Update on events next week!

From Print to Screen to Print – Book-to-Movie Adaptation and Back

Sun 19 Feb, 11am-1pm

Rendezvous Hotel (Ballrooms 1, 2, 3)
Presentations by children's writer and screenwriter Adeline Foo, author of the bestselling trilogy of The Diary of Amos Lee, and poet/playwright Ng Yi-Sheng on the movie novelisation of Eating Air. Part of the All In! Young Writers Media Festival.

http://allin2012.eventbrite.com/

http://www.bookcouncil.sg/_allin2012/allin_120208

Debate: This House Would Not Sacrifice Cultural Heritage For Progress

Saturday 18 February, 2-3pm

Singapore Art Museum (SAM), Glass Hall
A satirical, slap-your-knee, high octane debate featuring Dr. Gwee Li Sui (TellTale, Man/Born/Free), Adrian Tan (The Teenage Textbook), Ng Yi-Sheng (GASPP) and many others! Enjoy beverages from SOHO Coffee as well!
https://www.facebook.com/events/345683598784594/

SPH-NAC Golden Point Competition!

Send in your entries!

By the way, there's an interview with me on Writing the City.

I share my top five writing tips!

http://civiclife.sg/writingthecity/index.php/my-five-ng-yi-sheng

I've a bunch of gigs coming up!

1) I've got a poem in Man/Born/Free: Writings on the Human Spirit, edited by Gwee Li Sui. It's being marketed in South Africa right now as part of Spotlight Singapore. I hear it's doing rather well.

I'll be speaking on a panel at the Singapore launch! Here's the info:

Launch of "Man/Born/Free"
Friday 26 March, 11am-12pm
Living Room, Level Two, Arts House

And here's a blurb from this site:

"This literary anthology – centred on the travails of the human spirit – is like none other published in Singapore. It testifies to the social reflections of generations of Singaporean writers and their inquiries into issues of freedom, equality, humanity, and hope. The selection brings together works originally written in English, Chinese, Malay, and Tamil across almost six decades of Singaporean life. They are arranged here in a compelling way that argues for the inevitable interconnections of these concerns. Man/Born/Free is an exciting initiative to commemorate the relationship between Singapore and South Africa as extended through the 2011 event, Spotlight Singapore in Cape Town.

2) I'm performing stuff at the SPORE Art Salon. It's an event cooked up by Ryan Beck, a dancer at Resorts World's Voyage de La Vie circus show (no, I'm not kidding). He and his fellow artist/performers have been longing for a way to connect with the greater Singapore arts scene, which is really hard for them since they're usually working Wednesday to Sunday.

They've set up this monthly event where they can gather and showcase works by both Singaporean and expat artists - plus, there's live models present for sketching, so you can practise your drawing skills. Unfortunately, it costs $20, but the proceeds go to charity, and there'll be a lovely tapas spread to boot.

This month's will feature myself, musicians/comedians Jacqueline and Bill Landsman, pianist/songwriter/performer Johnny Kim and accordionist/singer/songwriter Faizal Bohtiar.

SPORE Art Salon
Tuesday 29 March, 7-11pm
ECHO Loft, Chinatown
Corner of Smith Street and South Bridge Rd, Second Floor
$20 for entry (including performance, sketching and food)

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=187152654659220

3) I was involved in a collaboration between artists and writers, organised by the literary journal CERIPH and the Substation. Not a lot of publicity materials out yet, but I'm just gonna announce the launch of the art exhibition:

Synaesthesia Launch

8-17 April (launch 7pm on Friday 8 April)

Substation Gallery, 45 Armenian St

Thankyee, y'all!

Call for submissions for ASYMPTOTE: a new international journal of literary translation

My friend's setting up a new journal of translation called Asymptote! (Yeah, I was originally drama editor, but I couldn't commit the time. It's still an important effort.)

It's founded by multi-genre polyglot Singaporean writer Lee Yew Leong, but we've got other editors based in Germany and the USA. Our first issue is coming out in Jan 2011.

If you're a writer in a non-English language or a translator of non-English literature into English, we'd love to see your work. The deadline for submissions is 20 December 2010 and the guidelines are here.

Ooh, and get a load of our landing page, here: http://asymptotejournal.com

Some very cool international writers have already agreed to be featured in the Jan 2011 edition. We'll be featuring:

- a dispatch from Afghanistan about the plight of women in the context of the ongoing war
- an essay from Japan comparing "Literature and Mathematics" (which we thought apropos for the launch issue of a magazine called Asymptote)
- a group of poems by Melih Cevdet Anday, writing in the manner of a famous 17th century folk poet, translated from the Turkish by Sidney Wade and Efe Murad
- an interview with the award-winning lyricist who not only brought the 2010 World Cup song into Mandarin but has done some amazing (literary) things across Mandarin and Cantonese as well.
-excerpts from Singaporean playwright Alfian Sa'at's "Nadirah", last year's prizewinning script at the Life! Theatre Awards.

Hope to read your stuff on the site soon!

So what the hell happened with the CAP Mentorship?

I'll talk about it in due course. But as of now, the most comprehensive place to talk about it is over at Yawning Bread.

Right now, I'm rushing journalism deadlines and running off for the Ubud Writers and Readers Festival. I'm doing three panels!

I still miss having a mentee though. Sigh. Probably selfish. Made me feel like a grown-up.

Had a great time writing with the Proletariat Poetry Society today.

Invited emerging/recently returned from abroad and bloody good poets Johann Loh and Lee Yew Leong along as well. We must've generated at least 100 doggerels between us. Yew Leong says he wants to buy a typewriter of his own - better suited to his writing, he says.

Plus we get paid $30 each for our servility! On the downside, left my headphones back there.

And now for some lolz.

UPDATE: Seems that my mentee, [redacted], ordered a poem for me at PPF today:

you were all dying when it began

CLEAR

in taoist philosophy, there is something that is referred to as XUAN
it is a murky, unclear thing, existing somewhat like a cloud of
mystery and undefined certainties
all things pass through it before exi ting
and will do so again after their end
in it, this primordial substance
are the XXXXXXXXX imaginary numbers
and the unspoken words


Woowhee. I wrote my mentors an assload of poems. But did I ever commission any for them? Nosiree!

Kudos: I has it.

I'm going to Zurich to work on a book about rent-boys.

I'll be gone until 11 May; then on 13 May I'm flying off again to the States for my brother's graduation. I'll only be back in Singapore for a respectable time from 6 June onwards. So don't call my cellphone.


I have of course set up a blog as a diary for my voyage, but it won't be open to the public to read. I'll put up little excerpts occasionally, or maybe I won't. This is the first sentence I've written:

I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m fucking scared.

Complete the short story with the sentence, with emphasis on correct grammar and spelling. (25%)

At the symposium

Elizabeth de Roza: So what have you been doing?

YS: I'm writing a book about the year 1984 in Singapore. What were you doing in the year 1984?

Elizabeth de Roza: I was 14 years old.

YS: What were you doing?

Elizabeth de Roza: I can’t remember.

YS: Yes you can.

Elizabeth de Roza: I can’t remember.

YS: Yes you can. You were Sec 2. Come on.

Elizabeth de Roza: Oh yah! I lost my father.

YS: Oh.

(Pause)

YS: You win.

Submissions open for Queer Singapore Anthology

Dear All,

We're now accepting entries for an as-yet unnamed anthology of queer Singapore writing, provisionally titled "PRU: People Read Us"!

DEADLINE: 2nd February, 2009.

Please submit to <ng.yisheng@gmail.com> with "QUEER ANTHOLOGY" in subject heading.

* WHAT WE'RE LOOKING FOR:

-fiction (preferred, because readers find this most accessible.)
-non-fiction
-poetry

-essays and san wen
-blog entries
-songs
-performance art texts

... in *all* languages. We're especially eager to include Mandarin and (if we can find them) Malay and Tamil texts.

While we're hoping to include mostly queer writers (gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, pansexual and intersex), we will consider works on queer themes by non-queer writers.

Authors may choose to remain anonymous, or print under a pseudonym.

Longer works are welcome, if you allow us to select an extract for publication.

Works will be accepted from both Singapore citizens/PR and, Singapore residents, as well as once-Singaporeans who have renounced their citizenship in disgust.

*WHO'S INVOLVED:

Openly queer poets Ng Yi-Sheng and Jasmine Seah currently form the core of the editorial board. We have also invited Dominic Chua and Mandarin-language writer Irene Oh to join us, as well as poet/translator Teng Qian Xi.

*HOW IT'LL BE PUBLISHED:

Firstfruits publishing has said it would be glad to publish this anthology.

In conversation, representatives from the National Arts Council have also, amazingly, expressed support.

We're envisioning a work that'll be both readable (thus the appeal for fiction), as well as eccentric and inclusive.

We plan to donate royalties to a deserving charity.

*ALSO:

Please help us to publicise this appeal among your various circles. We're especially interested in showcasing a diverse group of writers, which would include older writers and writers who've migrated overseas.

We're also very open to suggestions for a better title. :)

Many thanks,

Ng Yi-Sheng
B).

Writing Workshop with Kaylene Tan!

... aka the lady who got the NUS FASS-Arts House Fellowship instead of me. :) This is her:


She deserved it, actually. She gave them a great proposal: do an artistic audiotour of the Arts House building, a la Desire Paths/National Museum Guide. Hell, I'd have picked her over me. Plus she's shown years of commitment to inventive theatremaking - much more than I have.

But part of the job that goes with the Fellowship is giving a free workshop to prospective writers. Which is where we came in:


Kaylene sent out a call for applications for her week-long writing workshop, maximum capacity ten. On the first day, only eight people turned up; by the last day there were only four of us. (Not sure why; people just didn't seem able to commit.)

I was the only male: the girls on top are Rashidah, Isabella and Yingying.

We did odd stuff, like being assigned to wander through the city, collecting objects and impressions:






And then returning back to the cafe, where we shared our found objects (we had to bring back something live):


I decided to be hero by bringing back an entire palm frond:


A couple weeks later I tried a similar exercise at the ACS (Independent) GEP Enrichment camp. The boys were kinda nonplussed, but responded very enthusiastically when I told them swear words were acceptable in their poetry.

Mostly Kaylene had us do research at the Library and the National Archives, though. We came up with site-specific performances about lost items of Singapore history.


The final day included a presentation. We actually had an audience!


They were mostly Arts House staff lah. This was Isabella's Merlion Monologue:


And this was us watching Isabella's Merlion Monologue.


Unfortunately I have no shots of my monologue performance about Singapore's lost system of tramlines and trolleybuses.

In lieu of a satisfying image to conclude this journal entry, I'll just add a mural from the Arts House Writers Festival:


Yup. I've already contacted the Speak Good English Campaign. :) G'nite everybody!

Anyone notice I've been blogging on a daily basis all week?

Wonder why? It's an awful habit of mine whenever I've a big writing job due. I chain myself to the computer nightafternightafternight. And aside from necessary supper and toilet breaks, I tend to distract myself with every online resource possible - webcomics, aggregators, Youtube, pornography, blogs.

This week, my big job was finishing the first draft of the opening chapters of a book for my old secondary school, ACS (Independent). As part of the deal, I've been interviewing old boys and administrators, including...

DR LEE SUAN YEW.

Actually hor, he's very nice and easygoing - he's the baby brother of LKY, a family medicine practitioner still going strong at the tender age of 74. He bought us (me and English teacher Ms Kavita) tau sar biah and Coca-Cola and met us at the Pyramid Club near Goodwood and told us a whole bunch of stories, printable and unprintable, about his Chairmanship of the Board of Management and the Building Committee and whatnot.

Candid shot! (Actually, just before I took the real shot. I like imperfect poses.)

And what the hell, one more:


He gave us a lift to the main road in his car too. Having been put in touch with me via the school, he only had a vague inkling of my other work - he knew he'd seen me in the papers before, but had no idea why. He's a big Methodist, and I didn't want to alienate him before the interview, so I politely suggested it might be because I won the 24-Hour Playwriting Competition ten years ago.

Yeah, I know some of you'll say I should have queered it up in front of him and demanded he lean on his gor-gor and nephew to repeal 377A, but 1) I don't think he's of that much political influence and 2) as a paid professional copywriter, I shouldn't sabotage the book project. Maybe at the book launch at next year's Founder's Day dinner I'll jump on his back and give him a copy of SQ21. Yeah. That'd work.

Exquisite Corpse

Deep within the earth's crust, half-way between Honduras and Hades, riding in a hot-rod made of leather, on a tank of gusto, eating a tangerine is a speed racing Micheal Jackson impersonator. His skin torn and melting. His ice-skates in the trunk. His copy of Boethius' “Consolation of Philosophy” in his lap. He is chewing on the thread of time. Ready to tackle the thought-provokers (movers and shakers) of the Intelligenstia underworld.

The bricklayer Sartre and baseball champion Baudrillard wait at the nearby gas station “Ixion”. A black car pulls up, belching thick clouds of smog in its wake. Sartre runs his tongue along the inside of his mouth, spitting the taste of grease onto the dirty floor. “Is that him?” Sartre asks.
Baudrillard doesn't answer, just turns around and walks towards the diner. “Is that him?” Sartre repeats. The car door opens just a crack, and a figure dressed all in black spreads out of and separates from the car, his coat the exact same shade of dark. Sartre starts, turns around, but Baudrillard has already reached the door of the diner and is disappearing inside, seemingly heedless of what is going on behind him.

Sartre feels the old rage building in his temples, and feels for the semiautomatic hidden inside his coat. He gropes the gun with lust and unbridled pleasure.

He aims the machine gun at Baudrillard.

“This is for what you did to Simone de Beauvoir!” he bellows.

The bullets spurt out out of the muzzle like sperm from a firehose.

“This is for the gentrification of Montparnasse! And the failure of the 1968 Student Riots! And the future rise of Lepenistes! This is for the divorce of Segolene fucking Royale!”

Baudrillard clutches his heart and staggers to the ground.

“But it was only a simulation...” he meekly mumbles.

“It was a simulacra, salaud. There was no original. You oughta know. You wrote the mere-foutrant book!”

And as Baudrillard breathes his last gasp, he speaks the cursed words...

“Jean-Paul... I am your father...”

-written by Ng Yi-Sheng, Sime Knezevic and Jerome Chua in a workshop by Olivia Allen.

Writing in Different Genres

I. Write a Naturalistic Scene.

(Y is a middle-aged woman. Z is a middle-aged man)

Y: Too much.
Z: It's worth it.
Y: How many more times?
Z: You're a very, very bad -
Y: Shut the fuck up. You don't live with her. You don't have to listen to her insult your children and your -
Z: You don't love your own mother.
Y: I feed her. I wash her.
Z: You've never loved her.
Y: I carry her body when she wants to use the toilet.
Z: You've always resented her love for me.
Y: I wipe her backside when she shits.
Z: Because I'm the son. I never asked for this love. I'll pay what I can for the operation -
Y: You couldn't pay half of the bill last month. I paid for the hospital, the wheelchair, the physiotherapy -
(Enter Doctor)
D: Family of Madam Oh Guan Chin?
Y and Z: Yes?
D: We're very sorry.
Z: What happened? Is she dead? Is she -
Y: Choi!
D: No no no no, she's still conscious. But for how long -
Y: We came too late.
D: For how long we don't know. We need to know. Will you sign these papers approving -
Z: Yes.
Y: How much?
D: Organ donation is becoming more and more important as a means of saving people's lives -
Z: Fuck no!
Y: Ziqiang! Give me the papers.
Z: Give me the papers!
Y: Our mother is dying. You don't even have the money to keep her in your own home. Now you want to keep even her organs?
Z: She wouldn't want it that way.
Y: I lived with her all these years.
Z: She wouldn't want it that way.
Y: I think I know what she would and wouldn't -
Z: Give me the papers.
D: She's still conscious.
Z: Let me see her.
Y: Let me see her. Of course. (laughs) You only visit her when she's in pain. You're her guardian angel. Her little god. You come along when she needs her son to rescue her.
D: Madam Oh has asked to see her son.
Y: Okay! You take over from here. (backing away) You tell her she's dying. You tell her she has to keep her organs.
Z: Yiling –
D: Sign here and here.
Z: My last payment hasn't come in.
Y: Ziqiang. You are too much!

II. Rewrite the Scene in a Non-Naturalistic Genre.

(Y is a middle-aged woman. Z is a middle-aged man)

Y: Fie, 'tis overmuch!
Z: Nay, but 'tis worth it.
Y: Worth what? To live another petty year,
To feel the cutlass of a different surgeon
And die a second death?
Z: I had not thought.
Thou art an evil daughter then, Ysolde.
A venom-hearted devil, spawned of Eve.
Y: You say this sir, who hath not housed this woman.
This daft besom, who crieth the abuse
Of my own lord and kin -
Z: I had not thought
That child might walk that loveth not her mother.
Y: I feed her, Zechariah, bathe her limbs,
I aid her bowels in yon garderobe -
Z: Thou hateth her but for her blessed love,
That love dispens'd on I, her son alone.
Y: What son art thou who canst not guard thy mother?
Who oft doth rob the banks to feed thy debtors,
Who oft doth make excuses for they loans?
I paid for all her ointments, pills and tinctures.
I paid my life for hers, for want of love.
(Enter Chirurgeon)
Y: What news?
Z: Quick, hence! The sum.
C: My lord and lady -
Z: Not death! Fie, sound the alarum and knell!
C: She breathes, sir, but be warn'd: death waits in distance;
She lingers on but for a last farewell.
I have a contract.
Z: Still a bill! I'll sign.
Y: How much? We are not keepers of a fortune.
C: I have a contract that will share her vitals,
Her liver, heart and spleen for ailing folk.
Z: Fie, nay!
Y: Good sir, the papers.
Z: Hand them hence,
I'll rip these rags to shreds to greet the winds!
Y: Thou miserable dog. She meets her end,
Thou wouldst begrudge the poor of their desserts?
Z: She would not wish it so. I am her son.
Y: With me she long hath dwelt!
Z: I am her son.
Y: Then see her. Tell her heaven doth approach.
You are her only son. Pay for her death.

Death be Not Loud

Today I participated in a panel discussion at the Creative Arts Programme Seminar at LT13: as alumni of the programme, me, Alfian, Qian Xi and Nicholas Wong (a very precocious 18 year-old Malaysian writer) read our works and jabbered a bit about the importance of speaking truth to power, etc. Nothing terribly unusual. An MOE lady hogged our slot, so we only had about 15 minutes to discuss the Role of the Writer Today.

Anyhow, I'd read my "Loud Poem", wincing at how hackneyed this old work of 1999 had become. The kids loved it as usual. and applauded during the bits where I forgot the lines. I seem to have cultivated this strange absent-minded boy-in-grown-up's body persona.

And then after the event, a girl came up to me and thrust this note into my hand. It was written on blank printing paper, labelled: "MR NG YI SHENG" on the front, and folded into eight.

"Your loud poem saved my life - recovering from one strange cancer and (thankfully wrongly) diagnosed with a debilitating sort of leukemia and scared and failing at school and tired and stupid, I saw someone looking at me with concern I did not want and took out a book (ONEwinged) and opened it at random and saw tictic tictic tictic BOOM - and it captured my small teenage mind and helped me up again.

Thank you."

[not sure if I should write down her name].

Yow. It's very, very strange to think I might have been an inspiration. I'm immensely grateful to this girl for letting me know that my writing - no matter how jaded I feel about it - can make a difference.

Yish be not proud

Feedback from bloggers on my NUS Arts Fest reading.

I went to watch the poetry recital Tempestuous Beasts at NUS UCC Foyer with Weewee and Miss Pooja Nansi rocked. The rest were too gay for my liking.
-Alexis K, http://iskcentric.wordpress.com/

in my mind, tempestatous [sic] beasts, judging from the title alone, would be a passionate angsty emotional angry sarcastic literary reading... but instead...haiz. i'm not sure how to describe it. let's just say the feelings wasn't there, lah. it was tame. ... and that guy lee-sheng just annoyed me. what's up with the cape?? a little too much. my mood couldnt take it today. http://nineflavours.blogspot.com/

Yeah, I know I should laugh it off, especially since I'd deliberately made a decision to read my less well-known pieces at the event. But it still hurts a little.

That's one of the paradoxes of my life. I believe strongly in the long-term value of good criticism, but I don't take criticism well, whether it's good (I assume it's flattery) or bad (I believe it and it depresses me).

I say this partly because tomorrow, my extremely negative review of Jocelyn Chua's "A Brief Affair With Infinity" comes out. And I'm friends with both Ruby Pan, the director, and Richard Chua, the Artistic Director of Little Red Shop. It's the maiden production of his theatre group. Whether they remain friends afterwards... time will tell.

I know that Jocelyn's going to take this hard, which is why I made sure to use the review to promote her book of earlier plays - "Restless and Other Plays", available at BooksActually, Kinokuniya and NLB. It really is very good; she consistently places her characters into desperate situations, chaos birthed of perverse hierarchical systems (governmental, sexual, familial, whatever), exploding into grotesque influorescences of violence.

Even so, I know that my lack of mercy will come back and haunt me when 251 opens next week.

Let them criticise. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.

Itchy ears

1. I googled myself just now. Pretty precise outcome - you get my online poems and blogs and reviews all on the first few pages. Plus, you get this review of YAWP, including my performance. I have no idea how to respond to it:

"...I like the way he delivers his poems better than his poems themselves. He seems boring at first sight, but really, his delivery is SO GOOD and funny..."

I know it's a compliment, but it's pretty damn disconcerting to realise that I'm more form than substance. And am I that square-looking?

Anyhow, the reviewer was quite right - YAWP was a ball, from the invited hardcore slammers Marc Nair and Bani Haykal to the contestants, who, if not uniformly good, were thoroughly entertaining. It's a pity that Michael Corbridge gave the post-mortem in the end; Alfian (who was the third judge) would probably have delivered a much more in-depth analysis.

Apparently poetry performance teams tend to do other people's work rather than their own - and that's a smart decision. Teams which used their own poetry quite often ended up with unfocussed angstfests, which make for some remarkably gymnastic creative movements but can't quite speak to an adult judge.

The first prize went to Hwa Chong team "Multiracial We Study Together" (it's a quote from the school motto) consisting of Jian Yang, Melo, Claire Soon, Rachel Au-Yong and Salima Nadira Mafoot Moss Simon. They did a well-choreographed and curated melange of politically charged poems by Alfian Sa'at and sexually charged pieces by the Earl of Rochester. (Very embarrassing for Alfie, but hey, glory must have its price.)

The clear winner of the night, however, was Lisabel Ting aka "The Sexual Textile", who performed her own series of poems (including a villanelle on Wee Shu Min!) from the voices of different archetypal Singapore characters - "Aunty/Adult/Addict/Adolescent", she called it. We gave her the best solo performance (there was only one other competitor) and decided to split the best original poem prize with Karen Xi, a promising RGS girl with a much shorter but still impressive piece called "hear me out".

Of course, I'm sensitised to the problem of how performance poetry events marginalise shyer writers who don't quite dare to take the stage - I hope there's still a semi-sober arena like the now-defunct RJC Afternoon of Poetry and Music for them to ply their wares.

In the meantime, let's yawp!

2. Urg. I started on the below post before I got the residency news.

And how was it? Not bad, I guess. I was about 5 minutes late for my 3pm appointment - had to take a cab in the rain from rehearsals for Georgette, which I'd stupidly scheduled at 2pm. Because of my tension and the dramatic way I rushed up the stairs, by the time I got to the interview I was hyper - punctuating all my sentences with exclamation points, talking with my hands, being super-enthusiastic about everything.

If they liked me like that, wait till they see me when I'm in a low-energy mode. Which was directly after. (I'd only had about four hours' sleep, y'see). By the time I got to Hwa Chong, I crashed - I fell asleep on a bench, waiting for the ELDDFS event to start.

Btw, isn't Robbie Goh's letter down there terribly well-crafted? My sis, the GP teacher, pointed it out. The progression from one point to another, the careful massaging of my ego to prevent shattering of dignity and encourage future progress... ai-ai-ai, but then I step back and the illusion is rent asunder.

Of course, the grand question is, who did get the Fellowship? I'm as clueless as you are. Because of a suggestion Shu Hoong threw up, I'm awfully suspicious that it's - well, there's no justification, but a successful Singapore novelist whom I admire but wish would write her novels with a more informed Singapore perspective.

I really have no idea who won it - I swear - but simply considering that I might have been competing against her sent me into a fit of random depression last night. You see, if I'd been on the panel, even if I hadn't liked her novels one bit, I'd still have selected her as a Fellow rather than myself. Never mind the officially declared aim of developing new writers - Singapore needs a good, marketable novel that doesn't over-exoticise itself, and any course she'd give would be a great breeding ground for much-needed future novelists.

I mean, hell, if they're starting a novel-writing programme, I'm joining in.

My friends have been amazing beacons of comfort, by the way.

Fay: Who won it?

YS: No idea.

Fay: Don't worry! I'll dig up who he is and chop off his hands!

YS: But then he'll be able to write a great novel based on the trauma! And he'll be invited to all the disabled arts festivals!

Fay: (pauses to consider) Then we'll chop off your hands.

3. Some good news. Today NAC Lit Division approved my travel grant. Woohoo!

Residency!

In eight hours' time, I'm being interviewed for the Arts House/NUS Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences Writer's Residency position. Wish me luck, guys.

Guess what? I can write prose!

Or at least a six-word long short story. I've just found out I won Culturepush's Very Short Story Competition.

This was my winning entry:

“Thanks, Singapore – the experiment ends now.”

Others that I sent in include:

Singapore colonises Britain. Speak good Singlish.
LKY Clones himself. Global domination!
Actually, Soon Juan, You’re the Messiah
Fuzzy logic air-conditioners take revenge!
“I loved you, Kuan Yew. Goodbye.” [my favourite]
Bomoh creates zombie army: no NS!
Haw flake ingredient: soylent green.
They said I was gifted, once.
Huh? You mean I’m a robot?
Astronomy’s a hoax: green cheese, anyone?
“Guess whose cock you sucked, Papa!”
Don’t be silly, pontianaks don’t exi-
Lesbian pontianak! Quick, throw your tampons!
Sentosa’s independent! (Led by waxwork LKY)

I know, it really was a case of data-bombing. So sue me. Actually, sue them. It's been almost two weeks since they uploaded the results and they still haven't e-mailed me - nor did they print my name in the report. (shrug)

UPDATE: They've made the updates and sent me my $50 Books Actually voucher. Hooray! (Apparently they wrote and dated the article about a week before uploading it, so their sin of forgetfulness is not quite so grievous.)