Second Post.

2010-02-13T00:59:00.001-08:00

'Don't use words too big for the subject. Don't say "infinitely" when you mean "very"; otherwise you'll have no word left when you want to talk about something really infinite.' - C.S. Lewis

It's Chinese New Year eve (I'm Chinese, by the way), and I received what is known as a 'red packet'. Basically it's a... red packet with money inside. We Chinese have a tendency to celebrate prosperity at the 'wrongest' time (think Budget Day), but it's worth the celebratory cause.

I'm earnestly trying to finish up as much writing as possible. Noting that my examinations is coming up in 2 weeks time, I think it's a worthy cause to at least upload one or two stories by then.

Going along the lines... It is weird how the word 'story' has kind of attributed to 'children'. Is it just me? Or do others agree? "Bedtime stories... Childhood stories..." It's given the word a whole new meaning. The term 'novel' seem more apt now- but I don't write novels... well not yet, at least. Short stories are my thing; and they ought to be for some time.

Here's one example of a SUPER short story I wrote some time back:

______________________

Sanity/Death

The morose eyes stared at the picture. Nonchalance, apathy, indifference. Signs of aging madness were the only indication of life in him. The frail, sickly man did not register the voice of the psychiatrist. His face was gaunt, a skeleton beyond itself; the thin frame of his body was supported against the wall, a strait jacket restraining him. However, behind the eyes of deadness, the brain worked against rusting cogs, as images of the faces in the picture whizzed through his mind. It represented happy, fulfilling memories of him and that person.

Suddenly the man began to convulse violently. He clutched onto his chest, breathing short and erratic gasps. His windpipe collapsed; the breathings became faster and shorter. And then he slowly ceased to exist.

As the dying man lay on the floor, his eyes fell on the picture that was on the cold concrete. The irony fell short; his eyes closed in finality, accepting death. At least he would see his beloved one again. The torments of the world would end at this very point. And he breathed his last…

---O---

The psychiatrist smiled. Packing up the hypodermic needle, he proceeded to pick up the photograph. At least this patient did not feel the small jab as he passed the picture. It was successful. The rest responded nonsensically, maniacally, as if they knew the woman in the picture. But only he gave the acute signs of sanity; he knew the woman in the picture all too well. And he had no reason not to…

____________________

Looking back on the quote by C.S. Lewis, perhaps it could be harmful for such choices of verbosity. Sometimes stories don't have to be expressed so vividly; but seeing where I've come from long ago, I think a little more words are in order.

I leave you with this story, perhaps pondering about life. I wrote this short story after an emotionally triggering episode with accompaniments of likewise 'emotional' music. It speaks of our duo state of mind; we sometimes possess the ability to think two way and ACCEPT both logics. Then comes the time when we are challenged in our minds; make a decision and make it fast- because you'll never know what's coming next.

With this I officially bid farewell. Dinner is waiting like a T-Rex for his prey.

Happy Chinese New Year Eve!

Damian Wong

First Post.

2010-02-11T17:25:00.000-08:00

Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia. ~E.L. Doctorow

Ok, first things first. I don't know who E.L. Doctorow is, but the quote make sense. It simply does.

Well I'm back to blogging again. And it's not for me; it's for the world this time.

I've realised in my 17 (going on 18) years of existence, words have played a major role in my life; quite obviously so. It's helped people; it's hurt people; it's killed people. The power of words has literal and mostly supposed meanings. It can spear the hearts and minds without a single thought. That's what it is.

But I set up this blog not in hopes of destroying faith and hopes in dreams and the likes, but hopefully to reiterate my life and the likes through the blogger's medium.

Why the url, you might ask. Simply this; words do not and cannot exist by themselves. They are temporal, just like many other things in the world. They need substance that has been imbued care, concern, thought, love, hate, grief, trouble, hatred, lies, sacrifice, humility... The list goes on.

Ask yourself what makes a good story? Is it the engaging dialogue? Is it the careful use of verbosity? Is it the extended description of the setting?

Perhaps all of these have to do with a good story, but I firmly believe in one better notion; that each story has a tale to tell; a worthwhile story with a meaning for all to comprehend and note... and perhaps guide your mindset from sheer ignorance to blissful understanding. That's my aim. And by golly I hope I get it right (by the way, I'm not British).

I'm not perfect. My words aren't solidified in the ages of history; but I will use them to my advantage... and for your blessing. So take care and let the words flow out like a ceaseless spring.

Damian Wong

Damian lives in Singapore and is currently pursing a diploma in Law and Management in Temasek Polytechnic. Apart from writing, he loves hanging out with friends, playing drums and watching anything on television.

We Speak, Not Talk.

Second Post.

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