Saturday, September 27, 2008

An SBI website owner's moment on the Oprah Winfrey Show

A moment of fame comes when you least expect it. This was what happened to Jill and her husband Jose who were asked to appear on the Oprah Winfrey Show on September 23, 2008. Both husband and wife are SBI website owners of www.your-rv-lifestyle Jill and Jose thought someone was just playing a prank on them. Of course they discovered that the call from the Oprah Winfrey Show was for real.

The show wanted to know the impact of the economy on people's finances and retirement plans. The premise of the show was: Can people continue to have the life that they want like camping trips, extended vacations, a seasonal home and the list continues - given the present financial situation, the economic downturn, the rising cost of fuel, food and almost everything else... and so forth?

And there they were, Jill and Jose, two SBIers telling millions of TV viewers that they are well on the financial road. Their dream life is to continue spending less and living more.

How genuinely customer-friendly and caring indeed this SBI web hosting company is. If Jill and Jose can reach the life of their dreams through SBI!, then the Oprah Winfrey Show tells you and me a lot of things.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Friday, September 12, 2008

What is bad writing?

"Rob Parnell is the foremost writing guru in the world." Vin Smith,
Midnight Bookworm.

What is Bad Writing?

by Rob Parnell

http://www.easywaytowrite.com/

Let's first decide what is good writing.

Basically, anything that transports you as a reader is good. In a sense, it doesn't matter if the writing has lots of faults. Good writing is that which works for you - even though others might not agree. It's a personal thing.

Bad writing can work for your mother, your spouse or your best friends. They will not see the faults - and neither will you.

But good writing is what moves many people - and for the right reasons. This is why best selling authors are by definition good writers, even though the purists might criticize their style.

I've seen many arguments on writers' groups over the years about JK Rowling. It's fairly widely acknowledged (amongst writers) that her writing style leaves a lot to be desired. She breaks a lot of the rules of good writing but, her fans say, that's not important. Her mission is to tell great stories - which she's clearly very good at - and so who's to say she's a bad writer?

How can millions of readers be wrong?

I used to have this same argument with musicians. It's easy for purists and cynics to say 'Madonna is crap' but I would say that she must be talented and wonderful simply because she's so incredibly popular. To me, success is the benchmark.

If someone can inspire adoration, sales and loyal followers then surely you have to say they are talented.

And writers who can inspire millions with their words must be good at what they do.

You might not like Dan Brown's writing style. I've heard many writers criticize him - but you can't ignore the profound effect his writing has had on the public. I've read all of his books - and I can't believe he's made us wait so long for his next one!

There are many tell tale signs of ineffective writing. Bad grammar, clunky self consciousness, verbosity, authorial intrusion, lack of basic point of view skills - and a hundred and one other things that I cover in many of the 100 or so articles on my website. But don't let the mechanics - or rules - get you down.

Many would be great storytellers get so worried about their writing style, with all its faults, that they stop themselves from writing - for fear of embarrassing themselves.

But this is not productive.

Only writing is productive.

Pick up the rules as you go along - but don't stop yourself from writing. Listen to what others say and make adjustments but never believe you're not as good as anyone else.

Having read a million or so manuscripts in the last 30 years I would say there is only one really bad way to write.

And that is when an author deliberately sets out to write to IMPRESS.

You can tell they're saying, "Look at me, look at my writing! Aren't I great, isn't my writing superb!" Because, ironically this has precisely the opposite effect on the reader.

They might not quite understand why they don't like it - but that niggling feeling that the author wants you to be impressed with them can be very irritating to read.

In a perfect world, the author must disappear from view. The only important thing is the story - or in non fiction, the information.

The interesting thing to me is that once authors grasp this fact, their writing seems to get better on its own.

Because the rules of writing are simply there to help clarify your meaning to readers. And good writing is clear writing.

Bad writing is that which is confusing, deliberately obscure or simply hard to read. It may be perfectly grammatical and error free but, let's face it, if it's dull and uninspiring, it's bad writing.

Best regards and keep writing!

Let's first decide what is good writing.

Basically, anything that transports you as a reader is good. In a sense, it doesn't matter if the writing has lots of faults. Good writing is that which works for you - even though others might not agree. It's a personal thing.

Bad writing can work for your mother, your spouse or your best friends. They will not see the faults - and neither will you.

But good writing is what moves many people - and for the right reasons. This is why best selling authors are by definition good writers, even though the purists might criticize their style.

I've seen many arguments on writers' groups over the years about JK Rowling. It's fairly widely acknowledged (amongst writers) that her writing style leaves a lot to be desired. She breaks a lot of the rules of good writing but, her fans say, that's not important. Her mission is to tell great stories - which she's clearly very good at - and so who's to say she's a bad writer?

How can millions of readers be wrong?

I used to have this same argument with musicians. It's easy for purists and cynics to say 'Madonna is crap' but I would say that she must be talented and wonderful simply because she's so incredibly popular. To me, success is the benchmark.

If someone can inspire adoration, sales and loyal followers then surely you have to say they are talented.

And writers who can inspire millions with their words must be good at what they do.

You might not like Dan Brown's writing style. I've heard many writers criticize him - but you can't ignore the profound effect his writing has had on the public. I've read all of his books - and I can't believe he's made us wait so long for his next one!

There are many tell tale signs of ineffective writing. Bad grammar, clunky self consciousness, verbosity, authorial intrusion, lack of basic point of view skills - and a hundred and one other things that I cover in many of the 100 or so articles on my website. But don't let the mechanics - or rules - get you down.

Many would be great storytellers get so worried about their writing style, with all its faults, that they stop themselves from writing - for fear of embarrassing themselves.

But this is not productive.

Only writing is productive.

Pick up the rules as you go along - but don't stop yourself from writing. Listen to what others say and make adjustments but never believe you're not as good as anyone else.

Having read a million or so manuscripts in the last 30 years I would say there is only one really bad way to write.

And that is when an author deliberately sets out to write to IMPRESS.

You can tell they're saying, "Look at me, look at my writing! Aren't I great, isn't my writing superb!" Because, ironically this has precisely the opposite effect on the reader.

They might not quite understand why they don't like it - but that niggling feeling that the author wants you to be impressed with them can be very irritating to read.

In a perfect world, the author must disappear from view. The only important thing is the story - or in non fiction, the information.

The interesting thing to me is that once authors grasp this fact, their writing seems to get better on its own.

Because the rules of writing are simply there to help clarify your meaning to readers. And good writing is clear writing.

Bad writing is that which is confusing, deliberately obscure or simply hard to read. It may be perfectly grammatical and error free but, let's face it, if it's dull and uninspiring, it's bad writing.

Best regards and keep writing!

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Valiente is his name





He could rule the world. He could rule with justice and compassion just like any other human being equipped with the predisposing factors of power, the kind that comes from the finest side of a human being. But this morning, Valiente is in a white coffin at the receiving area of city hall just beside the flagpole where the city’s human power put their right palm on their chest to pledge allegiance to God and country every Monday morning.

“Ang mamatay ng dahil saiyo” sounds perfunctory.

“To die for you, my country” - what does this really mean, murmured the lean and spent warm bodies of about 500 urban poor residents of Barangay Isla Blanca A waiting for the city mayor to answer their demands for the redress of their grievances.

At noontime yesterday, a demolition crew of 300 rushed to Isla Blanca A to forcibly clear the area of what the City Development Authority viewed as nuisance, therefore “eyesores” in the city as the government always referred to the urban poor since Adam. There were 300 families to be driven away purportedly to give way to the construction of a dike and the government brought in an armed demolition team of 300 men.

In less than an hour, the human barricade of protesting citizens of the city was broken and the creaking and cracking sound of backhoes mingled with the sounds of heaving and bursting chests.

“Wala kayong kaluluwa! Hindi niyo iginagalang ang batas!” You have no compassion! You don’t heed what the law says. These words reverberated in Isla Blanca A, an urban village occupied by rural poor migrants for 40 years now. Why this clearing operation happens at a time when there is a rice and oil crisis, the citizens of the city could only make the sign of the cross to explain the situation.

“Ang tao/ Ang bayan/ ngayon ay lumalaban!” The people/ The nation/ Demands redress of grievances now…This chant was repeated like a mantra while the people waited for the mayor to come and meet them.

Valiente’s parents were stone-faced. They exerted a calm appearance. Just two days ago Marianina and Estan were proud parents of Valiente. The young boy could mimic the TV matinee idol to the neighbors’ surprise.He could count from 1 to 50. He could pronounce words with "r" and this amazed the neighbors.

“One day he will be the President of the Philippines,” teased the neighbors who asserted that dreams are freebies so they can dream big with no one stopping them.

At 11:00 in the morning, the mayor finally inched towards the chanting crowd. When the mayor greeted the crowd, the chanting stopped and the group’s spokesperson addressed the mayor courteously.

“We have nowhere to go, Mayor. What remains with us are ourselves and this dead body of 2-year old Valiente in front of us. In the consternation yesterday after the demolition crew fired on the air, he fell on the creek. Valiente’s mother thought the baby was with her older sister but events happened so fast. There is nothing left to us now but our homelessness and our grief. We invoke our rights in Section 28 of the Urban Development and Housing Act. We have rights too under the United Nations Convention on Social and Economic Rights.

”Where are these rights in this city?”

The Mayor displayed his poker face as usual and in a carefully worded pronouncement told the crowd that they should be patient and try to understand that the country wants to move forward. He was sorry that the creek accident happened. Careful not to blame the parents for the death of the baby, he promised that city hall would shoulder the burial expenses.

“What about our homes? “

“What about our livelihood? We are staying on the sidewalk right now. We deserve a relocation site near our sources of livelihood.”

As usual, the Mayor’s answer was a poker face. He promised the group that he would call the City Development Authority and the Public Highways to finalize the subject of resettlement.

The people’s anger showed when the mayor couldn’t make a categorical commitment. The speaker’s fists were clenched as he heaved a sigh.

“Mayor, we are citizens of this city too. We will set up tents on these grounds until we are settled as human beings.”

There was silence like something to be revered or to be feared just whiffed by and people could not move including the mayor.

“You’ll get Isla Blanca B as your resettlement site. That is only a 30-minute ride from city hall. Just wait a bit for the development of the site.”

Nerves started to calm down but someone from the crowd who had seen very little drinking water since their homes were dismantled yesterday said: “Kindly give us a written copy of your commitment, Mayor.”

As some solutions evolved, Valiente’s story is repeated in other areas in the country where dreams of greatness that could be the corner stone of a truly humane society are snuffed out at a flick of a finger.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Rainsong

The sound of paper ashes separating from the flames brought in the memory of an afternoon rain more than two decades ago. Yes, twenty-five years ago, Richard and I were under one umbrella heading to a community meeting. We were both social workers in the city. He sang under the rain. “You’ve got a friend”. Twenty-five years ago to this day, only time and space have changed --- I still hear Richard singing when it rains.

Under the New Year’s Eve sky I watched the pages of letters, photos, book markers and other sheets of scented paper curl and burn.

“This moment has to pass or an infinity of frozen love songs on the guitar would never leave."

The songs that Richard sang to me when he wanted me to laugh needed to burn as I emptied my box of memorabilia on the embers before me.

"How do I burn the songs in my heart?”

I closed my eyes trying to be calm as I performed my ritual of good bye. As I was a struggling prisoner of memory, the New Year was a kind of key that would unlock my door. I needed to do this ritual to move on. After an hour of listening to the sound of ashes separating from sheets of paper, I entered my room promising myself not to cry. I took a pen and a piece of paper and wrote whatever it was that I felt that moment. I traced my own unique map of emotions. Why should that sense of completeness I’ve been running after intensely be always out of my reach? Why have other people been so lucky to catch their special starlight?

I wrote my manifesto of letting go:

“To an all-loving Universe, I know, you are there to support me. I am removing my grip on the memory of Richard that haunted me for twenty-five years. I let that memory go with the flames a while ago. The New Year will find me a free woman –loving but never having a grip on love again. I will be fine.”

The ritual somehow gave me inner peace. The tears that flowed even when unbidden stopped and for the first time I found the energy to surf the internet for dating sites. I surfed and surfed and ended up with a dating site for Capricorns. John Wesley popped up with the profile that attracted me: Independent Consultant on Participatory Processes. Loves poetry and music. Loves to cuddle by the fireplace.

“Ah another Capricorn.”

“What is it in Capricorns that you can’t resist” asked John in one of his emails."

“I don’t know. It’s just that I am surrounded by Capricorns. My best friends are Capricorns. “

John and me wrote lengthy letters to each other. We called our exchange “co-journaling.”

He sent me a poem that I thought had replaced the stubborn song in my heart. I kept this poem in my wallet at the back of John’s photo as a sort of talisman against vulnerability to Richard’s possible return.

In Passing

Do you see
ebb and flow
under
moonshine?
And we
the salts
of
earth and stars;
couched
pensively
textures of each
and
our own
easing magically
sipping spirits
a warm
eternal hearth.

Today is another New Year’s Eve , 5 years after my New Year’s Eve ritual. I heard a familiar voice in the neighborhood. “You’ve Got a Friend”. I couldn’t believe it. It was Richard on the guitar. My neighbor is a former colleague who is now an independent consultant in Indonesia. She was also Richard’s former colleague.

I got news that Richard has been widowed seventeen years ago and never remarried.
I heaved a sigh and saw myself as a bird perched on a dry twig. The twig was about to break but I was not afraid. I could fly.