Just woke up this 7am.
My mother and I watched "American Sniper" last night. Even though my family does not like that type of war movie (the Delfins are a military family in the Philippines, and nobody likes to relax by watching a movie about his job), they had taken interest in the movie after what happened last year.
We've watched "American Sniper" so many times before, but never got to finish it. We attempted again last night, but I tuned out. It's hard to focus when I see the same things. The movie looks way too familiar. Soldiers, guns, etc. Talks about war, war strategies, and military terms. Soon, I was like, zzzZ.
Woke up only after the movie. Logged in to my other account to debate with my friend for two hours about Indonesian greetings. Debates where both parties know very little about the topic can last a liftetime haha
Wrote my poem at 2am, and was about to start "10th Commandment" when I got a headache. So I went back to sleep.
Just added more songs to "Side B." When writing a story, I spend much more time on the creation of the villain than on any character because he's hardest to understand. My initial reaction to all of my villains is fear and disgust, and I can't write a story feeling those things. I need to care about my villain. Just looking for something lovable. I give him heart. The most challenging question in writing the story has been, How can a man who cares about others kill so many people and destroy lives, celebrate it, and waste so much time and energy on devising plans to kill even more? With every scene, I keep writing side notes on how he's weighing the options on his mind, deciding whether to murder, or let the chance pass.
I've gotten so used to spending time with these characters, that it's inevitable to let them go. We are all about to say goodbye. Currently listening to "Tears and Rain" by James Blunt. I associate it a lot with my protagonist, Evelyn.
I have failed to publish my "The Shining" review on Bubblews because, um, I've been asleep. "American Sniper" reminded me that my insomnia had been winning too much.
For NaPoWriMo 2015 Day Twenty-Three, we are to choose a playing card from a deck of cards, write for five minutes about it, and create a poem out of what we've written.
I don't play cards. I've always been curious about playing cards, but everyone around me had been keeping me away from them. When I was a child, my mother was like, "It's gambling." She hid all the cards in the house from me. I met this stranger who worked in a Las Vegas casino last year, and he was like, "My advice is that you shouldn't start. It's basically gambling. You seem like a good person. So don't even try it, for my sake." That's why I know nothing of cards.
For the NaPoWriMo challenge, I simply Google image searched "playing cards" and chose whichever card was clearest. I don't know what it's called, but it's black-and-white, has a tree shape in the middle and letter A's on the corners. I wrote about what it looked like and what its appearance reminded me of.
This poem is the one I've written in all of April that has the least metaphors, except for "ram." RAM (Reform the Armed Forces Movement) killed a child in my hometown while they exchanged fire with Camp Aguinaldo over the Delfin ancestral house via air in 1987. It's sad when old comrades fight. Us Delfins had always been on the loyal and good side, and it's truly sad when old comrades fight.
The man who I mentioned in the poem helped me last year in solving a certain code from my past. He's one of the inspirations behind my NaNoWriMo 2014 novel, "Alter Ego."
The Coder
Home was where I came from
And now I face symbols.
They represent like ram,
They remind of rubble
And of a certain game.
I don't recall the name.
They also remind of
A place from my own past,
Where letters were aloft.
But the memories still last.
Now that I think of it,
The reason starts to meet.
It was a house, a game.
It was a coded name.
How can I be so lame?
He advised me last year
That all these roads lead back.
All the terror and fear.
They were caused by a stack.
Nowhere far shall I roam,
For the answer is home.
My mother and I watched "American Sniper" last night. Even though my family does not like that type of war movie (the Delfins are a military family in the Philippines, and nobody likes to relax by watching a movie about his job), they had taken interest in the movie after what happened last year.
We've watched "American Sniper" so many times before, but never got to finish it. We attempted again last night, but I tuned out. It's hard to focus when I see the same things. The movie looks way too familiar. Soldiers, guns, etc. Talks about war, war strategies, and military terms. Soon, I was like, zzzZ.
Woke up only after the movie. Logged in to my other account to debate with my friend for two hours about Indonesian greetings. Debates where both parties know very little about the topic can last a liftetime haha
Wrote my poem at 2am, and was about to start "10th Commandment" when I got a headache. So I went back to sleep.
Just added more songs to "Side B." When writing a story, I spend much more time on the creation of the villain than on any character because he's hardest to understand. My initial reaction to all of my villains is fear and disgust, and I can't write a story feeling those things. I need to care about my villain. Just looking for something lovable. I give him heart. The most challenging question in writing the story has been, How can a man who cares about others kill so many people and destroy lives, celebrate it, and waste so much time and energy on devising plans to kill even more? With every scene, I keep writing side notes on how he's weighing the options on his mind, deciding whether to murder, or let the chance pass.
I've gotten so used to spending time with these characters, that it's inevitable to let them go. We are all about to say goodbye. Currently listening to "Tears and Rain" by James Blunt. I associate it a lot with my protagonist, Evelyn.
I have failed to publish my "The Shining" review on Bubblews because, um, I've been asleep. "American Sniper" reminded me that my insomnia had been winning too much.
For NaPoWriMo 2015 Day Twenty-Three, we are to choose a playing card from a deck of cards, write for five minutes about it, and create a poem out of what we've written.
I don't play cards. I've always been curious about playing cards, but everyone around me had been keeping me away from them. When I was a child, my mother was like, "It's gambling." She hid all the cards in the house from me. I met this stranger who worked in a Las Vegas casino last year, and he was like, "My advice is that you shouldn't start. It's basically gambling. You seem like a good person. So don't even try it, for my sake." That's why I know nothing of cards.
For the NaPoWriMo challenge, I simply Google image searched "playing cards" and chose whichever card was clearest. I don't know what it's called, but it's black-and-white, has a tree shape in the middle and letter A's on the corners. I wrote about what it looked like and what its appearance reminded me of.
This poem is the one I've written in all of April that has the least metaphors, except for "ram." RAM (Reform the Armed Forces Movement) killed a child in my hometown while they exchanged fire with Camp Aguinaldo over the Delfin ancestral house via air in 1987. It's sad when old comrades fight. Us Delfins had always been on the loyal and good side, and it's truly sad when old comrades fight.
The man who I mentioned in the poem helped me last year in solving a certain code from my past. He's one of the inspirations behind my NaNoWriMo 2014 novel, "Alter Ego."
The Coder
Home was where I came from
And now I face symbols.
They represent like ram,
They remind of rubble
And of a certain game.
I don't recall the name.
They also remind of
A place from my own past,
Where letters were aloft.
But the memories still last.
Now that I think of it,
The reason starts to meet.
It was a house, a game.
It was a coded name.
How can I be so lame?
He advised me last year
That all these roads lead back.
All the terror and fear.
They were caused by a stack.
Nowhere far shall I roam,
For the answer is home.
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