This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.
Don't Tell Anyone:
With Shakira Andrea Sison
Pride Press / Anvil Publishing, 2017
Cupful of Anger,
Bottle Full of Smoke:
The Stories of
Jose V. Montebon Jr.
Silliman Writers Series, 2017
First Sight of Snow
and Other Stories
Encounters Chapbook Series
Et Al Books, 2014
Celebration: An Anthology to Commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Silliman University National Writers Workshop
Sands and Coral, 2011-2013
Silliman University, 2013
Handulantaw: Celebrating 50 Years of Culture and the Arts in Silliman
Tao Foundation and Silliman University Cultural Affairs Committee, 2013
Inday Goes About Her Day
Locsin Books, 2012
Beautiful Accidents: Stories
University of the Philippines Press, 2011
Heartbreak & Magic: Stories of Fantasy and Horror
Old Movies and Other Stories
National Commission for Culture
and the Arts, 2006
FutureShock Prose: An Anthology of Young Writers and New Literatures
Sands and Coral, 2003
Nominated for Best Anthology
2004 National Book Awards
Follow the Spy
Blogs I Read
IAN ROSALES CASOCOT
Monday, December 18, 2006
3:49 PM |
Betrayal By the Book
I am never, ever, ever, ever
lending out any of my books and movies again. Ever. Kahit
best friend pa kita
, or my boss, or the angel who saved my life. Ever.
It's so sad when you lend out in good faith something you love (and that you know you need in future researches), to somebody who promises to move heaven and earth to take care of it -- and then just as quickly forget that promise. It's a betrayal of sorts.
See, I had been commissioned to write an essay on "Literature in Negros Oriental" for a coffeetable book about my province to be published in New York. One of my main sources, Kabilin
, edited by Merlie Alunan and Bobby Villasis, was borrowed by somebody I genuinely like (and still do) -- but the book's gone.
I'm in mourning. The book was quite rare, too. I bought it for P1,000, knowing that only a few (one? two?) copies were left. And it's gone.
The Silliman Library has a copy, of course. (Thanks, Ma'am Ce, for the tip!
) I guess that's the only way I could go about things now. It's not the same feeling as having one all your own, though -- something that you can read wherever and whenever you want to. (I'm getting sad all over again.)
So how about my commissioned piece? I'll come up with something, but my research on my novel on the old families of Negros has really been compromised. I really don't know what to do. I just hope I'll find another copy of Kabilin
elsewhere. This time, I'll never let it go.
Labels: books, life
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