All original content of whatever nature created by Joey G. Alarilla and posted on this weblog is made available to the public under a Creative Commons License. Violators will be pummeled repeatedly on the head with a keyboard.
Saturday, November 13, 2004
end of chapter 3
Wrote an additional 1, 694 words tonight to finish Chapter 3 of my NaNoWriMo novel, The Maharlika Legacy. That now gives me a running total of 16, 878 words out of 50, 000.
Here's an excerpt from Part 4 of the third chapter:
He’d had a schoolboy crush on her when they were classmates at the University. Their families had known each other, since his father and hers were brothers in the same fraternity. Only her father had opposed her activities as a student activity, while his had gained fame as one of the leading lights of the opposition before going underground.
His mother was also one of the luminaries at the University as one of the advocates of the feminist movement in the country and one of the professors who served as an adviser of the short-lived Diliman Commune. The Metrocom had also arrested his mother, and she languished at Fort Bonifacio for almost a decade.
His father, however, was captured during an encounter two years after his wife’s arrest, and was later found dead in his prison cell. He remembered stoically listening to his uncle break the news of his father’s death. The truth was that he had long thought of his father as dead, even before he had embraced the communist movement, even before he had joined the opposition. Once, he told Arianna that, most of the time, he and his father had acted embarrassed by each other’s presence, as if they really had nothing to say to each other, going on their separate ways as strangers who just happened to be father and son by an accident of nature.
Things are heating up in my fictional Quiapo, and I finished Parts 2 and 3 of the third chapter of my NaNoWriMo novel The Maharlika Legacy this morning.
I wrote a total of 3, 035 words this morning, for a running total of 15, 184 out of the 50, 000 words I have to finish by midnight of Nov. 30.
Here's an excerpt from Part 2:
"No matter how strong and dedicated a leader may be, he must find root and strength amongst the people. He alone cannot save a nation. He may guide, he may set the tone, he may dedicate himself and risk his life, but only the people may save themselves."--Ferdinand Edralin Marcos, address at the launching of the Mabuhay Ang Pilipino Movement in Malacañang on November 30, 1972
Beatrice felt tears welling in her eyes as she watched the scene unfolding on TV. Quiapo was burning again. She heard someone shouting angrily at the cameraman, and then the video focused on a member of the Anti-Piracy Agency, telling the TV news crew to stop filming. Then, realizing that his cursing was being aired live, the APA operative muttered and hurriedly ran in the direction of his companions.
"Grabe, parang giyera na ‘yan, a!" Aida said as she sat next to Beatrice and viewed the carnage. It was another raid against the pirate dens, but both Beatrice and Aida felt something ominous in the air. Many vendors were fighting back, hurling stones and bottles at the law enforcers, and Beatrice and Aida both cried out when they saw one vendor being gunned down, his body riddled with bullets as he was about to throw a makeshift missile at the policemen.
And here's an excerpt from Part 3:
Jon-Jon was nervously crouching under one of the stalls, where he had sought refuge after the huge explosion that came from the direction of Quiapo Church. He had been caught in the middle of things in raids before, but none had escalated into violence like this one. He could not understand what was happening, and he muttered the Lord’s Prayer over and over while clutching the plastic bag filled with pirated discs to his chest, as if it were a talisman that could ward off death.
He had never seen so many APA operatives in one place, or so many members of the riot police. He had never seen so many vendors resisting the operatives, though isolated incidents had occurred in the past. But not like this. This was something Jon-Jon had only seen in movies.
"Gago ka Piolo, ano’ng ginagawa mo riyan? Dito ka at baka ikaw ang masabugan!"
I wrote 1, 961 words today, giving me a total so far of 12, 153 words out of the 50, 000 I promised, in a fit of madness, to complete by midnight of Nov. 30. Sigh.
Thanks to Dean Alfar for all his encouragement. Check out his blog for a list of our fellow NaNoWriMo participants in the Philippines. Truly, these people are an inspiration, and I wish all of us luck as we overcome all odds to reach the finish line. Oh, and read Dean's Salamanca novel.
From Miriel I learned that this town now known as Taal once lent its name to the whole province, when it was the capital of la provincia de Taal, which people now refer to as Batangas. All I had known in my lifetime was Manila -- it was my world and I was happy in it. In my time, my father spoke of the great earthquake that finally brought Taal to its knees, in the Year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and forty-nine. It was not the end, so I learned from Miriel, but the beginning of the end.
Taal is a magical place, where the breath of miracles sustains the broken spirit of the land. I have seen the miracles given earthly form, from the shrine of Our Lady of Caysasay to the 125 steps of the San Lorenzo Ruiz arch, to the grotto and well of Santa Lucia. I have seen the image of the Virgin that the devotees found floating in the well, the well that once was the belfry of the church, before it sunk into the earth.
I wept when Miriel took me to the Basilica of San Martin de Tours. Miriel told me that this magnificent church rose from the rubble of the great tremor, and that nine years it took to build this house of God. She has told me dazzling tales of this mighty town, which ruled over this portion of the great Balangon region that stretched from the lake and volcano that bear the same name, all the way to the Bay of Balayan. In the first two centuries from the time the conquistadores of Iberia laid claim to these islands in the name of Sword and Cross, Taal flourished, until the great eruption of Taal Volcano in the Year of Our Lord, one thousand seven hundred and fifty-four. Who knows how many souls died when the lake of fire destroyed the surrounding villages, how many lives were buried in ash and flame and molten rock?
Here's Sam after evicting me from my "office" earlier. The poor kid's had a cold for the past few days, but I've been giving her an extra dose of Ceelin and a teaspoon of Disudrin a day before she goes to sleep, just as her mom instructed before she flew to Bangkok. Today Sam woke up with a cough and was a bit hot to the touch -- nothing to worry about, not yet a fever but the beginning of one -- but I'm monitoring her temperature and giving her Solmux and Calpol so that her sinat won't turn into a full-blown fever.
Yup, was able to finish downloading the 2.5-gig World of Warcraft open beta client earlier today. As you can see from this screenshot, I've already installed it. Haven't been able to play yet, though, but I will soon.