This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.
Interested in What I Create?
The Boy The Girl
The Rat The Rabbit
and the Last Magic Days
Republic of Carnage
Three Horror Stories
For the Way We Live Now
Stories and Poems
From a Forgotten Life
Ateneo de Naga University Press, 2018
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
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
1:49 AM |
Excerpt From Another New Story
This is the second story I wrote this week -- and the fourth one this year. For a slowpoke like me who usually writes one story a year, this is pretty much a good run. What accounts for the sudden deluge of fiction-writing? Four things: LitCritters, which is the best push ever devised for writing. Deadlines for friends' anthologies. Coming off one particularly bad phase in my eternal bouts of manic-depression. And the realization that life is too short to just mope around and not do anything. I wrote this story in white heat for another anthology, starting around lunch time in Chantilly, where I had several cups of brewed coffee, an Oreo cake, fish fillet with rice, and spaghetti al funghi. I stopped for a bit to go to my 3 to 4 pm class, and pursued the ending till almost nine o'clock at night in Scooby's Snack Bar where I had a large cup of iced tea. This story freaked me out. I am never writing another horror story ever again. Guess what, I have another story to finish this week for another friend's anthology...From The Flicker
Late one night, the people in the neighborhood began to notice that there was a faint glow coming from one of the upstairs windows—soft like candlelight, but steady, its orange glimmer almost bright red.
“Someone is living in the old Ballesteros house,” Grandmother Meding said. She had crossed the quick distance between the landing of the stairs and the picture window beside the front door, and drew the curtains quickly. There was a tension in her voice, almost a tight gasp, and when she saw the faraway light steadying, she crossed herself, the names of the saints quickly issuing forth from her lips in a rushed whisper.
Elena, leaving on the dining table the kitchen knives she was wiping with a dry cloth, came to the window. “But it can’t be. It has been more than ten years…” she said.
“Eleven,” grandmother said in a dead, defeated tone, cutting in, “Eleven years, to be exact.”
“Not since?”“Not since.”
,” that last one from Elena, who drew a nervous step back, and then looked at the clock on the wall, noting how far late into the night it already was.
“What is it, Ma?” came a girl’s sleepy voice from behind them.
“None of your business, Anita,” Elena said, spinning around and shushing away the girl back to the dark upstairs. “Go back to your bed. It’s very, very late, hija
If Grandmother Meding had not closed the curtains at the instance of the girl’s query, they would have seen the flickering light brightening from the distant windows, its glow floating from room to room of the silent old house.
Everywhere in the neighborhood, the night suddenly seemed too long. Continues...
Labels: fiction, writing
 This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
GO TO OLDER POSTS
GO TO NEWER POSTS