sex talk

I'm back.

I've stopped writing for a while because it was getting in the way of my day job, which has really demanded my full concentration the past weeks. It still demands much of my time, and will continue to do so for weeks to come, but I figured since I have time enough to browse the internet and be active on some forums anyway, I might as well spend some time here as well. And so, I'm back.

I've noticed recently that for quite some time now I've had a bunch of sex-related stories floating around in my head. I just never got about to actually writing them because I haven't the slightest idea where these things are supposed to begin. Does a story begin after the act, lying in bed, when she realizes she betrayed her sister? Does it begin in the grocery store, on lane 23, the first time he saw her smile? And then there's the problem of actually writing (or deciding not to write) the gory details of the act itself. What are the boundaries of good taste?

Sex is a fascinating topic. It can bring people together, tear people apart, mend them, break them. It is a basic instinct and it is an expression of love. And it is an expression of hate. It is nothing. And it is everything. All at once.

How very curious.

Sex brings about all sorts of complications within a human being that my stories of monsters and gods and suicides and death do not measure to half its intricacies. And it's real, and it's around you. It's around me, at least. And I want to write it.

Needless to say the stuff I write will be based on true events, because if it's something about sex, more often than not it's been done. A friend's story. Something on the news. An old, old tale that has changed through the years but has not once ended happily ever after. There are so many stories to tell.

I'll start writing again tomorrow. I don't know what story I'll start with -- probably the one about What His Brother Taught Him -- but I hope I write it well.

Good luck, me.

lull

Once upon a time, Frank thought he could write a story a day. He figured every day he had an internet connection he could spend a few minutes and write down a couple of scenes from the jillion stories he has in his head. Quite obviously he was naive.

After three days of cheating on his stories (ignoring narratives, making things up in 15 minutes, stupid piggies) he realized he was no good. But still he wanted to keep going.

Unfortunately things got busy and he didn't have time after work to spend a few minutes cheating on his next story. And so he missed thursday and friday last week. On the weekend he was off the internet.

Yesterday, the sixth day, he was busy pretending to be busy. It's difficult looking like you're doing something important when you're out of tasks to do, which is necessary when everyone else around you seems to be in a hurry doing some important things. And so Frank missed his sixth day. Bummer.

Today Frank will leave for the beach, for some four day seminar on company direction or something. It will be unlikely that Frank will be able to post anything in those days, but he will try to write, something long hopefully, to fill in the blanks.

For now, Frank is waiting for people to load the bus, because he has gotten tired of writing about himself in the third person.

three. the sixth little piggy.

This little piggy went to work.

You see, someone had to pay for the stuff the first little piggy bought on impulse while out shopping. And someone had to pay for the cable TV and internet used by the second little piggy who wouldn't get his lazy ass off the couch. And someone had to pay for the roast beef, chicken wings and buffalo steaks gulped down by the third not-so-little piggy. And someone had to pay for the medical bills of the fourth severely anorexic little piggy. And then finally, someone had to pay the very expensive shrink assigned by the court to the fifth little piggy who wouldn't stop going "wee, wee, wee" wherever he went.

So the sixth little piggy left, and went to work.

two. a short one.

She waited. There was a little time left.

She had been waiting for three hours already, far longer than the reactor was able to hold up, but she waited still.

You're late, she remembered telling him on their first date. He apologized on his knees, drawing the attention of everyone at the theater. She blushed and ran out the door. He caught up with her. He always did.

She waited some more. Four hours. Four and a half. The noise was getting louder. She could feel her skin drying up. She was thirsty. Not a good sign.

Thirty more minutes, she thought. He never let me wait more than five hours. Well, once maybe. But that was an emergency.

Somewhere in the building, a pipe burst. She could feel the explosion in her knees.

Fifteen minutes. She couldn't feel the lever any more. She couldn't feel her hand.

Ten minutes.

I'm sorry, she said. Her mouth wouldn't move.

Five minutes, she thought. Just five minutes.

She felt the floor hit her head.

She waited.

one. in the beginning.

Lukas March: Case number 00-51727, Lukas March interviewing patient Frank Manuel, January 21, 2008, 10:52 PM Philippine Time. Mr. Manuel, care to introduce yourself?

Frank Manuel: My name is Frank III Augustine Yap Manuel. I am 24 years old and perfectly sane.

L.M.: Mr. Manuel, this interview is being held at your request, following the procedure outlined in GP-314 which you had previously agreed to beforehand, is this correct?

F.M.: Yes.

L.M.: Then we shall begin. [audible sigh] Mr. Manuel, when you were admitted on the 6th of August three years ago, you were yelling something.

F.M.: Yes.

L.M.: Would you please tell us what it was you shouted?

F.M.: I shouted that we were aliens. I was hysterical at the time, you have to understand. I didn't put together the whole of it yet, so I can see why people would find that statement, uhm, crazy.

L.M.: Not crazy, I'm sure, just a little unusual.

F.M.: Don't worry about it. I know it was crazy.

L.M.: And while admitted, you were shouting things as well, is this correct?

F.M.: Yes, I shouted whatever new revelations came to me. I'm sure they also sounded crazy at the time.

L.M.: Revelations? Did someone reveal these things to you?

F.M.: No, not revelations then. Discoveries. Epiphanies? Just something that occurred to me.

L.M.: The same way one's imagination would occur to him, perhaps?

F.M.: No! More like the same way the solution to a complicated math equation would occur to a sixth grader or something. Like, they have no business knowing the answer but they just do! You know what I mean?

L.M.: I see. [sound of pencil tapping] What sort of discoveries would this be then, Mr. Manuel?

F.M.: What?

L.M.: What were these discoveries about?

F.M.: The origin of Life. No, wait. The origin of Intelligent Life. [noted emphasis on "intelligent"]

L.M.: Can you define what you mean by "Intelligent Life" Mr. Manuel?

F.M.: I mean humans. Us. People like you and me who can think, reason, apply logic to various situations.

L.M.: Uhuh. Can you describe these discoveries to me, Mr. Manuel? For the record.

F.M.: [sighs loudly] Here goes. A long, long time ago - this was perhaps billions upon billions of years ago, there was a planet. It was -

L.M.: Did it have a name?

F.M.: If it did, I don't know it.

L.M.: I see.

F.M.: It was probably small; for some reason I have the impression that it was small. And it didn't have much in the way of terrain. Everything was quite flat. Or it just seemed that way.

L.M.: Sort of like the moon?

F.M.: Yes, much like the moon. Only it wasn't the moon because then I would have known it was the moon.

L.M.: I see.

F.M.: Anyway, this planet had creatures. They were wispy, like clouds, and were almost immaterial. There were lots of them, billions of them, and they all swirled around each other effortlessly, a lot like mist, because they were immaterial, see?

L.M.: Yes, I see.

F.M.: So this planet, it exploded, I don't know why, and most of these creatures were vaporized on the spot. But a whole bunch of them, they got sent flying in all directions. I don't know where they all went, but one of them flew through lightyears of space, billions of lightyears even, and landed on earth. Yes?

L.M.: If it flew billions of lightyears, even at the speed of light it would have been traveling for billions of years at least, right?

F.M.: Right, well, remember when I said they were sort of immaterial? Because of that, they are able to travel much faster than light. Like, the speed of thought. And they also existed in a different realm from us. No four dimensions, no matter, no gravity. They could travel through planets as easily as we walk through air.

L.M.: I see. I see. Please continue.

F.M.: So they can go through stuff, right? But they have an affinity for electricity. So this one creature, right, this survivor, he shot through billions of lightyears of space and reaches our galaxy, our solar system even. And then wham!, it smashes into earth, totally by accident.

L.M.: Uhuh.

F.M.: And it just so happened that at that time, there was a storm somewhere on earth, lots of electrical activity, see? So for a while, the creature was floating around in the sky, just like another wisp of cloud, until a lightning bolt sent it flying downward towards the ground. Then the lightning bold hit a dumb old ape square on the noggin, zap! And guess where the creature went.

L.M.: Into the ape?

F.M.: Right! See what I'm saying?

L.M.: Uhuh..

F.M.: So now this creature, this alien, it became a "Thought", see? An "Idea". It gave the ape a consciousness it was previously incapable of.

L.M.: So the ape didn't die.

F.M.: Ah, no, the ape didn't die. And the ape had enough electrical activity in its brain to sustain the Thought so that it didn't die either.

L.M.: I see.

F.M.: So the Thought survived, and the ape reproduced, and as it did the Thought reproduced with it. This continued for generations and generations, for millions of years, until the Thought and the ape were indistinguishable. Together they learned to use tools, build houses, create a civilization. And then they became us. Human.

L.M.: Hmm.

F.M.: That's it.

L.M.: I see. Mr. Manuel, can you describe how these "discoveries" came to you? More specifically, how the first "discovery" came to you.

F.M.: I was sitting on my computer, trying to write a story.

L.M.: What kind of story?

F.M.: Uhh, fiction. Speculative fiction.

L.M.: Specifically science fiction perhaps?

F.M.: Yes, but that's not quite important. I could have been sitting on the toilet or brushing my teeth and it would have come to me.

L.M.: I see. One last question Mr. Manuel. For what purpose did you request this interview?

F.M.: Uh, to let people know, I guess? People should know how they came to be. It's a birthright or something. And I shouldn't be kept in here, I'm not a danger to myself or to anyone. I should be allowed to share this knowledge with others! Who knows, maybe some other survivors landed on other planets, or even on earth, and entered other animals like dolphins or dogs! We could find intelligences other than our own!

L.M.: I see. Is there anything else you would like to add to this interview, Mr. Manuel?

F.M.: That's it? You've no more questions?

L.M.: Uh, no sir.

F.M.: You're gonna show this to the media, right? Give it to someone to turn into a book?

L.M.: As outlined in GP-314 I will furnish a transcript of this interview for your lawyer and keep the original tape in file. It is up to you and your lawyer what you do with it.

F.M.: Can I get a copy?

L.M.: You're going to have to ask your lawyer.

F.M.: I see. Well, thanks then.

L.M.: Good luck, Mr. Manuel.

a story a day

I've decided to create a new blog in which I will try to write a story a day. But since the blogger domains "astoryaday", "a-story-a-day" and even "storyaday" have been taken (by people who haven't written in a long, long time), I've decided to use this, an old blog I've never used. It'll have to do.

Realistically speaking, I probably won't be able to post a story a day, since it's not every day that I have internet connectivity. Also, there will be some days when I won't be around my laptop, or when I simply won't have the time to write (or when I just don't feel like it).

But this project is an attempt to tackle the many problems I have when writing - deadlines, writer's block, and sappy prose. I've been thinking for much too long and have been writing too many essays and blogs. I need to return to fiction.

Don't expect any bestsellers. I'll likely only be able to write flash fiction, fragmented and pointless, nothing more than studies or scenes of my stories. But I will try my best to have a plot and to write nicely. I fancy myself a writer after all.

Cheerio!