Guilie Castillo-Oriard's Blog, page 25

Accountability Week One

Project 1--The Novel (A Mantra for Cats and Other Runaways)

This, my first novel, is finished... But perhaps it's a good idea to define "finished." The story is complete, from beginning to end. I've revised and re-revised, over and over. When I thought it was perfect, I pitched it at a writers' conference and got seven out of nine agents interested (one of which later turned me down). At said conference I met an awesome editor to whom I sent the MS (after another round of revisions). She came back with some powerful insights, which led me to a) cut the MS from 104K to 52K, and b) add entirely new material that heightened the stakes, made them clearer, that brought the word count back up to 103K.

*Sigh*

This was all last year, and since then I've been working on refining so these additions merge seamlessly. I've gone through every decision process possible: is the story better served by third person instead of first? Does the timeline make sense the way it is (present => past => present), or does it just confuse, needlessly? Are the names of the secondary characters too similar / too trite (Carrie for the "other" girl? Seriously?)? And, for that matter, do these secondaries come across as cardboard figures? Maybe I should cut a few, develop the others a bit more?

Maybe I should just scrap the whole thing. But I'm too stubborn for that.

Last week I finished re-(re-re-re-re-re-)drafting Chapter 1 into a version that--for now--satisfies me. It's daunting to think I need to do the same for another 53 chapters, but it's even more daunting to think I'll get 50 chapters done (or 20 even) and then find one of those plot holes that might dwarf the Oasis Of The Seas.

Eternal gratitude, Scrivener.Thus. Me, proud pantster, has taken up outlining. After the fact, true... So perhaps I haven't completely crossed over to the dark side. But I've found it helps make those holes somewhat smaller (say, sailboat-sized)--which probably means I have become Mr. Vader's minion, after all.

One advantage to outlining after the fact: characters are less likely to sprint off in a different direction once the real writing starts. They've already done that.

Project 1 goals for next week: finish revision on Part I (another 13 chapters).

Ambitious, yes. Too ambitious? We'll see next Sunday.

~ * ~

Project 2--The Miracle of Small Things (a 12-part serial)

Pure Slush invited me to contribute to their 2014 series; thirty writers, each writing one story that takes place on the same day of every month in 2014, in real time, and involves the same character(s). I chose the first of the month: twelve stories, max 1.5K each, that cover a year in the life of my MC.

OVERVIEW: Luis Villalobos is a superstar tax lawyer who's been hired by an international trust company to (probably) take over as Managing Director for their Curaçao office when the current MD leaves in 2015. He's a go-getter, an overachiever; work is his life, and that MD position will be the gateway to the higher echelons he's been after for as long as he can remember. But achieving it comes with a price, one he thought he'd be happy to pay--until a series of chance meetings shift his paradigms. Luis will have to choose between the culmination of the career he's worked so hard for, and the possibility of happiness.

This project is challenging for a number of reasons. Seems easy to write the 18K story of a man's year-long journey and divide it into twelve installments, kind of like chapters. But these stories also need to stand alone--which means each also needs to have a unique arc. Conflict, resolution.

BUT they should also follow from each other (even though the narrative continues a month later), and should pique the reader's interest enough to want to read the next installment. Some readers will read the whole 12, some might start reading only in March or June--which means I can't depend on the reader already knowing the story so far, the way you do with chapters. You see my problem?

One of the (few) requirements for this project is that the stories be written in present tense. I usually write in past, which means I stumble over each verb. Not the simple ones (he says, she comes in, he boots up the computer), but the others... Do I use past, or past perfect--or present perfect? Eeek.

I've delivered two stories so far--January and February. March is due at the end of August. But--because I'm working on a big-picture narrative, I can't write one of the installments without knowing what happens next. I did outline before starting (dark side, I know), but I'm not that good at it yet and, predictably, Luis and his colleagues mutinied. Also, because the central conflict of the story involves a good chunk of financial jargon, I'm afraid it might be too complex--not to mention yawn-awful boring--to convey properly in twelve installments read a month apart.

So I need to finish at least a first draft of the whole thing this month.

Project 2 goals for next week: finish a final draft of March, first drafts of April and May.

Wish me--no, not luck. Not inspiration, either--my muse mostly shows up, like Maya Angelou's, once she sees I'm serious about it. So wish me concentration. And discipline.

~ * ~

Writing? What writing?

I actually am writing--you know, besides the sporadic nonsense post here. But these posts are the model of regularity compared to that other writing.

What can one do, right?

Well, no. That's the point. I refuse to become another of those wanna-be writers that have five unfinished novels under the bed, which get dusted every now and then, get a couple of chapters reworked until said wanna-be runs out of steam.

And I will. I'll end up one of those might'ves--unless I give myself public accountability.

This blog has so far been devoted to more musings than stories, and even less to journaling my writing journey, especially compared to some of the other writing blogs I know. I like it that way; I like posting to explore cultural differences, to mince them into puzzle pieces that, rearranged, make an unexpected picture. I've also had a blast getting to know the people who are attracted to those posts. So I won't stop. Quiet Laughter will still be Musings and Stories on Blurred Cultural Boundaries.

But.

Once a week I'll post an update on the writing. The projects, the progress, the challenges. I know--there's enough writing blogs out there, and I highly doubt I can provide anything new. I'm being a little selfish; I'm doing this for myself. But I hope all you awesome visitors will stop by to check out the accountability posts every once in a while... It'll keep me honest. It'll also keep me motivated, and ensure this doesn't turn into another procrastination technique. I'm appallingly good at those.

So. First accountability post coming this Sunday. See you all here?

Friendship in Curaçao: The Sad (Part IV)

This is the end of the series Friendship in Curaçao: The Good, The Bad, The Ugly, The Sad.

If you've been following this Friendship Series, The Sad won't come as a surprise. The red line throughout these musings has been, after all, the temporary nature of an ex-pat's stint in Curaçao. Sooner for some, later for others, but inevitable for most: relocation.

This little group felt as permanent as the hot tarmac
on the street outside.A promotion to the company's main branch in, say, Singapore or Barcelona or the UK. An offer from a competitor that can't be refused. A new opportunity, bright and shiny. Or perhaps it's the 90+ degree heat, year round--you just can't take it anymore. Or you miss the bustling cultural life of non-insular civilization. Having to drive in circles if you want to go for a ride longer than an hour finally got to you. You miss home. Maybe there's a family situation that requires more than your presence by Skype.

Whatever. Point is, you leave.

And here's where I--a collective I that encompasses every ex-pat you're leaving behind--wish I'd taken a page from the Antillean book and kept my emotional distance. Sure, email and Facebook make it a small world after all, and at the airport we'll promise to stay in touch, we plan visits back and forth--that's the selling point of your departure: "Now you have a home in Singapore / Barcelona / Timbuktu." We may actually do it, see each other once a year, maybe twice. But that doesn't fix the hole you leave behind, a cut-out of your silhouette in the fabric of my--collective my--life.

The reunion three years later. Patrycja, already relocated
to London, came back for a visit. Wim & Deborah
had their first baby; they left in 2012. Arno had a
girlfriend--soon to be wife. They left in 2011.They're a fact of island life, these trips to the airport, these farewell parties, these garage sales. Our house is an exhibit of the departed: that patio set from Arno, the Cuisinart and the glass pitchers from Patrycja, a jewelry box from Carlos, the Avalon ashtrays from the other Carlos, the piano from Deborah & Wim. A testament to the friends we've made, the friends we've lost.

But I--individual I--would gladly trade in that Cuisinart and piano and patio set and whatever to have them back.

Stephen King on Voice vs. Style & Opening Sentences

We interrupt the Friendship in Curaçao series to bring you a must-read article in The Atlantic. Stephen King talks about the difference between voice and style, and that demon that haunts all of us writers: opening sentences, and why he spends so long (months, years even) working on them.

Go read it. I'll wait.

Done? Now pray tell: how do *you* handle your first sentences? Are you King-ish in the time you spend on them? Do your stories bloom from a fabulous opening, or do you get the story down and then work on the opening? Like King, do you remember any exceptional ones you've written? Feel free to share if so inclined :)

Friendship in Curaçao: The Ugly (Part III)

If ex-pat socialization is so damn limited, why not get some non-ex-pat friends? Join the local communities?



Ah, dushi grasshopper. Befriending Antilleans is easier said than done.

Let me be clear on something: I have Antillean friends. Awesome people, all of them, and all as different from each other as the ex-pats themselves. Curaçao has been a melting pot since the Spanish discovered it back in the XVI century, so it's only to be expected that the "locals" are, too, as mixed a population as the new arrivals waiting for audience in the halls of Immigration. Portuguese, Venezuelan, Dutch, Dominican, German, Colombian--and of course, African. In essence, I suppose, the people we ex-pats call "local" have, like the Mayflower descendants, just been here longer. And Curaçao doesn't have any Cherokees or Mohicans to claim primacy--the Arawak indians that populated the Caribbean were enslaved, relocated to wherever labor was needed, and in all likelihood, exterminated. And to think the Pope sanctioned that.

I digress. The point was, I think, that I have Antillean friends. But I've lived in Curaçao ten years. Yes, TEN. I've earned the right, through my permanence, to be considered for the position.

Think of it. These locals went to school here, their families live here, their friends, friends of their parents, friends of their friends... They have lives--real ones, not the ex-pat version. Their friendship mechanics are, like the rest of the world's, a matter of cultivation. Ask any farmer, any lab tech: cultivation takes time.

For Antilleans, investing in a friendship with an ex-pat is kind of like falling head over heels for someone who's on the first flight out to Timbuktu tomorrow. It could happen--oboyoboy--but you know it's going to end badly. Antilleans understand, better perhaps than we ex-pats do, the temporal nature of our Curaçao stint.

If you live anywhere with a lot of tourists or immigrants, you can probably sympathize. Man, foreigners are annoying! They get lost, they disrupt traffic, they don't know street names or local landmarks, they don't speak the language (although in Curaçao, as I've mentioned before, language isn't as big an issue as in other, more linguistically limited countries), they need their hands held for everything... Foreigners just don't get it. Foreigners don't get us.

I've experienced two ways, broad-stroke, that Antilleans use to deal with the foreign invasion. One: actively promote integration--as in, whenever I'm required to interact with you, it's my duty as a citizen to teach you, so... I'll only speak Papiamentu to you, okay?

Two: ignore. They're friendly enough. But there's a line. You know, and they know (and you know that they know, and they know that you--) it's there.

Both attitudes have their good and not-so-good sides, and maybe some other time we'll get into them. After all, this is the general attitude all around the world to friendship. Taking into your heart, and home, someone who's leaving in a few months just isn't emotionally sensible.

In essence, though, this is the basic contrast that makes friendship within the ex-pat community here so remarkable. You don't speak my language? No reason why you should. We'll communicate in one we both speak, or a mix, or sign language. Or we'll drink lots of beer, which everyone knows develops the language centers of the brain. Your car broke down in the middle of the mondi? If can't get there myself, I'll find someone who can, and I'll do it now.

The mondi of Curaçao. Image
credit: Villa IndianaThis contrast is jarring, especially to newcomers, even more especially to those who've never been a part of an ex-pat community before. The Antillean attitude is what we expect, because, probably, it's the same attitude we've exhibited at one point or another towards foreigners in our own land. The ex-pat one is what surprises--and enchants.

Friendship in Curaçao: The Bad (Part II)

If you read The Good post, you might be thinking Curaçao is da place, at least for friendship (and if you happen to dislike 90-degree weather year-round).



But there's a flip side one doesn't discover until it's, well, too late.

How many circles do you see?
No, really. No joke. Seriously.At home, where you grew up or where you've lived for, say, more than five years, you have circles. The circle of the people you knew in college. The circle of people you socialize with at work. A circle of peers. A family circle. A crazy-Friday-nights circle. A circle of people you work out with, or rescue dogs with, or write with, or whatever with--you get my drift. Your social life is compartmentalized.

In Curaçao, that doesn't happen. Or it happens very rarely.

Unless you're a serial killer or a pedophile, chances are your own circles overlap. A lot, a little--it's all good, right? But here they overlap to such extent there's no geometry principle that will support the notion there's more than one circle.

This is an island with around 146,000 people. That's probably the population of your neighborhood. The ex-pat community is even smaller (according to the CIA--they're everywhere, I swear--there's 1.27 migrants for every 1000 locals). And ex-pats have no family, no old friends--not on the island. Unless you're accepted into local communities (more on that in Part III) it follows your social life will revolve around your job: your assistant is also the guy you jog with in the morning, your officemate's wife runs the animal shelter where you volunteer on weekends, your supervisor is the only fan of film noir--besides you--on the island, the IT guy is the party guru who takes you all on Friday rampages.

Which isn't necessarily a bad thing. By definition, most ex-pats are an open-minded bunch who rarely sweat the small stuff. It makes for pretty easygoing times. The real drawbacks are i) you work with these people, which might cramp your tequila-gurgling, dance-on-the-table style, and ii) if there's someone you really don't like--the chauvinist pig, say, or the pick-a-fight-with-a-shadow drunk--haha, the joke's on you. Because there's no escape.

Unless, of course, you want to go back to the lone ex-pat wolf life.

Friendship in Curaçao: The Good (Part I)

This is the beginning of the series Friendship in Curaçao: The Good, The Bad, The Ugly, and The Sad.

Why would friendship be different in Curaçao? Friendship is friendship anywhere: trust, good times, a ready shoulder, a twisted mind to plot with, a silly sense of humor to render you helpless on a couch laughing like a five-year-old. No?

You're right. But the mechanics are a bit different here.

The Good

Curaçao is ex-pat land. There's +40 different nationalities on this island, many imported by the bustling financial industry--banks, fiduciaries, accounting firms, the head offices of global manufacturing companies. These transplants tend to be experienced travelers who've been all over in the course of the career that brings them here; many have been ex-pats for years. Some are fresh-faced, at the dawn of their professional lives. Some come with families--spouses, children--but most come alone. And for this majority, work becomes life. Friendship, and even romance, will be found in the halls of the office if it is to be found at all.

Which is what makes friendship so special here. Not because it is hard to come by, but precisely because it isn't. The ex-pat bond is stronger than blood. On your first day in the office, you're walked around to meet your new colleagues, names--unpronounceable or all too familiar, there never seems to be a halfway--get thrown at you, and you hope no one will expect you to remember them by lunchtime. But these unfamiliar faces, if they're not on the phone with a client or racing with piles of documents to meet a deadline, smile like there's something familiar about you, like perhaps they know you from years ago and you, with your single-minded pursuit of success, have forgotten.

By lunchtime you've been embraced. There's a bachelor's party tonight, are you free? Wednesday is Saskia's last day and we're taking her out for dinner, can you come? Do you already have an apartment? My neighbor is leaving at the end of the month, if you're interested. Come over tomorrow and take a look. What are you doing over the weekend? There's a beach BBQ at Daaibooi, want to come? Do you dive? Oh, I know a great instructor. I'll introduce you. Do you already have a car? Julaika might be selling hers. Yes, I'll introduce you to her at happy hour.

You, the lone ex-pat wolf, are no longer alone.

Friendship for ex-pats in Curaçao comes with the immediacy of a Polaroid. No hoops to jump through, no trial period. Why? Because everyone's been the new guy. We all understand the value of a drill to borrow, a partner for salsa lessons, a dinner that's not microwaved or came in a can. And Christmas. Religious or not, Christmas is a lonely time for ex-pats. Sure, some go home, especially at first. But the people with families tend to hoard December vacation days, and those without children are usually called on to cover for them.

And so your ex-pat life, the one that might've been solitary, becomes a flurry of beach BBQs, impromptu gatherings at home, Uruguayan cookouts, bottles of Chilean wine on a porch fueling transcendental conversation late into the night, business happy hours that have little to do with business. Before long, your Saturday morning grocery runs turn into social occasions. You're waving at every third car on the way to the office. You run into people you know every time you step into a restaurant.

Then one day, in the middle of your hectic day, the HR manager steps into your office. "This is Rogelio. He's going to be working with Arelí in Accounting."

It's your turn.

The Joys of Procrastination

We're leaving tomorrow for a visit to Holland. Have I packed? Have I even done laundry--or cleaned out the refrigerator, or checked I have enough deodorant / shampoo / face cleanser, or gotten a haircut, or any of the other gazillion things one's invariably swamped with before traveling?

No.

Instead, I'm writing this post. And sorting photos (don't you just looooove finding old pics?). I just came back from the beach with the six-pack.

The six-pack. Minus one.The joys of procrastination.

Have you been Liebstering?

Cheryl Rennels at We Bless Your Heart nominated me for the Liebster Award at the beginning of April--thanks, Cheryl!--and I'm so sorry I couldn't get around to it until now. 

For the award, Cheryl has asked me to answer a few questions:

1.  Who or what is Liebster?

No clue where the name comes from. Sorta-educated guess? Liebchen in German is "sweetie" or "dear", so maybe the Lieb- in Liebster comes from that same root? The Sweet Person Award?

2.  How long have you been blogging?

Since June of 2011. Happy anniversary to meeeee... 

3.  Do you have animals?

That's kind of like asking the Smithsonian if they happen to have a book lying around. Up until last week, I had nine dogs: five mine, four fosters. One of these fosters was rehomed last weekend, and the other one was released to her environment--spayed, and healthy. Both are doing great, so I'm all psyched and high on that.

4.  Are you still in contact with any of your high school friends?

Yep. Thank you, Facebook.

5.  What is your favorite tree?

Is one allowed to pick a favorite tree? How come I didn't know about this? I've been making an effort to spread the love equally :D 
A Jacaranda. Yep, they also have them in Nepal.
Image credit: here.
I don't know what my favorite tree is. I like them all. Let's see... The jacaranda is amazing. The African tulip. The guayacán (no clue what the English name is). The tabachín--yes, maybe that could be my favorite.

6.  Do you have an artistic side you have expressed?

Well... I'm a writer of fiction. Does that count? I also love to draw, but I'm (seriously) no good. I tinker with photography (and photoshop). Oh, and I built a fence. Yep. 90 feet long. Uh-huh.

7.  Do you enjoy getting together with your family?

Mmm. Family. Well, my family is very very small. Tiny, even. And I live across a sea. Intentional or not, we don't get together that often. Like maybe every two or three years. Do I pine for family gatherings? Uh, no. I do love them. We just don't have that much in common.

8.  Do you blog on WordPress.com or WordPress.org?

Nope. Blogger-girl all the way here.

9.  What is your favorite color?

They asked me that for my author's profile at Pure Slush. Here's my answer:


What is your favourite colour? Why?Can't believe I'm stuck at the first question. I have several favorites, for different things, but if I have to choose just one… Red. Or hot pink.
10.  Do you take or do or believe in natural, alternative health?

Uh... Well, I'm a smoker, which I guess immediately puts me in the non-healthy camp. I've also been fortunate (knock on wood)--not a single hospital visit, not even outpatient. No broken bones ever, no chronic diseases. But I do believe in a holistic approach to well-being. Being Mexican, I grew up with teas and other natural remedies to treat everything from upset stomach to coughs to scorpion stings.

11.  What do you wish I had asked you?

Good question. No clue.

I'm also supposed to choose some awesome bloggers to pass on the award, but... I have issues with choices at the moment. Thus, I pass it on to everyone. Period. If you want to join the fun, share some random facts about yourself, and pass the fun on yourself to bloggers of your choosing, please--do. 

I hope you enjoyed finding out something new about Quiet Laughter. Thanks again, Cheryl!

I've been reblogged!

(Image taken from this website)In June 2011, when I began my blogger equivalent of an eight-month baby attempting to spoon beet purée into its mouth--unsupervised--I had no clue what I was in for. Two years later I can say, mouth overflowing sincerity, that my expectations about blogging were waaaaaay off.
I never imagined I'd have followers--let alone 200! Yep, we broke the bicentenary barrier this month. You guys--yeah, all of you--you rock.

A big HURRAH for you!


I never expected the blogging community would become a pillar for my development as a writer--and a person. I'm grateful beyond words (and, ahem, if you follow this blog you know verbosity is kind of my trademark) for the people I've met, the friends, the acquaintances, the mentors. Every single reader. Thank you.

Photo borrowed from this post--totally
worth reading, too.I absolutely never ever in my wildest twisted-megalomaniac-mindburps imagined I'd be reblogged. Especially not on Curaçao themes--and certainly not by a Curaçao native compiling a list of 1000 Awesome Things About Curaçao. But--hell be freezing, pigs be flying--that's exactly what has happened. This wonderful woman, a writer born in Curaçao and living in NYC, has reblogged two of Quiet Laughter's A-Z Challenge posts: here and here.

I'm flattered to the quantumest iotic particle of my being. And, more relevant to you, reader, motivated like a hydrogen engine (does that even exist? now you know why I don't write sci-fi...) to finish the Curaçao series.

Coming soon:

Underworld: Blue, Blue, BlueFriendship in CuraçaoSkewed Perceptions: Part I (Crime)Skewed Perceptions: Part II (Politics)
Thank you. Really. All of you. If I could, I'd hug you.