Can't believe it's been almost a year since the 49th. *sigh*
Call for Submission of Manuscripts to the
50th Silliman University National Writers Workshop
The Silliman University National Writers Workshop is now accepting applications for the 50th National Writers Workshop to be held May 2-20, 2011 in the SU Rose Lamb Sobrepeña Writers Village.
This Writers Workshop is offering fifteen fellowships to promising young writers who would like a chance to hone their craft and refine their style. Fellows will be provided housing, a modest stipend, and a subsidy to partially defray costs of their transportation.
To be considered, applicants should submit manuscripts in English on or before February 25, 2011 (seven to ten poems; or three to five short stories; or three to five creative non-fiction essays). Manuscripts should be submitted in hard copy and as email attachment, preferably in MS Word 2003, to nwworkshop_su@yahoo.com, together with a résumé, a recommendation letter from a literature professor or a writer of national standing, a notarized certification that the works are original, and two 2X2 ID pictures.
Send all applications or requests for information to Department of English and Literature, attention Dr. Evelyn F. Mascuñana, Chair, Silliman University, 6200 Dumaguete City.
Showing posts with label Writers Village. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writers Village. Show all posts
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Silliman Workshop Day 16-slash-17
I have another ghost story to tell.
I wonder, though, why these things have been happening a lot. It began in Bacolod. Of course, I wasn't the one who saw the so-called White Lady back in Balay Kalinungan, it was Alyza, my co-fellow in the 10th Iyas Workshop. Still, the spirit did hover over my head, and the fact that I didn't see it wasn't comforting in any way.
Here in Camp Lookout/Writers Village, we have cabins assigned to us. Four people to each cabin, which has two rooms with a double-deck bed each. We slept early since we were scheduled to go to Antulang the next day--Wednesday, which is outing day. We had to get up at 6am and leave by 7.
In the Jasmine Cabin (so named because we planted a Jasmine tree just outside), we were five, and it was my turn to sleep on the floor (I had a bed, of course). For some reason, I was roused from sleep at 3am in the morning. It wasn't Day 16 anymore, but Day 17 when I woke. I could here typing just outside our rooms, where there was a small "reception" area, like a living room. I thought Miro was still typing in the wee hours. Through the open door, I called out, asking her why she was still typing. I'd thought, "napaka sipag naman naman nito". I believe she was finishing her piece for the 49th Dumaguete antho.
It was dark, mind you. I thought I saw her sitting there. There was no electricity. It was stuffy in the room. When Miro didn't answer, I stood up, stepped outside our room.
"Why are you typing in the dark?" I pressed. Until I realized it. Her Mac Book was on standby. I could still hear the sound of typing. Through the shadows, I could actually see the keys moving. But there was no one seated on the monobloc chair before it. No one was using the Mac.
That was when I freaked out.
No, I didn't scream. My mind just went blank, as though I couldn't comprehend what I'd just witnessed. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god..." That was all I could blurt out as I ambled back to our room. Netty woke up because of all my oh-my-god-ing, and the typing stopped.
She asked me what was wrong. She told me she couldn't, didn't hear anything. She was obviously confused about who the hell I was talking to out in the hallway. So was I.
I don't know who I was talking to.
I frickin' don't wanna find out.
I decided to transfer rooms, just to the other side. I didn't want to sleep in our room, on the floor. I was scared the "entity" had followed me.
Grr. I don't even have the proverbial third eye. Hopefully, that thing won't happen again. Hopefully, I won't get up in the middle of the night talking to thin air. Not again. :<
I wonder, though, why these things have been happening a lot. It began in Bacolod. Of course, I wasn't the one who saw the so-called White Lady back in Balay Kalinungan, it was Alyza, my co-fellow in the 10th Iyas Workshop. Still, the spirit did hover over my head, and the fact that I didn't see it wasn't comforting in any way.
Here in Camp Lookout/Writers Village, we have cabins assigned to us. Four people to each cabin, which has two rooms with a double-deck bed each. We slept early since we were scheduled to go to Antulang the next day--Wednesday, which is outing day. We had to get up at 6am and leave by 7.
In the Jasmine Cabin (so named because we planted a Jasmine tree just outside), we were five, and it was my turn to sleep on the floor (I had a bed, of course). For some reason, I was roused from sleep at 3am in the morning. It wasn't Day 16 anymore, but Day 17 when I woke. I could here typing just outside our rooms, where there was a small "reception" area, like a living room. I thought Miro was still typing in the wee hours. Through the open door, I called out, asking her why she was still typing. I'd thought, "napaka sipag naman naman nito". I believe she was finishing her piece for the 49th Dumaguete antho.
It was dark, mind you. I thought I saw her sitting there. There was no electricity. It was stuffy in the room. When Miro didn't answer, I stood up, stepped outside our room.
"Why are you typing in the dark?" I pressed. Until I realized it. Her Mac Book was on standby. I could still hear the sound of typing. Through the shadows, I could actually see the keys moving. But there was no one seated on the monobloc chair before it. No one was using the Mac.
That was when I freaked out.
No, I didn't scream. My mind just went blank, as though I couldn't comprehend what I'd just witnessed. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god..." That was all I could blurt out as I ambled back to our room. Netty woke up because of all my oh-my-god-ing, and the typing stopped.
She asked me what was wrong. She told me she couldn't, didn't hear anything. She was obviously confused about who the hell I was talking to out in the hallway. So was I.
I don't know who I was talking to.
I frickin' don't wanna find out.
I decided to transfer rooms, just to the other side. I didn't want to sleep in our room, on the floor. I was scared the "entity" had followed me.
Grr. I don't even have the proverbial third eye. Hopefully, that thing won't happen again. Hopefully, I won't get up in the middle of the night talking to thin air. Not again. :<
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Silliman Workshop Day 13: Siquijor
Oh my goodness, I've just begun writing about this day when I realized how serendipitous it is that this is the day my co-fellows and I went to Siquijor!
13
Wow, that's pretty...cool (creepy), isn't it?
I've heard lots of stories about Siquijor. Aside from being told that going to this island is an age-old tradition of the Silliman Writers Workshop, I've heard that this is where the mangkukulam reside--their headquarters. If Harry Potter has Hogwarts, Juan Dela Cruz has Siquijor. Yes, and the tuition is probably much, much lower since it is in pesos, though I'm not sure if they use the same currency. For all I care, they may prefer babies and human liver. :)
Of course, Juan is much cooler, since he practices both the dark and "white" arts. There are said to be mambabarang in the island, a type of mangkukulam that utilizes insects (barang) to perform magic. I've heard stories about people dying from strange diseases, and when their relatives look at their corpses, they see insects--wasps, ants, centipedes (you get the picture)--coming out of the victim's mouth.
Another story I heard is from my co-fellow, Gel, who told me about what happened to her friend. Apparently, once you get to the island, you're supposed to bite the tip of your little finger. Otherwise, the witches and fiends can easily put a curse on you. Gel's friend forgot to bite her finger, and what happened was that she (or was it "he") fell really sick. That person was brought to an albularyo, a practitioner of (mostly) the white arts. The albularyo held out a water-filled glass over the body of the victim, just letting the glass hover around in circles, and within minutes, the glass was brimming with insects.
See? Is Hogwarts all that cool?
I meant to just blog about a normal day. About me leaping from a cliff in Salandoong Beach and nearly cracking my pelvic bone against the water's surface. About the oldest Balete Tree in the Island. About the fields of brush, coconut, and bananas. About the oldest convent in the Philippines (Can't quite remember the name).
But as I run out of time in this internet shop, I guess maybe I'll just google it later and add pictures and edit this darned entry. I hope the internet back in Writers Village has been revived, cuz really, I can't even facebook properly with that thing. The cicadas are sending far stronger signals than the Smart Bro. Haha.
13
Wow, that's pretty...cool (creepy), isn't it?
I've heard lots of stories about Siquijor. Aside from being told that going to this island is an age-old tradition of the Silliman Writers Workshop, I've heard that this is where the mangkukulam reside--their headquarters. If Harry Potter has Hogwarts, Juan Dela Cruz has Siquijor. Yes, and the tuition is probably much, much lower since it is in pesos, though I'm not sure if they use the same currency. For all I care, they may prefer babies and human liver. :)
Of course, Juan is much cooler, since he practices both the dark and "white" arts. There are said to be mambabarang in the island, a type of mangkukulam that utilizes insects (barang) to perform magic. I've heard stories about people dying from strange diseases, and when their relatives look at their corpses, they see insects--wasps, ants, centipedes (you get the picture)--coming out of the victim's mouth.
Another story I heard is from my co-fellow, Gel, who told me about what happened to her friend. Apparently, once you get to the island, you're supposed to bite the tip of your little finger. Otherwise, the witches and fiends can easily put a curse on you. Gel's friend forgot to bite her finger, and what happened was that she (or was it "he") fell really sick. That person was brought to an albularyo, a practitioner of (mostly) the white arts. The albularyo held out a water-filled glass over the body of the victim, just letting the glass hover around in circles, and within minutes, the glass was brimming with insects.
See? Is Hogwarts all that cool?
I meant to just blog about a normal day. About me leaping from a cliff in Salandoong Beach and nearly cracking my pelvic bone against the water's surface. About the oldest Balete Tree in the Island. About the fields of brush, coconut, and bananas. About the oldest convent in the Philippines (Can't quite remember the name).
But as I run out of time in this internet shop, I guess maybe I'll just google it later and add pictures and edit this darned entry. I hope the internet back in Writers Village has been revived, cuz really, I can't even facebook properly with that thing. The cicadas are sending far stronger signals than the Smart Bro. Haha.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)