Sunday, August 30, 2015

Still Writing

August 24, 2015.
When I was a kid, I thought that, when I publish a book, I'd proudly show it off and place it at the top of the shelf in my house. Now that I've published a book and in the process of publishing another one, I learned that such a thing never happens to a writer. Nervousness and guilt are always eating away at me, making me wonder if what I wrote was right. Oh. Maybe I'm wrong. But even Nury Vittachi says that he regrets everything he's ever written.

Anyway, there are so many things that seem like something when people still haven't known them, and they turn out to be something else once they've known them. Writing is fun because, well, I just love writing. Everything just has its dark side, tho.

I remember being contacted by a 16-year-old girl on Twitter. She was like, "I'd like to be a writer like you. Tell me how you did it." Of course, I was happy to help. If there's anything more delightful than contributing to the world of books, it's adding another contributor. As I went on about the writing, research, and the creation of books, though, she became like, "I think I should just choose another job."

Oh, I can't lie and tell her that writing books is all about having her name printed near the title of a book and being known as an "author." At least, she learned the truth early enough.

Writing is hard only when a person is focused on the fanfare. For us who are just so in love with writing, we still complain, but we're still writing.

Saturday, August 29, 2015


You're like a cold shower
In the dark of midnight,
For you are the lover
Who freezes all my might.
You're like a white light bulb
In the very dark lab

Switching on suddenly.
You're like the horn of ship
On first day of the year.
You're like those airs that seep
From a cup of peppers.
I think I need some pears

But you won't give me some,
For you are so handsome,
And yet you're so lonesome

That you don't realize
How you're like a hot sauce
That spilled over my rice.
O the sickness you cause
Without intending to.
So stop being so blue.

Friday, August 28, 2015

That Head Will Turn

Let us do this fastly,
Because when the wind blows,
When she sings so freely,
When this strong flavor grows,
When the scents can abound,
That head will turn around

And see things we're hiding,
All the secrets we die for.
No, we won't be singing,
Though our hearts adore.
We will have to explain
Why each other we gain.

When lovers sneak away,
And hide from light of day,
Hear all the words they say

About us. They're talking.
Oh, why can't they leave us?
For we're also loving,
Like this good, lonely lass.
Why can't they accept this
Humanity we miss.

Thursday, August 27, 2015

How We Work

August 24, 2015
I have just been scheduling posts on HootSuite and, now, just went off OneNote to write this blog post. I keep my records of everyone and everything in OneNote, where there are passwords.

OneNote is awesome because it can be used even without Internet, it can be customized, and it can be protected with passwords. Yes, passwords. As in, there can be a password for every section of OneNote. And OneNote can have unlimited sections.

Images, videos, and even audio tracks can be stored in OneNote. My favorite feature is the tags. The tags of OneNote are consisted of colorful, little pictures of things like pad locks and people that can be chosen to be placed next to sentences that need to be remembered. I use it for Harvard, when I'm recording everything that my professor says and I outline different logics of them with different colors of digital higlighters.

I also use OneNote for plotting my novels. I create knowledge maps of the plots, where they start, the characters and places that they involve, and how everything should lead to the final point. I just love knowledge maps.

Of course, OneNote also has all the details about my readers. Independent authors do every job that traditional novelists hire professionals for, and one of them is traffic analysis. I keep demographics of my readers and update them when something changes.

This is only a piece of how writers like me work.

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Between Us

I don't know what to say,
For I've already said
Things you needed today.
I feel like a fast sled,
I have slipped off a cliff.
The cold air I can sniff

As I fall between snow.
The fall I've been fearing,
And my fear only grows.
I'm just discovering
That I kinda love this,
And I wish I won't miss.

If you're uncomfortable,
You might be unable
To face the truth able

That I said something else,
But if you understand,
Then the smoke that she smells,
The fire she can withstand.
Let's keep this between us,
And make it seem like was.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Whenever I See Him

Let's hope he ain't looking,
For I hide stuff I think,
Crazy imagining,
All he sees is a wink
When I'm turning away,
For I won't ever say

How I forget to breathe,
How I battle with rules,
How my emotions seethe
Like the sneaky drug mules,
How I become speechless,
And this balance is less.

I feel my world tumble,
And my values rumble
As defenses crumble

Like powerful earthquake,
Like a dark, raging storm,
Like overflowing lake,
Skipping all of their norm.
These are the things I feel
Whenever I see him.

Sunday, August 23, 2015

Staying in Good Terms

August 20, 2015. 11:50P.M.
My topic for this post is supposed to be "trust." There is something about the word that makes me wince. "Trust" is totally not a part of my personal language because I never trust, and because I understand if other people also never trust. I just don't feel like concentrating into the whole idea of trust.

Isn't it dangerous to trust? Trust is the complete dependence on someone's honesty. Humans are created imperfect and there will always be bad things wherever there are humans, so completely depending on someone's goodness takes a great deal of self-sacrifice. That's just from my opinion, of course. Anyone is welcome to correct me on this, because "trust" is just such an unknown word to me. It's not my specialty.

People say that I trust too easily. To be frank, I don't call it "trust." I call it "surrender." I always give people a chance to be mean to me, so that I can know if they're not worth my time. If the person gives me more good things than bad things, then we're friends. If the person brings nothing but damage, then to hell with him. I do only one of three things with the latter: leave him, kick him out of the place, or just kick him. ... Oh, okay, not so harsh. I really should try out forgiveness.

Harvard Classics professor Gregory Nagy said that the best way to good human relations is to keep focusing on only the good side. Most people, when meeting a person for the first time, always look for what is negative to find a reason to be mean and indifferent. There are actually few people like us, who like to see all sides and hold on to only the good side to remain in good terms.

Saturday, August 22, 2015

The Cobra

God knows what I'm thinking.
No one should ever know.
It's my way of naming,
Like the glade where grass grow,
All the black scales that twirl,
Embracing in a swirl.

He whispers like a snake.
His thoughts are in my head.
I really shall awake,
But "Stay here, love," he said
In delightful nightmare
That can both seduce and scare.

Everything I avoid,
How they give me this void.
It's the one named by Freud.

O will this ever end
In this dark gorge of high
Where all my values bend?
I don't even know why.
Might be because of me,
For I just can't be free.

Friday, August 21, 2015

What Gets Them

Yellow and dark flutter,
Flutter, flutter within.
They're tickling the latter.
I am already thin,
I feel too full of it
And this is a huge feat

To hide everything in.
I'm sure some of them spill,
Revealin' & leakin'
As if I took a pill.
Now, everyone's gossip,
From these secrets they seep

Though what am I hiding?
Thing I'm truly feeling.
This heart has been singing.

Shoutout to the whole world!
The thoughts I keep inside.
Though they've seemed so cold,
Like the walls on seaside,
They crumble in the waves
Of a feeling that craves.

Thursday, August 20, 2015

Present! :D

August 18, 2015. 11:20P.M.
When it comes to blogging, it pays to be extremely honest. To be very, very honest right now, I'm having a hell of a writer's block. A writer's block is when a writer can't write.

Well, I'm writing. But I'm writing randomly. I have no particular topic, and I'm just filling enough space of this page with my words just to be able to say that I was present on my blog today.

I have been trying out different topics in the past minutes, but I always end up deleting all of them. My first topic was about "trust" and what I think of it. The second topic was about why I put the writing of "Only the Good" aside for a while. The third topic was about how the storm scared me from traveling to Marikina today (ordinarily, I'd be delighted at the idea of facing another storm, but I was carrying my friend's notebook in a paper bag and she'd be mad at me for getting it wet). The fourth topic was about my worst moment in poetry and my best moment in poetry. My fifth topic was about my poetry inspirations. My sixth topic was about what makes my current location better from my original location. My seventh topic was about what I think when I look at the evening sky and admire the stars.

I just deleted all of them because I ended up writing contradicting ideas. Also, I'm kinda done writing about my novels. I've been writing about my novels for like, five months now.

... there. :) I filled enough space of the page with my words. This should be my blog post for today.

Wednesday, August 19, 2015


You fill me with highness.
You are like hydrogen.
You make me feel weightless.
You're not like oxygen.
You make me out of breath.
You make me lose my depth

Making me just human,
Hopelessly loving you.
You are the greatest man
I've seen in this great blue,
Endless sleek of the sea,
But you're the one I see.

Always inside my head,
Correctly you've read
Everything I have said.

I find no more escape
After all these long years
Of writing the landscape,
And concealing my fears.
You make me bold, happy
Crazy, unreasonable, free.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015


They're all looking at us.
Look innocent, my love.
Let's leave behind what was,
And cherish what we have,
Although they disturb this eve
And ideas I conceive.

Like the new grasses green,
The fresh breath of the air,
The pink roses that win,
And sweet honey so fair,
You have the voice of beasts,
And I look to the east

Wondering where we'll hide,
So this love they can't chide.
We can't always abide.

Though on them we depend;
Our scandals they sell,
And they pray that we end,
For their own hearts still swell
For either you or I,
And no one can know why.

Monday, August 17, 2015

With the Devil

Like a cliff I can't jump,
A quicksand that caught me,
Killing the light of lamp,
I no longer feel free,
But still, it feels so good,
And I won't even brood.

He is the enemy,
And every, single thing,
Pain that go against me.
Caught in dangerous fling
Of the light and darkness,
Goodwill and wickedness.

When will this ever end?
Whenever these minds bend
For our love we lend

I am filled with deep guilt
Whenever he's with me,
Like patterns on a quilt.
Nor can I let him free.
Here's a perfect love song
In which one word went wrong.

Sunday, August 16, 2015

The Past, the Present, and the Future

August 10, 2015. (11:43P.M.)
After writing my post for Wednesday, I had a bit of nap and then traveled to Cainta. There was this tall building there, and I climbed to the fifth floor. It had a wonderful view of the Sierra Madre mountain range. Such irreplaceable view. I had French fries in one of their fast food restaurants. It was a bit annoying, though, 'cause the customers had squeezed the gravy dispenser dry and the staff was too busy annoying the other customers to add more gravy. I'm not even exaggerating the description. It was weird.

After that, I went home, and I've been here before my laptop. I'm going about my usual work and just wrote a poem for Apollo. I never write a poem "about" Apollo, I just write a poem "for" Apollo.

Apollo is the Greek god of poetry itself, and I always end up writing for the god when I can't figure out something. My old poems for him always mentioned mirrors, water, and other things that create reflection. Because art reflects life and vice versa, and also, my original reason for writing poems was reflection.

They are similar to my poem, "Dear Calliope," which seeks the help of the most important goddess among the Muses (the goddess who is in charge of kings and what kings say during negotiations; she has to do with choosing the right words to say) in helping a friend in need.

Erm ... my friend had asked me to write a love poem to help her get some guy's attention, and ... well, I just couldn't figure out if I should do it. "Dear Calliope" decided that I should just do it. That was 2013, I think. My friend didn't tell me if they ended up together, even though we're still friends. They probably didn't, since I wasn't completely into the idea of being some ghost poet between lovers LOL

Saturday, August 15, 2015


It's like a little snag,
It's like a cube of salt,
Like walking in the fog,
And like a little colt.
I will cover my nose,
And my mouth, no one knows

What happened here today.
Nobody wants to know.
Keep it behind the grey,
Though the gossips will grow.
I won't be part of it.
Alive, you they will eat.

Take this red, warm blanket,
And take this foodie packet,
And my precious locket.

And hide 'til the next day,
Or until you can face
All of their talking, hey,
It's not bad a race
If just to cover up.
You can just take a nap.

Friday, August 14, 2015

Epic Desire

He's like the Scean gates,
Powerful and defiant.
He's like the wailing Fates,
Full of his vengeful want.
Makes me see asphodels
In the sweet warmth of cells.

He makes me feel captive
To his dark, wicked charm.
However he'll deceive,
His face can still disarm,
He's killing me again,
And again 'til the end.

But do we ever end?
The message that we send,
The deeper love we lend

Calls out to many hearts,
Bringing the universe
Together in these arts
Of complicated verse.
He has been my real one,
Even now when he's been gone.

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Blogging Horrors

August 10, 2015. (2:50A.M.)
It's Monday and I haven't had any bit of sleep. Yesss. *sarcastic tone*

I'm trying to write a blog post, but it seems that every good topic I come up with is either too dangerous, or is actually just a rumor. This always happens to me when writing blog posts. I was reading my old journal entries from May, and came upon an entry where I was freaking out, "That's just blogging, isn't it? You thought you've written the perfect post about what someone said, and then *poof!* Google said that she actually never said it!"

My Delete button is overused. But isn't it better to keep deleting, than to have to face everyone and explain what you wrote? O how I fear such a moment. That's why I always double-check the things I write before publishing. I double check too much (it's not "double" anymore), that I tend to actually miss some small mistakes. For example, I didn't see that my two previous posts were dated "July" even though I wrote them in August.

I remember pausing on May 3, a few days after my first whole month on blogging daily, and being like, "Now, let's look back and marvel at of the catastrophe you wrote, Charlene." Miraculously, I didn't say anything that horrible in March and April. Even though I barely realized what I was already writing, I didn't end up selling anyone out haha I almost did in one post, but no one noticed it and I simply deleted it. *wide grin*

My worst month in blogging has to be June, definitely. I still haven't looked back on my posts last month, though. I've been coming up with all sorts of excuses to not read them. Heaven forbid.

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

Look Who's Trolling

My head is very full
Of these visions of you.
I work hard to sound cool,
Though songs of my heart flew.
Please, let the sweet pass by
Because I might soon cry.

You know we've touched before,
Where our minds dissolve
In depths of our core.
This conflict, who will solve?
How can we work this out
When logic is in rout?

Man, look intelligent,
Looking like a great gent,
Like the previous Went.

Have we been too obvious?
O the pained pangs of guilt,
And the whole world's curious,
Like the threads of a quilt.
Souls knotted together,
Though apart forever.

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

The Sorcerers

All of them have him wrong,
For they didn't know me.
They listen to my songs,
Songs available free.
I keep them in shadows,
So that my young heart grows

Free from their prejudice,
Like Pluto at the end,
Like the action they miss,
For they see who I send,
And the songs that I share.
How I mislead, beware.

I keep crafting my lies,
So all their thinking flies,
And I am on the rise.

You're the one who caught me,
Like a bird in a net.
No longer am I free,
Growing my heart you let
Within your brawny hands,
As we swish our wands.

Monday, August 10, 2015


Waves swaying in the sea,
Depths of the huge ocean,
These only these hearts see.
Make me fly high, this can,
To the tall, blue mountains.
Things that my soul contains.

Where the cold mist, shadows,
And cold woods creep the soul,
And the devourer grows.
A world that can make whole.
These that make power weak,
Melting for gold I seek

And the waves grow stronger,
Powerful like anger,
Chilling like a stranger.

These make me say strange things,
Waiting 'til I get there
On not-so-thoughtful wings.
There's a charm in unfair,
And there's equality
In too much quality.

Sunday, August 9, 2015


July 5 9:13P.M.
I'm writing this on July 5, a few hours after writing my post for July 6, but this is scheduled for July 9 in Philippine time. This scheduling business can get so confusing and complicated, especially when your readers are all over the world. At least, people are reading ...

My friends have been surprised how I finished "10th Commandment" so quickly. Seriously, do they even consider that quick ...? I've been creating a hell of a drama behind this blog about writing it, because it's so horribly difficult. But I should just remember what my artist friend told me, "If it's not hard, it's not worth it."

Aside from having to go back in time and go back to a place that I hated and remembering the worst injuries I've had, there are two things in writing that novel that made me freak out too much. People can't stop laughing about it, though, because both things aren't really that scary to an average person. I don't even feel like talking about those things.

Ending the story was just as difficult, because I've become quite attached to the characters and their lives after four months. I just miss all the mountains, slums and the many different landscapes described in the book. I had so much fun when it came to descriptions of the views.

Now, it's time for "Only the Good." I'm currently trying to figure out how to make a couple of characters more interesting. It's Neb and Dior. They're a couple of politicians who are the parents of the protagonist, Stella. They seemed so interesting when I created them last year, but now I'm bored with the same old thing. Maybe Neb should be corrupt and Dior should be cheating. Just to spice things up. Depends.


Rolling waves all splashing,
Red roses lay yonder,
Still making me wonder

On these two ways I stand,
Even during thunder,
Red roses lay yonder.

Still striving to be good,
Trying to be stronger,
Even during thunder.

Wherever my heart goes,
Like a restless ranger,
Trying to be stronger.

Looking for beautiful
In the arms of danger,
Like a restless ranger.

I hear angels singing
As I go far closer,
Rolling waves all splashing,
Still making me wonder.

Thursday, August 6, 2015

... there is no escape ...

July 5, 2015. 3:26PM
I'm back here because my friend scolded me last night about why I shouldn't leave blogging. He said that blogging is actually good for me. I don't see that, though.

Many of us writers just dislike this part of being a writer. It's the part where we have to talk about ourselves, our lives, and our thoughts. If you read through John Gilstrap's tweets, he also tends to express these things about writing. Many of us hate social media. I might become like one of these authors.

Still, I'm back to blogging and currently planning how I'll organize my regular posts with the poems, tweets, and Facebook posts. I made a big mistake last Sunday with my posts for my Facebook page. The posts just ended up appearing on my personal Facebook account and not on the official page.

The plan now is to schedule the poems for Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday starting next week. Regular blog posts will be scheduled for only Wednesdays and Saturdays. You just saw my poem, "Of the Fair Ankles." It's one of my most mischievous poems because it concludes that the Trojan War was actually caused by Briseis. Classicists know that it isn't true. I was just joking.

Of the Fair Ankles

A fight between kings
That brings down a nation.
Like the eagle of wings,
Call the war formation,
Seek the phalanx of men,
Cry for all red and then

A battle to the skies,
To the depths of the earth,
Wherever the bird flies,
It depends on their birth
Of fury and sorrow,
Of honor that won't grow.

Like scent of a lover,
The war isn't over
Over the red river.

It tastes bitter, ain't it?
Then how far shall we go
'Til enemies we meet?
Are these just by ego,
Or are we just humans
On will of a woman?

Sunday, August 2, 2015


I won in Camp NaNoWriMo July 2015. Starting on Wednesday, all of my blog posts will be scheduled for the whole month and I'll publish only poems. That's all that I'm gonna say. The end. *bow*

LOL! Okay. Today, I went through my old hometown and had lunch at the mall. It's nice to be in a place where you've been since you're a kid. The old people treat you like you're still a kid hahaha

The weather was good and the winds felt like the whole town was air-conditioned, so I decided to sneak away to the mountains. Ever since I finished "10th Commandment," I've been feeling like being a little more reckless. Having a project to stay focused on had kept me cautious and a bit moody for four months, because I couldn't afford to forget something and make a mistake. I'm my weirdest when I'm writing a novel.

Now, though, I'm back to being cheerful and escaping. I miss escaping to faraway places, running across highways, chasing buses, and just facing the elements while being among people who don't know me and not letting the people at home know where I've been. It's nice to travel on a road not because you're going somewhere, but because you simply want to know how far you can go. It's nice to discover new places, find new passages, and make new friends. I've known since I was young that I'm far safer among strangers than among people who know me. *looks around me to check if any of my friends saw what I wrote hehe* Just kidding, guys.

Now, I'm back home and busy looking innocent, wearing my no-I-didn't-go-nowhere face. I was on Spotify at 1am before making my escape, and now I'm back on Spotify. Just playlisting. I still haven't done my end-of-the-month blog checkup, but thanks for reading anyway! :D Tomorrow, I'll be back to writing novels.

I'll be finishing "Only the Good" and please wish me luck because that story is horribly violent and traumatic. Once I finish it, I'll adjust "10th Commandment" according to my beta readers' feedback, and then I'll publish the novel.