June firsts

journal entry #3

part i: a first draft

I finished the first draft of a novel! Not a client’s this time, no. Mine. 🥹

The writing is horrendous. There’s so much that needs to be fixed. Everything needs to be rewritten until it becomes even somewhat presentable. But I say all of this with glee because the words are there—all fifty thousand of them. The characters are there. The story. The scenes and how they flow from one another. Without a doubt, it’s a completed first draft!

A beautiful, messy first draft.

My beautiful, messy first draft.

I’ve contemplated whether this news is even worth sharing. Lots of people are finishing novels left and right. Many are already in their final drafts, are represented by agents, or are making money off their stories.

Some have ignited bidding wars, have landed six-figure deals, are tackling publish dates and cover reveals and book tours. There are authors making the New York Times bestselling charts and getting their work translated into forty languages.

What is my first draft compared to those?

I think my ideal scenario would have been to get published, sell a lot of books, and only then would I talk about the first draft. There’s this urge to have achieved something first—to hold a clear sign of success before revealing any evidence that I tried, as if that could shield me from dismissal, criticism, or disappointment.

Around the tail end of 2023, I had an idea for a novel and decided to give it a serious try. I have never actually completed a first draft before, so I framed it as a challenge. My goal wasn’t to write a masterpiece; it wasn’t even to get published. I just wanted to finish a first draft. To see if I could. To know if I had it in me. Because if I was truly hoping to get published one day, I should be able to do that. I mean, a first draft is… kind of a prerequisite.

i love Derry Girls

And so, even though this might not seem like an amazing achievement, it’s a pretty big deal to me. Because I did what I set out to do. And I want to capture that joy now, while I’m living it, in the only (and best) way I know how: putting it into words.

My dad, who is the son of a farmer, loves quoting that saying: “The day you plant the seed is not the day you eat the fruit.” But he always adds, “And even then, flood or famine could happen.”

I know it’s highly likely that this first draft might not amount to anything someday. That a first draft doesn’t translate into a published novel. And if it does, it doesn’t mean that novel will sell.

But I have these little seeds, and so I keep planting, whether or not they bear fruit. Because the alternative would be to just stare as they rot… and what a waste that would be.

Anyway, here’s a little blurb for my little story if you’re curious:

After a renowned pianist is found dead under strange circumstances, tension ripples through the walled district of Intramuros, at the heart of Spanish-ruled Manila. The Guardia Civil is under pressure, as rumors swirl through the city’s streets.

Orang, used to being invisible to most, crosses paths with the son of the Commandante and is thrust into a world she never imagined. Offered a rare chance to step into a role no woman has ever held, she begins training as a detective for the Guardia Civil.

But, as Orang steps deeper into unfamiliar territory, a second mystery unfolds: a missing archaeologist, an ancient necklace, and secrets long buried beneath layers of history. At the same time, something awakens within her: fragments of the old ways.

Time to start writing the second draft, I guess. Wish me luck!

part ii: at the ballet

rewatched Black Swan (2010), naturally

I went to see Ballet Manila’s Swan Lake, my first time seeing a professional ballet performance. It gave me a great excuse to dress up a little, drop by Metro Manila, and see some friends.

While I was inside the theatre, I couldn’t help but wish we had something like this in our backyard, and that I didn’t have to travel about 40 kilometers just to experience it.

In the past, I’ve shared that I have this deep fascination with Catholic churches. Immediately after the performance, I realized why. It seems so obvious now, and I can’t believe I hadn’t come to this conclusion before.

It’s because 1) Catholic churches are so beautiful, obviously built with so much care and artistry, and 2) everyone is welcome to marvel at their beauty for free. Unlike ballet, theatre, and fine arts, which, where I’m from, still carry the rep of being reserved for those who are well-off.

A conversation I had with my dad once keeps popping into my head lately. I asked him what his dream was growing up and he said he “couldn’t afford to have one.” We had that conversation when I was 17, and it’s still burned deep into my mind. Because at 17, it felt like I had so many dreams. I couldn’t imagine his reality of only having room to think about survival. At the same time, I am filled with so much gratitude. He didn’t think he could afford to dream, but he sure as hell made sure his children could.

So, now, I have beef with Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Because, sure, when you’re starving, cold, and unsafe, your first choice out of necessity might not be to seek out poetry, or dance, or colors on a canvas, or the sound of a violin. But everyone deserves them, regardless of where you land on the tax bracket. In fact, I would argue that those who are struggling need them the most. I know whenever I am, I do.

Anyway, I really didn’t set out to make any points about this experience. The performance was beautiful. I can’t wait to see another one, maybe Maria Makiling or Alice in Wonderland next.

I hope you are all having a lovely June. 🤍

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