Dear Blog,

How I've neglected you lately!

My third draft is progressing at a snail pace; still I find consolation in the fact what I've written so far in my current draft is far superior to anything in the other two. Rather slow and good than fast and bad, as I tell myself all the times.

Now, this entry is not dedicated to my WIP (as it should) but to Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre—not the book (which I'm rereading right now) but the character—and the defunct Mrs Bronte herself, and how they've been protrayed by various artists.



First Portrait: Jane Eyre


First portrait is the Jane Eyre I'm most fond of and the most accurate protrayal of this formidable character, I reckon. This face is very reminiscent of a witch (without the warts and general grotesqueness of course) and is a faithful image of how Rochester describes Jane in one chapter of the book: "No wonder you have rather the look of another world. I marvelled where you had got that sort of face. When you came on me in Hay Lane last night, I thought unaccountably of fairy tales, and had half a mind to demand whether you bewitched my horse: I am not sure yet. Who are your parents?"


The other protraits of Jane Eyre that I don't approve of:

Bronte herself:

Who said this woman was plain-looking? Maybe in the days back then, but by nowadays' standard, were she alive, she would have been an absolute beauty.

Another portrait. In this one Bronte bears a vague ressemblance to her character Jane Eyre (of the first portrait) .

To be continued...

Quote of the Day

A day not spent is wasted.

Just for the Record

Just for the Record

Someone in my past: "Don't just stand there, you idiot. Always find an answer. Doesn't matter whether you are wrong or right, but make sure you defend that answer no matter what. Got it!"

We're Losing the Battle, Commander

This a flash fiction I wrote a while ago for inspiration. I'll polish it further at a later time. Enjoy.

We’re losing the battle, Commander

“We’re losing the battle, Commander!” Marshall Me announced as soon as his horse slowed to a halt.

“Really, Marshall?” Commander I returned in a calm tone of voice that contradicted the urgency of the situation. “What are our reserves?”

“Well, Commander, we’ve got an undermanned battalion of Despair, a demi-brigade of Fool’s Hope and”—Marshall Me hastily unfolded the despatch letter that had been recently delivered to him by the Chief of Staff, Marshall Myself, took a glance at it, then raising his dark, demure eyes to meet the Commander’s, he told him—“the Lucky Star regiment.”

“Lucky Star?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“But, you told me we’re losing the battle.”

“Only at the moment, Commander. We shall win the battle, though.”

“That’s the spirit, Marshall,” said Commander I, a grin taking over his face. “Aide de camps, my spyglass!”

“Here, Commander.”

The commander reached for the spyglass.The hills where the mounted commander had set his head quarter offered a sweeping, strategic view on the entire battlefield. A silence, at times appropriated by the sporadic distant sounds of cannonball and the gun fire, settled over the hills as the commander made his assessment of the battlefield situation.

“You were right, Marshall,” Commander I broke the silence. “This is quite a rotten situation.”

A brief moment of silence ensued before the field Marshall spoke, a tremor in his voice betraying him despite his best effort to appear calm, “Your orders, Commander.”

Commander I swept on in the serene tone of voice that had come to characterize him amongst his men, “Well, Marshall, I want you to send the Battalion of Despair and that demi-brigade of Fool’s Hope on the enemy’s right …as a diversion. That’ll force them to draw forces from their left flank. Then you’ll send the elite Lucky Star regiment on the enemy’s weakened left flank. I believe our beleaguered force, at the centre, will hold firm for the next hour or so...Enough time for the Lucky Star regiment to fully envelop the left flank…” clenching his fist, he added, “…and destroy it. The rest of the enemy forces will follow in a domino effect.” A heart beat. “This, my dear Marshall, is how you snap victory from the jaws of defeat,” he added finally, brandishing his hand and snapping it shut.

Big Bro

This post has nothing to do in anyway with the project. Something more personal, I think that has to be put into words. Of late, I've been dreaming of my eldest brother: nightmares that is. And I'm finding it hard to explain why that heroic brother of mine is now the object of my nightmares.

Now, upon deeper analysis, I once remember, as a teenager, showing him my hand for him to read. He told me my lines were so much more defined that his, and that this was a sure sign that I was destined for greatness. I believed him then; but now that I'm in the midst of realising I'm anything but great, I have to admit my brother knew jackshit about fortune-telling. My lines are more defined because he's fairer than me; that's all there was to it. Damn, I'm darker than him in every possible sense of the word. He made me believe—he convinced me— that I was the better son. Jesus Christ, no! I know why I'm having the nightmares: my brother, despite all his faults, is a hero, a true hero; I, on the other hand, am an anti-hero— a borderline villain, if not a full-blown villain. I just don't measure up to him, never did, never will.

New entry

I almost forgot about this blog. Not that I've lost interest in the project; on the contrary, I've been working hard on it. But, the editing is more tedious than previously thought. But, hey, I'm really satisfied with the quality. I'll sacrifice speed for quality and thouroughness anytime. The first and second drafts are like night and day.

Already written the query letter. I'll start hunting for an agent as soon as the manuscript is polished—in a month time, perhaps.

That's it. Next update in three months or so. Back to work now.

WEWB's Blurb

Well, lately I've been working myself to a frazzle to have the novel ready ASAP. The manuscript still needs some revision, editing, and polishing. No pain, no gain. I've abandoned plans to self-published the novel, and I am actively looking for an agent to represent my work. Meanwhile, here is a blurb to work your appetite.

Clinical psychologist, Dr. Beverly Crowley, is at a loss as how to deal with the out of character revelation of her client. Her client seemingly has been having precognitive dreams of the serial killings rocking LA. Torn between her commitment to client confidentiality and her duty to report a potential criminal, seeking the middle ground, Beverly has to turn to a man who has been absent in her life for nearly a decade for help: Homicide Detective Sergeant Leo Mars, an interpersonal deception expert—her former lover.

Today's featured picture: My visual representation of a mind's eye, one bent upon destruction.