New year, new job

Post by Geolette Esguerra.

The Great Crash

As far as I'm concerned, this is probably one of the most difficult weeks of my life. In plain words, it sucked. No it wasn't the worst, I've probably had more horrible days, like when my grandmother died and our publisher was asking me when I'd be finishing the magazine (that wasn't due yet, mind you). Nope, this isn't it—not the worst, not by a mile. But it was trying, it was difficult, and I'm glad it's (almost over).

Virginia Woolf’s writing table at Monk’s House, Sussex, England, 1967.  Photo by Gisele Freund.

Last week I was coming to terms with what they call writing stamina—how does one write a career piece in less than 2,500 words? Simple, you don't write with 2,500 words, you write with 6,000. And so I did write 6,000 words. I wrote it continuously with almost no sleep in a span of 12 hours. Making it necessitated many hours of research, interview, pre-writing, and fact checking, transcribing, and even watching films from the '60s. As to who the subject is—you'll find out soon enough. Probably in a few days. I'm quite excited about it.

I also had to finish most of my stories for Metro last week. Now anyone who know me well enough and have worked with me many times in the past would attest that I am simply unable to comply with deadlines. Which is why I have to trick myself into believing the deadlines are much much earlier. Otherwise, I won't be able to finish anything. I need that extra kick from deadline danger to get my into a sort of creative overdrive. Sadly, the idea of a looming deadline gives me extraordinary focus, one thing that's difficult for me to achieve without.

The thing is, after every writing marathon is the Great Crash. I am unable to function normally. I sleep poorly. I cannot spell ordinary words. I run out of ideas. I dislike anything bright. I avoid people. 

This was a trying week because I still had a lot to do despite this rollercoaster of emotions. Things to do, people to meet, stories to write, subjects to interview, people to shoot, events to attend (although I skipped out on most, sorry guys).

In any case, I'm glad this week is over, just 30 minutes and it'll be done. Monday will present another battle.  

Stuck, help me Susan Orlean

I’m stuck.

As I find myself in the process of writing another career story (when I say career, I don’t mean kinareer, in the vernacular—that I worked extra, double hard on something—but rather, that the bosses are paying more attention to this piece than any other celebrity piece I’ve written before), and at this moment, I am stuck. Grasping for straws, so the idiom goes, but thankfully I still have a few hours until I’m supposed to turn it over. In moments like this, when I’m stuck and need rhythm, I turn to writers that I like. One of those is Susan Orlean, probably one of the living writers I have most respect for. Why do I love her? She knows how to launch a kicker, charm you with unique turns-of-phrase, and install milestones to launch spurts of dopamine to keep you reading from paragraph to paragraph.

I have three books of her that I refer to all the time:

My Kind of Place

The Bullfighter Checks Her Makeup

and Saturday Night

I also have a copy of The Orchid Thief but for the life of me, I can’t seem to finish it.

Times like these, I distract myself by walking around to find that elusive lead, one that will lead me from beginning to end. I hope I find you soon.