A Story

My officemate Darlene is a graphic artist. On her free time, she creates artworks that she posts in iStockPhoto. One of these artworks is a nifty illustration of a tarsier perched on a bamboo tree.

It turned out that some guy (also a graphic artist) copied her illustration (or more specifically, traced her tarsier design without her permission) and subsequently used it in his official entry to a certain Company Logo and Brand Icon Contest held in Cagayan De Oro City. Unbelievably, he won a prize for his entry (Php 40,000 to be exact).

Not sitting idly, Darlene was able to contact the guy in order to demand an explanation and importantly, some artistic credit for her artwork. Unfortunately, the guy refused to give her due.

Now, I don't know the specific rules of the contest or how the judges weigh originality in the contest entries. And I'm sure he has his reasons for doing what he did. But winning an artwork contest for something you did not create is just not right in my book. Not right and not fair. Shameless, it is.

Here is Darlene's artwork.

Here is the guy's site.

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Figures of Speech

Elections are wickedly fun with all the mudslinging, character assassinations and dirty shenanigans in the air. In less than 400 words, write a speech announcing your own candidacy for the highest post on a platform of "change". Be convincing and inspirational. Kinda like Obama. Here's what I did:


Speech
(394 words)

I stand before you today, just a man. A man who goes to work in the morning and comes home to his family at the end of the day. A man who goes to church on Sundays, a man who enjoys the beach every once in a while, a man who makes time to watch his daughter’s volleyball game.

Just like you, I listen to the news everyday and my heart is filled with despair. I hear stories of fellowmen denied justice because of poverty. Stories of mothers turning to immoral means of living just to get by. Stories of kids, selling trinkets just to buy bread, some prowling the streets instead of schools, sniffing glue instead of reading books, destroying their lives instead of building their futures. Stories of men, elected by the people for public service but whose interests turn out to be more selfish, more vile than those of the worst criminal.

Just like you, I find myself asking questions. Questions like — why isn’t the government, the so-called public servants, the powers that be, doing anything? Where have they all gone — the people whom I entrusted with my vote and duly paid taxes —where were they when we needed them most? What happened to the promises made — of a good life, better governance — the promises of change. Just like you, I asked myself these questions until my mind grew weary and my spirit drained.

Now I realized I was asking the wrong questions. Instead of asking “What have they done for me lately?”, I should have asked “What have I done lately?” Instead of “Where were they?”, I should have asked “Where am I in all this?” How can I help? What can I do? Yes, my fellow countrymen, I realized that I don’t have to sit here and whine about it. I realized I, you, we .. we have the power! Yes, my fellowmen countrymen, the change begins in us! The change can happen now! We are who we choose to be! And we deserve better!

I stand before you today —a man. Just like you. But with your help, together we can lead ourselves and this country to a better and brighter future! My name is G_____ and I am running for President. Join me on the path to change — it is now or never!

Thank you!

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Shuffling Letters

Visit Wordsmith's Anagram Generator. Enter your full name. Choose one from the results and use it as the title of your piece (poetry or prose). Length must not exceed 350 words. Here's what I did:


Classic Eagle Ennui
(210 words)

“What to do, what to do?”
Mused the gallant bird of prey.
A thousand feet above ground,
He soared disgruntled, in dismay.

Wings have been cleaned,
Feathers neat and trim,
Talons all polished,
But excitement is slim.

“O where art thou, Thrill?”
He uttered through his beak.
This is kinda strange because
Eagles don’t really speak.

He flew over the emerald jungle —
Eagle eyes on his vast kingdom.
He lorded above tallest trees
But his reign is menaced by boredom.

“Mighty Wind, I beg of you,
Mighty Wind from the Great Sea!
Grant me some deliverance
From this gray monotony!”

But Mighty Wind remained still
Silent, just hovering there.
Well, you can’t really expect a reply
From something made of air.

“Mighty Wind, heed my plea,
Have pity on me, my Goddess!
Bestow my heart with enthusiasm
To smite this dreadful dullness!”

Suddenly, the Goddess stirred
Awakened from her trance.
She spread her arms far and wide
Even though she had no hands.

With one swing of her massive arm
She slapped him with a blow.
It propelled the bird at lethal speed
Down the rocks below!

The full force of the impact
Left the eagle finished and dead.
All he wanted was some excitement
But he got exterminated instead.

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Talk, Talk, Talk

This dialogue exercise involves writing something that is made up entirely of dialogue, but in short story form (not more than 350 words). The use of a play format (e.g. JOHN: Good morning...) or speech modifiers (e.g. “... said John”, “John said...”) is not allowed. The story should reveal something about the characters, the setting and the conflict/plot only through dialogue. Here's what I did:


Almost
(350 words)

“What?”

“You’re stepping on my foot, kid.”

“Sorry.”

“Give me that light.”

“How come you know so much about this stuff? I thought you were just one of them old geezers rotting away back there.”

“That’s because you’re dumb, that’s why. Hand me the wrench.”

“Here. You’re nothing like no regular plumber, ain’t you? Stinkin’ Joe couldn’t do half the things you’re doin’ right there.”

“I’m no plumber. You don’t learn these things from the plumbing academy, that’s for sure. Only one place in the world where you learn things like these.”

“And what place is that?”

“The army, kid. The United States friggin’ Army.”

“Figures. Wait—if you’re this war hero, how come you’re serving ten to twenty here?”

“Pilasters’. Philadelphia. Ring a bell?”

“Holy shit! The 1959 break-in! You’re one of them saggy bottom boys! Too bad, Miller gave all of you that big old stab in the back. But you’re my hero, man! Grew up wantin’ to be one of the Philly gang!”

“Will you shut up? You’re just another dumb kid from South Central who happens to have quick hands. I know your story and I’m sick of hearing it. But I can’t get this done without an extra pair of hands. Now, for God’s sake, shut your mouth, get in here and help me pry open this goddamn thing!”

“Okay, okay, I’m on it.”

“Stand there and hold that. Now when I say so, you pull as hard as you can, you understand me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good. Let me just get this out of the way. Ready, kid?”

“Ready.”

“Pull.”

“Pullin’.”

“It’s moving. Pull harder!”

“Jesus, it’s stinkin’ here!”

“Shut up and pull!”

“I’m pullin’, old man.”

“That’s it, that’s it, kid. Careful, slowly now. Let go, let go!”

“That thing’s heavy.”

“Got that right, kid. You see that? That’s our ticket outta here. We’ll inflate the raft right there and the tide will take care of the rest.”

“Old man?”

“It’s a cloudy night, that should give us some cover in the darkness.”

“Old man, need to tell you somethin’.”

“What?”

“I forgot the raft.”

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Personalities

This is a writing technique called the personality sketch, which is commonly used for feature writing in paperbacks but has gained popularity in more mainstream media such as newspapers, magazines, periodicals, etc. Choose a person that you know (or create one using your imagination) and write a glimpse of his or her life, personality, idiosyncrasies, etc. Personality sketches usually use anecdotes, direct quotations, physical description, etc., but for the purpose of this writing activity, one can be more “creative” or “imaginative.” At least 200 words. I did mine with a twist--I chose a person with a more subjective personality sketch compared to normal people. Here it is:


Sam
(346 words)

“I’m a wizard,” Sam says to me in greeting, his head hidden behind the hood. He stands up and the light hits his face, a sinister grin. He takes out his wand and gracefully waves it in the air.

At 23, he is burly. The last time I saw him, he looked tentative, frightened, not sure of himself. He has grown a beard now but it hasn’t completely hidden his boyish face. But still, his movements convey an easy confidence, almost a swagger. Beneath deep-set brows, his eyes glimmer as they follow his hands. I looked closely at his left wrist — there is still some visible scarring, but not recent, which provides some comfort. He recites his incantations and the boom of his voice is convincing. His unbridled brio seems to cast a spell on me. For a moment he stares at me with such intensity that I’m almost compelled to look away. I hold his gaze and his face breaks into a smile. He still recognizes me. He clasps his hands, makes a friendly bow and retreats to the far corner of the room.

“It’s nice to see you again, Warlock,” Dr. Crawford calls out to me. I smile at his joke and turn away from the glass panel to shake his hand.

“How is he?” I ask, reverting my gaze to Sam.

“No incidents since your last visit,” Crawford replies. “But we’re not taking any chances, he stays in this room for an indefinite period of time. You know how unpredictable he is. For the record, what you’re seeing now is Personality 23. Obviously, we don’t want Violent Sam to resurface again.”

I review Sam’s file on my hand. Genius IQ. Played fullback in high school. Diagnosed at 20. Arrested at 21. Declared C.I., which saved him from the gas chamber. Brought to Baltimore State Hospital four weeks later. Two incidents during incarceration, one intern severely injured, the other not so lucky.

I look up and stare at Sam through the glass panel. He smiles at me again. Who will you be tomorrow, Sam?

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A Piece of Garb

Supposing you or someone you know, or a character has been given something new to wear. Describe it, showing how it feels or what it means to the people involved. Here is what I did:


Shirt
(276 words)

He was half awake when she greeted him with a soft kiss on the cheek. He turned to look at her face and that familiar smile — reassuring, playful, yet sad. She giggled and draped the new shirt on his face. He feigned sleep and pretended to snore. She said nothing and buried her head on his chest. As he stroked her hair, he could smell the scent of the new fabric. That smell had always bothered him, he remembered how he had always hated trying on shirts at the mall. This time it was different.

She propped up and took the shirt. He sat up to take a better look at it in the morning light. It wasn’t the type of shirt that he usually gets from the store. Its bright color was in contrast to his sable preferences, the design of the print was a tad austere. But she lifted it, slid it slowly through his head and deftly guided his arms through the sleeves. Her fingers glided softly through the shoulders to smoothen the folds, her hands hovering here and there — caressing, flattening the creases on the seams. Every movement was defined, every gesture fraught with meaning. He was watching her all this time but she didn’t look at him. She was staring at the new shirt but he could tell that her mind was somewhere else. He took her hands and held them silently. She pulled him to her and hugged him for a long time. “It looks good on you,” she whispered to his ear, “don’t lose it.” Then she let go and walked across the room to finish packing her bag.

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Agency, Part Two

The plan was simple. A week or two before the Adventure Caravan, Bench would start to act distant towards Bryan. She would refuse to hang around with him during mid-afternoon snack breaks. She would stay away from his workstation on the days leading to end of October. This would give everybody hints that Bench was in fact trying to avoid him. Of course, he had reminded her that not everybody would detect the signs at first. True, with the extremely busy days ahead, anybody could guess Bench would have plenty of things to do and wouldn't have any spare time left to loiter in the Creatives' department. She would display a complete reversal of the day-to-day persona her officemates were used to seeing — a persona characterized by aberrant silence and almost infectious lethargy.

Still, Bryan worried that convincing the office people this way was kind of a long shot. Obviously, everybody would be pretty busy too in the days to come and it would be highly unlikely for them to catch in on what's going between Bench and him. He had told Bench about this and she said not to worry — she'll just have to find a way to expedite the process by engineering a "leak," through the one person who is likely to be believed, the one person who is sure to spread the message, the best word-of-mouth conduit in the entire agency — Ellie. Of course, the "leak" will have to happen in a week or so after the Adventure Caravan and Halloween Fashion have wrapped up. Doing so earlier would be overkill.

Despite his uneasiness, Bryan had marveled at her cleverness at the same time spooked by her guts. He still couldn't believe that she would really push through with it. And the worse thing was, Bryan had agreed to it. He could have said no. Now he was kicking himself because he didn't.

Truth of the matter was, he was scared. He was never comfortable with getting away with any fib. He had told Bench that he was never good with things like these. She had told him to grow up. Besides, she had insisted, Bryan won't have to do anything. It would be up to her to do the pretending. Technically, she would be the only one doing the lying. All Bryan had to do was be himself. The only reason she had told Bryan about the whole plan was because she didn't want Bryan to think she really was giving him the big cold shoulder. She said it was a "matter of courtesy" for their friendship. She said it would be unfair to him if she left him high and dry.

Bryan wanted to find comfort in Bench's words. He couldn't find any.

--

She was true to her word. Since the second week of October, she was never seen hanging around with Bryan. When there came a need to brief Bryan about a certain new project for an account Bench was handling, she would easily find a way to let Ellie or Lisa do the briefing. When Noel scheduled a brainstorming session with Bench or Bryan, she would defer or simply wouldn't show up on the excuse of meeting a client. When asked to do something that involves Bryan's participation, Bench would politely refuse without offering any explanation.

And her attendance has gotten increasingly peculiar and erratic. Fifteen-minute cigarette breaks turn into hour-long trips to only-God-knows-where, sometimes she wouldn't even return to the office for the rest of the afternoon. Bryan had heard Ellie complain loudly that she couldn't contact Bench's cell phone number at one time. When she did get by the office, she would sit with nary a word in front of her laptop all day long, except for the increasingly long cigarette breaks. On certain days, she would come in as early as 6 AM and leave the office before 4 PM. During lunch breaks, she opted to eat out alone in the nearby mall, in restaurants where she was sure no one in the office would go.

When it was time for Bench, Ellie and Ken to fly to Cagayan De Oro City for a few days to handle the Adventure Caravan, Bryan realized he was actually looking forward to Bench's absence. For once, he could go to the office without having to worry about the awkwardness of his and Bench's situation. On any given day, he could probably disregard any officemate's ill-feeling towards him and get on with his copywriting duties without ever giving that person any ounce of thought. But it was way different with the current state of things. Try as he might, he just couldn't ignore the discomfiture and inherent weirdness of being shunned like that and knowing that all of it is one elaborate sham concocted by his almost-deranged friend and colleague. And the fact that he's completely in on it was giving him creeps of the different kind. Conniver's guilt is never easy, he realized.

--

"Sit down, Bryan," Noel said without looking up from his laptop monitor, his hands busy typing on the keys. Bryan sat down on the chair in front of Noel's desk. The room was chilly. Bryan wished he brought a jacket.

"I wanted to talk to you about Bench," Noel said, still typing. "But let me just finish this."

"Okay," Bryan replied nervously.

Noel straightened up and folded the laptop. Then he stared at Bryan.

"You do know that the Adventure Caravan was a tremendous success. In fact, the client wants to do a Boracay version next year. All thanks to Bench's coordination. I hate her guts sometimes but frankly, I'm very impressed with the way she handled it. And so is the client. They're very pleased with the results and they want to thank her personally. Unfortunately, nobody seems to know where she is."

"She has gone AWOL," Bryan muttered.

"Looks like it," Noel said.

Bryan looked down on his hands.

"Ellie told me you and Bench were pretty close," Noel continued. "Former classmates in school, digs the same stuff Bench likes — Ellie told me you and Bench were practically like best buds."

Bryan remained unmoving.

"My point is — you might be able to tell me just what the hell is going on," Noel pressed on.

"There's nothing to tell."

"Ellie says there's plenty going on. She says you and Bench are — let me put it this way, socializing more than what's appropriate in an office environment."

"It's none of Ellie's business."

"Okay, I'll respect that. It's none of my business. But this agency is my business. And I need to know if there's something funny going on. With Bench currently unreachable and Kyla also missing, I'm bound to —"

"Kyla? What do you mean?"

"Just last week, Anne told me she couldn't reconcile several checks drawn to cash somewhere between the last week of October and first week of November. Anne says she couldn't figure out why those checks were drawn in the first place. She tried to call Kyla but she couldn't contact her."

Bryan sat numb with the news.

"No trace of Kyla," Noel continued. "She just disappeared. Right about the same time Bench went AWOL."

"Are you saying Kyla and Bench — are you saying they both —?"

"I don't know. I was hoping you could tell me."

"It can't be. I know Bench. She wouldn't do something like that."

"I think she already has."

"What?"

"Back when she had that deejay job. There was some fiasco about funds that Bench was directly in control of. Anyway, short version of the story is, it got blown into such a mess that the station had to let go of many people. Bench included."

"No way."

"Anne, of course, thinks Bench was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Personally, I think she might have been involved. And now she may be robbing my company."

"You don't know that."

"I don't know anything, yet. But sooner or later, the truth will come out. Count on that." Noel stood up and approached the glass window panel.

"I haven't spoken to Bench since, I don't know, early October," Bryan said.

"You had a row with her?"

"Something like that."

"And she hasn't contacted you since?"

"No."

"How about Kyla?"

"No."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

Noel turned and sat back in his chair. He gave Bryan a serious stare. "I may call on you again if I have questions," Noel said.

"I understand."

"You may go. And tell Lisa I want to see her now."

Bryan nodded before walking out of the room.

--

Two days had done little in lessening the impact of what he'd learned in Noel's office. Since that day, Bryan had been in a state of combined confusion and utter numbness. He wanted to be knocked out of this stupid stupor. He wanted to get away, far away from the sight of his workstation, out of the office. He wanted to exist without devoting one iota of energy thinking about this recent mess. But more than anything, he wanted to see and talk to Bench.

He was wont to admit it but it had taken its toll on his work. The copy he wrote barely met his personal standards. Fortunately for him, clients sometimes had the unusual habit of picking the studies that he least liked.

That afternoon, a brainstorming session had gone nowhere. Bryan and Ellie struggled to come up with an event-driven campaign for an agri-feed client and failed miserably. Bryan wearily excused himself and headed back to his workstation to collect his stuff and go home. He unplugged the charger's cord off his cell phone and checked the liquid crystal display: 1 message received. It was an unregistered number. He opened the message and read: "tequila jos 5.30pm. dont b l8 sucker, i wont w8." He glanced at the time — 5:37 PM. Damn.

In three minutes he was at the entrance of Tequila Joe's. Bench was sitting at the bar with her back to the door. Her head was tilted towards the TV screen propped seven feet up on the wall behind the bartender, American Idol was on. The glass of iced tea on the counter was already half-full. Bryan took the stool on her left.

"Don't you wish sometimes you had a TV remote in your brain?" Bench casually remarked without looking at Bryan.

"Why would you wish something like that?" Bryan asked.

"So that I could just press mute in my mind whenever it's Paula's turn to say something."

Bryan laughed.

"I mean, Paula's always saying the same thing to anybody, anyway. She's like the judge on the Miss Universe pageant who always gives an 8 to every contestant. I can't stand her actually."

"Neither can I."

Bench smirked while she sipped the last of her iced tea.

"Bench, Noel has been looking for you. He says — "

"I already talked to him," Bench interrupted him.

"Really?"

"Yeah, last night at their house. We sorted out everything. Well, not everything, but the areas concerning me — it's okay now. Trust me."

"Sure about that?"

"Funny. Who would've thought that Kyla would do something like that. I mean, she's a world-class beeyatch and all that but … Damn, she's got guts, that's for sure."

"How did you find out?"

"Maimai from Camp Cebu, she's friends with Anne. She told me yesterday morning. Naturally, I had to talk to Anne, tell her I didn't have anything to do with what Kyla did. I had some explaining to do to Noel, too. God, you should have been there. Noel was really pissed, I mean really pissed. He was sure I was in on it because I disappeared."

"Well, you did disappear."

"Yeah. But the thing is — I chickened out." She laughed weakly. "That's why I was back in Cebu since Tuesday. I was in Davao the whole time, ever since the Adventure Caravan was done. I was really planning to talk to Anne eventually, to her alone. And then this ruckus just blew up. I could have done nothing. I don't even care a shit if Noel hated me for not showing up ever. But I did show up. I guess I didn't want him to hate me for the wrong reason. I mean I got issues, I know that. But I'm no thief. That's not who I am. That I'm sure about."

"You got me scared. You did."

She burst into laughter. "I got you, didn't I? I got you big time, Bry."

"Not funny."

"I did tell them everything, about my plan to go AWOL. But I didn't tell them that you were in on it, too. That would be unfair to you. Bottom line is now they know how badly I want out of the agency. Anne — I guess she took it rather well. Noel — well, you know Noel. But I'm not scared of him, I never was."

"So what happens now?"

"The deal is, I stay until the end of November, just enough to turn over my accounts to Ellie. That's about three weeks — that should be enough. She's quite a capable lady, that Ellie, although she could use some chillin' out. As for Kyla — well, Anne is going to have to handle the accounting for now. They don't really know how much damage Kyla did to their funds. Anne mentioned about getting an independent CPA to sort it out. I wish him luck. As for me, I don't know. I'm thinking about finding work overseas. Or maybe school. I really don't know. All I know is I want out."

Bryan remained silent. Bench took a crumpled mauve bill out of her pocket and unfolded it on the counter. "I need a smoke," she said, "let's get out of here."

They stood on the paved sidewalk outside the restaurant. Bench absent-mindedly watched the cars whizzing by. Bryan stood three feet from her, staring at a large billboard ad recently put up. Bench took a step towards him and turned her head at the same direction he was looking.

"Advertising has ruined my consumer life," Bryan said.

Bench couldn't be sure if he was talking to her or himself. "Why is that?" she asked.

"I could no longer look at any ad without mulling about how much work has been done in creating that ad — the copy must have been redone and revised many times over, the graphics going through endless changes, the many steps, the arguments. When I look at an ad, I don't see the product anymore. I just see the work behind it. And sometimes, the lie. I'll never be sold by any ad, ever again. Advertising has ruined my consumer life."

"No, it hasn't. You'll be okay, Bry. I know you." Bench took out her cell phone and turned around. "Lex is here to pick me up."

"Lex? A friend of yours?"

"She's my — you know." Bench smiled.

"Oh," Bryan said in comprehension.

"You should get yourself a girlfriend," Bench said.

"Don't need one."

Bench grinned.

"What's so funny?"

"I know something about you, Bry. But I'm not telling. You're just gonna have to figure it out by yourself."

Bryan didn't reply.

"I gotta go. I'll see you around?" Bench said.

He nodded. She punched him on the shoulder before walking away. Bryan watched her walk towards the parking lot, her retreating figure finally getting obscured by the passing vehicles. He stood for a while with his hands in his pockets. He glanced eastwards across Archbishop Reyes Avenue. The skyway was finished. He sighed and walked away.

- END -

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