Cindy’s Rules for Writers #4

3
by

Rule #4

Read. Everyday, whenever you have a bit of time, read. Not just anything, although that is good for a different reason, but the kind of writing that you want to do. If you want to be a journalist, read newspapers and magazines. If you want to be a novelist, read novels. If you want to be a poet, read poetry. Not just a little, but a lot. Get to know different styles of writing. Read works by great writers that you can model your writing after. Yes, I believe a lot of what you learn as a writer can happen by osmosis–in this case, just reading a lot of excellent writing–because you remember a bit of what you read (if your memory is better, you’ll remember a lot!), and what you remember will seep into your writing. But don’t just read excellent writing. Read the really bad writing too, and those in between. If you can distinguish the bad writing from the good writing, you’ll be able to apply that to your writing. You will know when your writing is good and when it is bad. You will learn how to avoid the bad writing and write better. I’m willing to bet that no good writer ever became good at writing without having reading a lot. What are you waiting for? Go get something to read!

Cindy’s Rules for Writers #3

0
by

Rule #3

Write about something you don’t know. Admit it. You don’t know everything. Nobody knows everything! There will always be something out there that’s new to you. If it’s totally new to you, it’s also probably totally new to a lot of other people. You could be filling up a niche. Who knows? It’s a great challenge to see how much you can write about something you don’t know. How do you go about it? Simple. Research.

Cindy’s Rules for Writers #2

0
by

Rule #2

2. Write about something you know. This is the easiest way to begin. Write about people around you, places you’ve been to, experiences you’ve had. Try to describe them in as many ways as you can. Observe very closely and note every detail. You’ll be surprised how much detail you can write.

Cindy’s Rules for Writers

0
by
1. If you want to be a writer, write! Don’t just think about it. Don’t just talk about it either. Write as much as you can whenever you can. You can’t be called a writer if you’re not writing anything. It doesn’t have to be fancy. It can be words. It can be sentences. Words grow into phrases, phrases into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, paragraphs into stories.

Book cover for my upcoming book!

0
by
Cover Design by Cindy Lapena Cover Art by Kitt Lapena

Cover Design by Cindy Lapena
Cover Art by Kitt Lapena

 

Free Copies! Five days only!

0
by

Five days only!  Download your FREE DIGITAL COPY of 101 Fun Games, Activities, and Projects for English Classes, vol. 1 from June 21-25, 2013. Click HERE.

*The digital copy is a text-only copy. For full-color illustrated print copies, visit CreateSpace.com by clicking HERE.

v1 cover

 

Next Best Author Round 1 voting ends June 30

0
by

Next Best Author Round 1 ends June 30. Vote here now for my first 2 chapters of The Lost Amulets!

Just a few comments from readers to give you an idea of what you’re missing!

“I liked your descriptions of the hill, from the beginning it felt like a place your not supposed to go, it felt dark and dangerous….The setting and pace is perfect, overall I liked it very much. I can’t wait to hear what happens next”

“I’ve just read your chapters and I’m thinking magic mushrooms! An interesting hill… I’ll never look at them in the same way again. Littlefolk? What a fantastic imagination you have to come up with such a creation. I liked the prologue, assuming everything in the book will hinge on the extraordinary hill. Well-written, beautiful linguistic skills and I think you could have a new world for children in your head.”

“….Wonderful set up, lots of suspense and the stakes are raised higher… I love what you’re doing. This has sort of a Gulliver’s Travels feel to it. And the fact that it draws on folklore of the Philippines makes it even more intriguing.”

“I love it. You’ve captured the brother/sister banter, child’s POV, the magic and reality of mysteries beyond with awesome characterization and description. Your style reflects the timelessness of the oral fairytale without sugarcoating. The timing, dialogue, and subsequent introduction of the King of the Hill is very well crafted and effective. I look forward to more, too!”

https://review.wizehive.com/voting/search/nextbestauthor/?q=c.p.+lapena&p=1

Poems for Papa on Father’s Day

0
by
by Kitt Lapeña

by Kitt Lapeña

thunder and lightning and papa

  

i was as proud as a little girl could be

at six

with my very own room

and my very own bed

and my very own closets

and a door i could close

to be alone

until the big storm

when thunder roared

and the lightning

turned the shadow of

our neighbor’s caimito tree

into grotesque arms

swaying and reaching

in the blue-white glow

of the stormy night

and the wind

lashed at the windows

and left an open one

banging

and banging

and banging

i lay awake

crouched under my blankets

trying to shut my eyes

not to see

the monster arms

reaching for me

but they did

and i forgot

how nice it was

to have my very own room

and my very own bed

and my very own closets

and a door i could close

and i screamed

until papa came

and papa stilled

the thunder and lightning

so i could sleep.

 

Pasig

7 July 1993

4:10 a.m.

 

…and papa was there

 

it was a dark and stormy night

and papa was there

to put me to sleep

 

i had always wanted to be a girl scout

and everyone’s mommy and daddy

was at the induction

to pin the tiny girl scout pin

and tie the white kerchiefs on

i thought no one would come

and just when they called my name

papa was there

 

mama brought me to my grade school graduation

but didn’t stay

and somewhere in the middle of it all

as i strained to see the tiny faces in the crowd

papa was there

with his camera and his big almost-smile

 

and when my tummy hurt

really bad in school and

i had to get an appendectomy

before the anaesthetic got to work

papa was there holding my hand

and his eyes and shining eyeglasses

were the last thing i saw

floating next to the iv bottle

 

and when i walked down the aisle

papa was there holding me

like a little girl again

and smiling and crying

as i was

 

and when bianca came into the world

i thought i saw papa at the window

in a green surgical smock and cap

and when i woke up

there was a bag of sweets and cakes

and papa

 

and when i die

wherever i go i’m quite sure

the first thing i see will be papa.

 

Pasig

7 July 1993

4:55 a.m.

 

At the end of the day (poem)

0
by

At the end of the day I put my pens and brushes away

I shut down my computer, shut my lessons, shut my books

At the end of the day. I turn off the lights

Bid all goodnight and welcome the night

At the end of the day when it creeps in on spider legs

Swallowing the light and the sky turns gray

It’s the end of the day and the dark sets in

And my world narrows down to the thoughts in my head

Because at the end of the day the world disappears

And I live only in my mind pondering

If another day will end for me at the end of the day.

 

© Cindy Lapeña, 2013

Charlottetown

 

Children of the Earth (poem)

0
by

children of the earth we are born

in the womb of mother nature we are nurtured

we feed at her bountiful bosom and we grow strong

as children of the earth.

we are born children of the earth

we grow strong feeding from her bounty

and when we are grown we forget how we were born

from the womb of mother nature.

we were nurtured by the rich bounty of our mother earth

we have grown. we have forgotten.

we grow fat taking more than our share.

we grow rich taking more than we need for ourselves.

we grow greedy taking everything from the earth.

we have forgotten how we were born.

we have sold our mother to the highest bidder.

we have sold our lifeline to the earth.

we have sold our mother.

we have sold our earth.

we were born children of the earth

and children of the earth we shall die.

children of the earth we shall hunger for more

and when there is no more, we shall hunger again

for what no longer is. for the barren mother

stripped of her glory

stripped of her bounty

stripped of her beauty

and when she can no longer give

how else shall we live?

as children of the earth we shall die

on the barren grounds stripped of beauty and bounty

in filthy oceans populated by flotsam

on bare mountains that will be bare sand

in the bosom of a dead mother

her children will die.

 

© Cindy Lapeña, 2013

 Mother Earth