Last month, I bought front row tickets to see my most favorite band in the world ever, live in concert - Train.

Uh-huh. Cause I am fly like that.

There aren’t a lot of things sexier than listening to Pat Monahan’s voice, except maybe listening to Pat Monahan’s voice while he’s singing four feet away from where you and a horde of other girls are gathered, shrieking for a lock of his chest hair and punching bouncers for getting in their line of vision. (That he started peeling at least one layer of clothing off after every song might have contributed to this.) I am trying to sound cool and cocky as I write this like I hadn’t succumbed to the teenage fangirl mob mentality at any point during the concert, but unfortunately I was right up there with the rest of my crazed Train-loving soul sisters, screaming my lungs out.

But the biggest surprise came when he sang “Marry Me”.

Yes, this “Marry Me”.

At this point, Pat Monahan abandons the stage and begins dancing his way through the crowd like the stampede of girls suddenly attempting to track the coordinates of his booty-shaking path down the aisles ISN’T HIS FAULT AT ALL, NO SIREEBOB. But what startled me was when he picks up a hysterical girl’s camera, aims it in both their directions, and snaps a photo on the fly. Then he hands the camera back to the now-orgasming lady, finds another camera, and takes another photo of himself and a lucky fan.

Eventually, dozens of girls are now waving their camera screenshots in the air and hollering like mad, and from every one I could see he had captured the photos perfectly. Centered images, no heads were sliced or harmed in the making of this picture kind of good. It’s hard enough to take pictures of yourself, much less if it’s not even your camera to begin with.

Holy shit, I thought. For all his suave and talent and booty, I never would have expected Pat Monahan to not only possess the same skill subset as your average narcissistic thirteen-year old tween, but that he would pwn it so, so hard.

And then, because writing is never that far away from my mind even when you’re in the same breathing space as one of your favorite celebrities, that got me thinking about characters. One of my favorite fictional characters is a little Belgian detective with an egg-shaped head, named Hercule Poirot. He’s very dapper and elegant, dines at only the best restaurants with unpronounceable French meals, and has bank drafts of four hundred and forty-four pounds and four ounces. He likes toast because bread is symmetrically shaped. For all his finickiness and seeming orderliness though, Poirot also picks locks with passing familiarity, trespasses frequently, reads suspects’ personal love letters with little inclination for personal privacy, and has even [HIGHLIGHT FOR SPOILER]

[/SPOILER]. It seems like a walking contradiction when you understand Poirot always advocates for legal justice, but this apparent inconsistency makes him a more interesting personality to me (and his views on the subject changes gradually the more cases he undertakes, as seen in the Murder on the Orient Express and the Murder of Roger Ackroyd.)

you had me at mustache.

That’s what I try to think about when writing characters. No one is ever one-dimensional. Just because someone seems happy and cheerful most of the time doesn’t mean he’s happy and cheerful all the time.  And part of the challenge is adding in an odd quirk or habit to a protagonist or antagonist that makes readers think hey, this is not a skill or a trait I would imagine this person to have but that’s awesome, and still make it work.

YES I AM THAT GOOD.

Train’s been writing and performing for years. I can’t imagine how many tours they’ve been on, how many people in sold-out concerts they’ve played to, and how many times Pat Monahan’s taken photos with fans. So when you think about it, it’s pretty logical that he could take a camera, gauge at a glance how it works based on the hundreds he’s already handled, then angle his arm the right way to snap the perfect picture. He’s not good at it because he’s vain, but it’s a side effect of being a performer beloved by his fanbase. In the same manner I could write about a surly, sword-wielding teenage boy who happens to be afraid of heights, or an awkward, stuttering geek with no upper body strength but with a natural grace that could put Igor Zaripov to shame, and find ways to believably string these contradictions into their personalities.

It’s not the only step toward making a three-dimensional, rounded out character, but it’s one of the best places to start. As Monahan himself would sing, in a slightly out-of-context song: shake it up.

Also: an extremely crappy and incomplete recording of “Save Me, San Francisco”, taken from the concert. Apologies for the very sucky bass sounds. My camera hates subwoofers.

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Featuring an 8 inch version of Sheik from Legend of Zelda!

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What do you do when it’s midnight and you’re hungry? Rummage through the fridge and invent meals based on what you see! (Husband’s fault. Gonna be so happy-fat if this keeps up.)

Udon 1.) 1 serving of udon noodles, 2.) a tablespoon of soy sauce, 3.) soup stock (warning: don’t use more than half of a chicken broth cube when you’re only making a bowlful of noodles), 4.) roasted seaweed strips. Came out pretty good, if a little too strong on broth.

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To those who didn’t know: on the 27th of November last year, I got a new roommate. We celebrated this by dressing up, booking a garden venue and inviting over two hundred and fifty people to watch because here in the Philippines, we take finding a a good roommate very seriously.

made for me by my sister, Kim

Jun Salud: wedding coordinator for the day

Also, a very different kind of wedding video. Because we’re too cool for slow romantic songs and crap like that.

A quick rundown for everyone who’s interested (and I recommend everyone listed here):

venue: Fernbrook Gardens

video and photos: Wally Gonzales Photography

wedding dress: Merlene Marcelo

caterer: Josiah’s Catering (facebook)

hair and makeup: Realm Make-Up (ote_realm [at] yahoo.com, contact:  3770623/09198013388)

photobooth: Purplebox Photos (facebook - guests, get your photbooth photos here!)

music: Serene8 Music Company

flowers: 15-58 Flowers (facebook account)

wedding coordinators: Jhune Salud

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I made a Cloud Strife / Sephiroth tandem ages ago, and am now updating with some bigger, and better versions, and adding in Tifa Lockhart as well! Available here and here!

Cloud Strife

Sephiroth

Tifa Lockhart

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Here is something you may not know: I’m terrified of writing.

I’m terrified of roaches, too. But the fear of winged insects is only an outward reaction to an external environment you have no control over, an equation best explained as

[involuntary chemical imbalance]
_________________________________________
[illogical phobia] + [childhood trauma]

Writing is a controlled substance. It’s a life form lodged inside your skull. It uses your head as a personal crystal ball so it can read the swirling tea leaves of your brain matter. It’s an extension of both your personality and your life choices. And to take all that and put it out there for the whole world to see, can be a horrifying thing. And the kicker? Writers do this voluntarily.

A better equation would be

([disturbingly vivid imagination] + [reading compulsion]) - ([fear of failure] + [privacy issues])
_______________________________________________________________________________________
([emulation of writing influences] x [pride that one can do better than current contemporaries]) + [mild hypergraphia]

Every character and every plot is a functioning organ of your person. They can be as useless as an appendix, as relevant as a spinal cord. Sometimes you don’t know what they’re needed for, like spleens or men’s nipples, but they make up an integral part of the whole sum of you. Showing them off in public is akin to stripping naked in front of a live studio audience with a vindictive laugh track.

So I make noncommittal replies when a few people express a desire to read some of my works, or I hastily cover up my laptop screen when someone attempts to read through a working novel. A chapter or two reluctantly relinquished to curious proofreaders are accompanied by a fluttering of “It’s not quite done yet”s and “It’s still not very good”s and “There’s still lots of things to improve”s.  When people nod politely when I gingerly explain I’m a struggling writer, and change topics at first opportunity, clearly disinterested, relief is the first emotion to sprout, because the need to express myself more coherently has just been rendered moot.

There is no real point to this post other than a visible attempt to psych myself up to be more open about certain works. Almost done with final revisions, and it’s only just begun to hit me - what the hell am I trying to get myself into?

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1. Live every other day like it’s your last one on earth, then live the other days like you’ve got all the time in the world.

2. Get a life, not a career. Never trade in the first for the second. Make a career out of life, not a life out of your career. The amount of money you get annually should not be the measuring standard of your life’s accomplishments. Money depreciates every year. Your time does not - it grows more valuable, the older you get.

3. Facebook is not your ongoing autobiography. Tumblr is not your sense of humor. Google is not the sum of your intelligence. So get out of the house every now and then and watch a movie. Introspect in a park. Call up some friends and plan a trip. Tell a joke to someone in person. Repeat.

4. You’re only as fat as you think you are. Have a banana, have a chocolate bar. Some days you’ll feel thick and bloated, other days you’ll feel svelte and sexy, and this will not be a question of diet or appetite, but a question of attitude.

5. Fall in love as many times as you wish. Fall out of love as many times as you wish. It is not your fault for wanting to end a relationship. Settling for a man or a woman interested in their own needs because you’re afraid of being alone, is not a relationship. Being alone is being with someone who doesn’t love you as much. Break hearts, including your own. Don’t be afraid to say no.

6. Don’t be afraid to say yes.  Say yes to people who want to help. Say yes to skydiving, or cave exploring, or adopting a kitten. Say yes to the opportunities you want, no matter how ridiculous or when everyone else says you shouldn’t. Say yes to nice geeky guys from school who awkwardly ask you out on a date. Eight years from now, you could be telling him ‘I do’. Eight years from now, you could be laughing beside him in bed, debating whether or not Sir Elton John should be required to fight for England in times of war. (He think Sir Elton should.)

7. Argue. Fight for the things you believe in; you have the right to an opinion. Learn magnanimity when you think you are right. Learn humility when you know you are wrong.

8. Write like an asshole. Write like a saint. Write like you’re on death row. Write like you’re on reprieve. Write on the very best day of your life, and write at your absolute worst.

But write.

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For a year or so this blog has been my proverbial dumping ground for internet LOL memes, ridiculous pundit-sniping, and even a few writing gems that have garnered some level of attention / controversy.

But mostly internet LOL memes.

2012, I feel, is a perfect time to overhaul this blog. 2011 was the year I decided to give writing a serious go, as opposed to the half-jesting attempts I’ve made in the five years before that. 2012 will be spent solidifying that desire - maybe even turn it into a publishing reality, despite the billion and one obstacles in my path.

I guess if you want something badly, it shouldn’t come easily.

Current arsenal in my utility belt, to wit:

Manuscript #1: off to the querying pool in 2012

Manuscript #2: first draftage in process, to be completed within the year

Manuscript #3: first draftage in process, to be completed within the year

And so, here’s to the new year and new opportunities - may 2012 give you everything you are owed, and all that you deserve!

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