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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.

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Sunday, January 21, 2007

entry arrow9:42 AM | About Saturday

I had great, uninterrupted sleep last night. I simply sank into deep sleep somewhere between 10 o'clock and watching murderous Annette Bening in Mrs. Harris. But it had been a full Saturday that really started Friday night, when I chose not to sleep to finish cleaning the apartment, which had become a nuclear zone of mess.

When I wiped away the last bit of dirt from some forsaken corner of the pad, I proceeded to prepare for my two literary workshops slated for Saturday: first, a talk on the aspects of fiction and a small lecture on the demands of writing for children for my LitCritters (in the morning), and a lecture-workshop on poetry for the school paper staff (in the afternoon).

You could very well call last Saturday as my Creative Writing Day in hell, but both workshops went splendidly well. Even when I was so tired and sleepy, the whole day felt good, capped with great lunch with Mark over at Sans Rival.

The LitCritters, once again, made me proud by their ferocious command of literary criticism (where did this come from?) as we went through our latest batch of stories to read and critique. (This week's list is composed of children's stories by both Filipino and foreign writers.) The LitCritters were dramatically constipated by one short story which will remain unnamed (not yours, Dean and Nikki -- don't worry, hehehe), and there was froth practically forming in their mouths as they detailed their objections over a piece that, paraphrasing one LitCritter, felt like one huge cop-out that went nowhere fast. "And it was creepy to boot," said one.


After this long day, Mark and I went to have dinner with the gracious and beautiful artist Sharon Dadang-Rafols, and her husband Jaruvic. We were there to discuss Sharon's set design for the February 2 tribute to Dr. Edith Lopez Tiempo, which I am facilitating for both Silliman University and UP Likhaan. Sharon and Jaruvic's house, in beautiful Silliman Heights somewhere in the outskirts of Dumaguete, was truly and artistically avant-garde, an open-door affair embraced by perfectly placed plants (bamboo for the most part). I loved that dinner of bulad with green tomatoes, chicken from Golden Roy's, and paksiw. There went my diet, and I didn't care. I haven't seen Sharon in eons, and it was a great reunion of sorts.

The night breeze coming in and out of the house made it a cool evening to remember. And it also made me decide: this year, I'm getting me a house.

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