could be part of the story, or at least part of why it's badly needing a second attempt, despite my claims that it works just fine, it doesn't.
Chapter two has been slippery and I've been feeling I'm gradually losing the plot. One day it would be the best thing I've ever written and the next I would be staring at it and wondering for the nth time what has happened to me. It's also a first: incorporating too many characters with overly-colourful background histories and getting that to slip out bit by bit till all is complete in the end.Labels: i feel distressed, writer's block, writer's rambles
The sunrise without a beginning.
Time: 11:16 PM
Goodness me, where have I gone to?
I started on a short story plainly because I had some time to spare at night, but recently it has turned into an obsession. Of sorts. It demands to be remembered and improved. Now its characters are demanding modification and occasionally I find myself jotting down some sudden ideas on the notebook margins.
It's very disturbing.
I have 2000 words worth of it saved on Microsoft Word and currently it's my newest and hence most prized collection of imagery and scene clips I have in my possession. It's a tad confusing, since I have fallen for the middle portion and the ending has been written right down to The End, but I haven't been able to get it to start smoothly and convincingly, and my ideas are empty when it comes to tying all these bits and pieces together. Today I have tied phrases akin to flimsy string for a weak transition.
I yearn for it to continue, since it's my first attempt at a multi-faceted look at romance without dumb fantasies and mushy bits meshed into the lead's ignorance.Labels: i feel frustrated, writer's block, writer's rambles
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Say they won't disappoint me.
Written on: Monday, January 11, 2010
Time: 9:48 AM
It's the day. Today. I'm expecting a sunny afternoon, and I'm taking it light in case I disappoint myself. I do not want to do this, but who does one listen to when a voice says 'it would be fine' and another whispers 'do you think so'? Overjoyed or crushed I'll still be making my way to the Central Library for Grimm's Last Fairytale, which would be either a comfort or a reward.
I have been spinning yarn since 8am, and a pitiful 900+ words were the only thing I could coax out of my mind. It does not take into account the two hours I have spent lying in bed thinking about shaping it into form and its overall feel. The words do not come as naturally as before and this is only part of the difficulty. Some words I have forgotten, but there have been space for new ones.
Some like it deviant.Labels: books, school, writer's rambles
Insanity is there for me.
Written on: Friday, January 8, 2010
Time: 11:29 PM
Dated: 2 Feb 2009
English class: I completed yet another composition in less than two hours, which was worth celebrating; usually it takes about three hours to pen out something really well. There's a feeling of satisfaction, like as if one has just emerged from a refreshing shower, except the fatigue still remains and slowly melts into incurable ecstasy. I couldn't stop wondering if anyone else's was done.
'Heroes': what a simple yet deceiving title about maybe saving a drowning citizen or a puppy from potential abuse. Frankly I'd steer clear of happy endings to avoid the plot spinning out of my control and turning into hyper blooming parks filled with blissful children. I would turn every story I write into a tragedy in retrospective if I could, because tragedies are what keeps the plot moving with energy fuelled by pain and suffering. I would like it a lot if my teacher would sing my praises.
I ended with an eulogy: not about how a war hero was put on a pedestal in honour of his country, but rather of a humble mother educating her daughter after the demise of her husband, then perishing from a fire which she saved her daughter from. It is not a tear-jerker, but (hopefully) some piece of writing that leaves people with strange unexplainable feelings lodged deep inside their hearts like shards of diamond.
I wonder how I would fare attempting to write a long-drawn out affair of a murder; the outline (or skeleton; in fact, that was the name's true origin) seemed encouraging; usually what I write in a dreamy stupor at night turns out horribly pathetic in the morning, but this time it was alright.Labels: school, writer's rambles
Literally.
Time: 11:23 PM
Dated: 11 July 2009
Hannah Fury, Emilie Autumn and a hefty dosage of Neil Gaiman's work is the perfect concoction for another short story, but as it uplifts and gives hope it also tells me my talent would never match up to those authors/poets. Like I mentioned to a friend, 'Neil's a genius'.
I wish my way with words would be just as admiring, but I think not. They give me the impression they've been writing since the day they found out that moving a pencil in a structured direction produces a letter, and many repeated similar actions produce words. Well, if only life was better. Then again, without cruelty nothing could be accomplished. Hannah Fury is the perfect lovelorn, jaded poet who seems to know everything and deeper and sings about it in her whispery vocals. Emilie Autumn is the Victorian revolutionist, pretty and frightening in a thrilling way, with lace, blood and surprises in store. Her outbursts of emotion are far more outspoken: while she screams, Hannah's voice trembles quietly in the background. Blood will spill at her feet, but in Hannah's case it seeps through the carpet, soaking like wine.
I came up with another plot an hour before this, but woe, I won't be able to finish it till come December. It's depressing, but priorities are after all, priorities. I've taken an enormous amount of effort to push its beckoning tendrils away to a corner. It'll stew a little further till it's perfectly preserved and ready. Meanwhile the only thing I allow myself to do is to sketch out its structure, minute character details and some useless setting information, preserving it's nature, so it'll be the way it is when revisited. I wonder how Peishwen does it. If she was in my place, she would have finished the whole shebang there and then, no questions asked, no lingering doubts.Labels: music, neil gaiman, writer's rambles
Not so gothy.
Time: 11:18 PM
I'm not sure what I should be doing now. A decent portion of me wants to continue Goth for a little while, but 'little whiles' as most writers/artists ought to have realised, are a misnomer. I'm through chapter one, though I might be heading back for some minor adjustments, correcting the strange, disjointed parts and smoothening out parts of the story that didn't seem to flow well. It has been long since I've tried something from a first-person's perspective, and it amazes me how lack of practice for a year does to things. Mikaela (a temporary exotic name belonging to the lead) has obtained a jaded, curious personality and the sound of a monotonous recitation even though it's just the beginning. Perhaps this could be part of the story, or at least part of why it's badly needing a second attempt, despite my claims that it works just fine, it doesn't.
Chapter two has been slippery and I've been feeling I'm gradually losing the plot. One day it would be the best thing I've ever written and the next I would be staring at it and wondering for the nth time what has happened to me. It's also a first: incorporating too many characters with overly-colourful background histories and getting that to slip out bit by bit till all is complete in the end.Labels: i feel distressed, writer's block, writer's rambles
The sunrise without a beginning.
Time: 11:16 PM
Goodness me, where have I gone to?
I started on a short story plainly because I had some time to spare at night, but recently it has turned into an obsession. Of sorts. It demands to be remembered and improved. Now its characters are demanding modification and occasionally I find myself jotting down some sudden ideas on the notebook margins.
It's very disturbing.
I have 2000 words worth of it saved on Microsoft Word and currently it's my newest and hence most prized collection of imagery and scene clips I have in my possession. It's a tad confusing, since I have fallen for the middle portion and the ending has been written right down to The End, but I haven't been able to get it to start smoothly and convincingly, and my ideas are empty when it comes to tying all these bits and pieces together. Today I have tied phrases akin to flimsy string for a weak transition.
I yearn for it to continue, since it's my first attempt at a multi-faceted look at romance without dumb fantasies and mushy bits meshed into the lead's ignorance.Labels: i feel frustrated, writer's block, writer's rambles
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ABOUT ME
Charmaine/Emmy: FCPS, RSS, ___. Satire buff. Anglophile, pedagogue, nefarious grammarian-in-training and hedonistic pedant. Dreams of a pathologist office smelling of soap, disinfectant and disease. (Who forgets autopsies?) I'm a student and satisfied with it, and I'm not eligible to be a writer. Writers are sensitive, creative and they think out of the box but I'm more of a structured person. Then again everyone writes so writers are an exclusive category for published geniuses that do not include me. I like the glories of academia, medicine, reading books, dreaming and writing. I'm that sort of person who would rather party than study, whom one would make happier giving a medical journal/national geographic mag issue than, say, a fashion magazine. (I do read fashion mags when they come to me, but they aren't a necessity.) I'm boring/intriguing like that.
I am a step to University at the moment and I'm treading carefully in case I slip. I'm uncertain if I'll ever find a husband but that doesn't bother me much. This blog collects all my satisfactory writings.
Notes on writings
I don't usually curse, if at all, but at times for a piece of writing to be plausible certain undesirable elements have to be inserted to add reality to it. We all have seen our share of crude characters and for this, it would just be me writing about one. It's a little like writing about lust; written about, divulged, but never encouraged. To put this plainly: if it carries to reality, it is wrong. But since it isn't
technically reality, in my perspective it isn't.
I support pairings and I understand the norm do not. However I see no necessity to apologise for my head.
'You can't cut my heart into sections'
More books, more shelves.
Christianity, which in my perspective hinges less on modern-day hocus-pocus than the immutable truth.
My Chemical Romance.
Pathology.
German tank models.
Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson.
Vienna Teng.
Heath Ledger.
The Third Reich.
Bubble Tea.
Wishlist:
National/Victoria JC
Cambridge University
MCR album (2010)
A spiral-bound, shorthand notebook
Grimm's Last Fairytale (Haydn Middleton)
The Asylum For Wayward Victorian Girls (Emilie Autumn)
Young Adolf (Beryl Bainbridge)
Suspended Animation: Six Essays on the Preservation of Bodily Parts (F. Gonzalez-Crussi)
A Not Entirely Benign Procedure: Four Years As A Medical Student (Perri Klass)
Fry and Laurie 4 (Stephen Fry)
Mein Kampf (Adolf Hitler)
Emilie Autumn's The Opheliac Companion CD
Hannah Fury's The Thing That Feels CD
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NETWORK
I'm not too fond of alphebetical ordering.
Watson's Woes
Huddy Daily
SCHOOL:
Pearly
Ming Xuan
Cherie
RS choir
Marilyn
Mdm Haslinda
Keen Hoe
Arini
Sherilyn
Peishwen
Jasmine
Cheryl
Si Ying
Wei Loke
Liting
Sarah
Shi Mei
Michelle
Rui Xian
sadlydotcom
Derrick
Joey
Cynthia
June
James
Wendy
Vinus
Shi Yun
Yi Hui
COMRADES:
Jacy
JCOC:
Victoria
Canida
Sean
Medalene
Kareen
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ARCHIVE
January 2010
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