What Have You Done Lately?
I’m suffering a little bit from the what-have-you-done-lately syndrome. The truth is I’ve done a lot, but it’s limited for the most part to the confines of the university.
I’m still getting responses to that thing I won last September, especially after the winning piece was released in Heights. An acclaimed literary critic asked me if the guy I wrote about was still alive. A philo classmate asked me if the guy I wrote about was me. And some girl said to someone else, “That’s the guy who won the Palanca” before saying something like I only wrote about my leg and that she guessed that’s the kind of shit judges fall for.
All this further fuels my insecurity of having only won because I had something interesting in my life to write about.
People have been asking if I have an entry for this year’s awards. An eight-time winner of a teacher gave me an entry form. I probably am going to have another entry this year. I just have to figure out what that entry will be.
I have a theory: If you’ve been in the game for some time, your first win would simply be icing on the cake, a nice but unnecessary affirmation. But if you win as a young nobody, your name will always come with some doubt until you win another. I’ve had a former Filipino teacher jokingly confirm this theory. Jokes are always half-meant, right?
My last nationally published piece came last summer, and I recently found out that I should’ve been paid for it—I wasn’t. Since then, I’ve only sent out two or three more pieces—all rejected.
The most recent fruits of my journalistic endeavors still hang in the balance because of a lack of funding, so fingers are crossed, novenas would be prayed if I was really that religious.
And lastly, a prestigious national workshop has started to accept applicants. I’m currently trying to put together a manuscript without knowing what exactly they’re looking for or whether or not my pieces are even flirting with their standards.
I’m still getting responses to that thing I won last September, especially after the winning piece was released in Heights. An acclaimed literary critic asked me if the guy I wrote about was still alive. A philo classmate asked me if the guy I wrote about was me. And some girl said to someone else, “That’s the guy who won the Palanca” before saying something like I only wrote about my leg and that she guessed that’s the kind of shit judges fall for.
All this further fuels my insecurity of having only won because I had something interesting in my life to write about.
People have been asking if I have an entry for this year’s awards. An eight-time winner of a teacher gave me an entry form. I probably am going to have another entry this year. I just have to figure out what that entry will be.
I have a theory: If you’ve been in the game for some time, your first win would simply be icing on the cake, a nice but unnecessary affirmation. But if you win as a young nobody, your name will always come with some doubt until you win another. I’ve had a former Filipino teacher jokingly confirm this theory. Jokes are always half-meant, right?
My last nationally published piece came last summer, and I recently found out that I should’ve been paid for it—I wasn’t. Since then, I’ve only sent out two or three more pieces—all rejected.
The most recent fruits of my journalistic endeavors still hang in the balance because of a lack of funding, so fingers are crossed, novenas would be prayed if I was really that religious.
And lastly, a prestigious national workshop has started to accept applicants. I’m currently trying to put together a manuscript without knowing what exactly they’re looking for or whether or not my pieces are even flirting with their standards.
posted by M.V. at 10:08 PM
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