to Quiapo and partway back
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Manila, 16 August—It embarrasses me to say this, because this exposes how little I’ve read ~in general, but yesterday, I heard for the first time something quite life-changing: Ricky Lee’s “Trip to Quiapo” metaphor for the writing journey, which he discussed during his storytelling masterclass organized by the Cultural Center of the Philippines in time for this year’s completely digital and online Cinemalaya festivities.
I chanced upon the announcement by complete accident—I saw someone comment about joining his masterclass last week, on Twitter. When I googled it, I found that they were doing a second batch, so I signed up and paid the P300 registration fee—a stunning bargain, if I may add, for what I gained.
I’m a fan of online courses and tutorials—I do a significant chunk of my procrastination hours watching productivity courses on Skillshare (the irony is not lost on me, I assure you) and the occasional How to Up Your Mobile Legends Game tutorial on YouTube (which probably makes me a loser, but what the hell, so enjoyable)—so I am very much into these online masterclasses, in that I get to sit behind a relatively anonymous screen and soak up knowledge in my own way.
What I’m not very good at—what I’ve never been very good at, to admit—are writing workshops. I took a lot of workshop classes in college—including an Erotica one, which I really enjoyed but which also means I’ve collected enough workshop trauma to last me a lifetime (hahaha). So whenever I hear from friends about their life-changing experience joining workshops, especially ones taught by Ricky Lee, I can’t help but feel envious about their writing journeys.
Anyway, I’m glad I found this class when I did, because it reminded me of what it feels like to listen to a veteran storyteller talk about his craft. Truly, there is no one quite Ricky Lee, whose screenplays include Himala, Karnal, Madrasta and Labs Kita, Okay Ka Lang? (Google tidbit: Lee, born 1948, was 34 years old when Himala came out in 1982)
In keeping with the Masterclass format, the class, which ran on Zoom from 10 a.m. to 3:30 p.m., was mostly a lecture and Q&A. With the sheer size of the batch—~400 students this week, x4 the size of last week’s class—it was less a venue to get feedback about your own writing, and more an opportunity to soak and bask in Ricky Lee’s wisdom.
Of course, Zoom classes have their own drawbacks—Sir Ricky was the first to note this. He opened by saying he wanted some of us to keep ourselves unmuted because he felt awkward just talking to a cold screen, even if it meant strange background noises at times interrupting his lecture (he also said he preferred the technical difficulties, because it made the session feel ‘more human’, which was so important for him).
He also said he missed the intimacy of face-to-face classes, where he could see students’ facial expressions, hear spontaneous laughter and even evaluate non-verbal cues such as body language so he can adjust his lecture accordingly. Hearing that, I realized just how much more challenging holding online classes en masse this year should be for teachers—and that it’s really not just about technology, per se. It’s really like teaching blindfolded.
Anyway, I learned so much from this session, and I look forward to applying for his workshop class when the opportunity presents itself. Yes, today’s masterclass actually made me want to go back to workshops—it was that good.
I thought I’d share this List of Things I Learned From Ricky Lee’s Masterclass from my notes, for whoever may find them useful:
Getting lost is part of the journey. The metaphor of a ‘trip to Quiapo’ as the writer’s journey stemmed from Ricky Lee’s own writing habit to take a trip to Quiapo and back and write while on the bus. Anyway, he tells of three kinds of writers: The first one who uses a map to get to Quiapo and promptly gets there; the second one who meanders and in doing so finds a new way to get to Quiapo, albeit via a more ‘scenic’ route, I suppose; and the third one, who strays into undiscovered corners on the way to Quiapo, promptly gets lost and severely so, that they end up in a place that isn’t really Quiapo, but for some reason, they are able to make their readers believe that it is Quiapo. Of course we could probably tell who the best writer of them all is (spoiler alert: the third one)—because there is no substitute for experience, no matter how trite that sentiment is these days.
Mahalaga yung Quiapo, pero mas mahalaga yung journey mo papuntang Quiapo.
There is no One True and Right Way to tell a story. All topics are neutral until we start telling their story. In so doing, it is up to the writer to convince their readers, through the many storytelling choices they will make about their characters and the world they are building. However, Sir Ricky wisely appends a rejoinder that is fit for the times re: stories that aim to deceive people: What truly matters, at the core of it, is that you’re a good person first, a good writer second.
Kamalayan muna, kasi ang craft natututunan. Mahalaga kung ano ka—mabuting taong bukas ang kamalayan.
Writers write so the blind can see and frauds can be exposed. One of my favorite anecdotes from the masterclass is this one he tells about Nora Aunor: Ate Guy is inside her van when a blind beggar knocks on her window. The beggar knocks and knocks until Ate Guy, overcome by curiosity, opens the window. After which the blind beggar promptly goes, “Ay! Si Ate Guy!” (Sir Ricky, hearing this story, himself goes, “Guy! Nag-Himala ka!”—a pity I wasn’t able to laugh out loud in class for him today, I would have wanted him to know he absolutely nailed the delivery of this anecdote with me.)
Trabaho ng manunulat na makakita para matulungan ang iba na makakita, upang makapagpakita.
Entertainment can be blinding but it need not be. The truth itself can be entertaining and inspiring. When people are entertained, they are more open, and it is easier for the truth to slip in. This is the writer’s challenge. Entertainment should mean the audience is compelled and engaged—not just distracted.
How do we make our true stories entertaining?
All stories are about human rights violations. It always involves a character seeking completion but is continually hampered by forces both internal and external. This is often where the story begins: An incomplete character that is broken for a variety of reasons. Sir Ricky’s preferred metaphor is putting this character inside a box, constrained by three elements: Desire, Awareness (the character’s lack of knowledge) and Power (the forces that hamper the character). This is why we write—we look for the people inside. We root for their inner journeys.
Ang tao sa loob ang pinakamahalaga. Ang lahat ng kwento ay tungkol sa pagpapakatao.
We shape our worlds; our worlds shape us. And our characters do the same thing. Their box is inside an even bigger box—which is their context. You have to be familiar with the box so you can see it, challenge it, and one day even get out of it. It is up to the writer to keep challenging the box to make the story better and more compelling.
Our brains are wired to look for stories. Its instinct is to want to connect the details. What you look for depends on your personality and experiences. The brain fills in the details and uses whatever is at its disposal—logic, cause and effect, associations—to supply what’s lacking.
The act of storytelling is the act of finding the answer over and over and over again. Ricky Lee lost his mother when he was young, and he said this is why he writes strong mother characters (e.g. Anak) - to reimagine her into a sort of existence: “I have to keep telling this story because I have to keep reimagining my mother.”
How do you know you’ve reached Quiapo? You will never reach Quiapo. But you will keep reaching “Quiapo”—a semblance of it. It’s good that the journey remains incomplete so you keep going. You keep looking for it, un-find it, and look for it again. It’s how you grow as a writer.
Do not settle for the first idea. First ideas are reflex ideas. No matter how good they seem, they must always be challenged.
You cannot reject your bad points—instead, turn them around and embrace them as part of your process. Sir Ricky mentioned his utter lack of a sense of direction as one of his weaknesses. Initially, he thought being a writer meant having a good sense of direction and memory for details, and that perhaps not having them meant he was not going to be a good writer. But because he kept getting lost, he ended up creating his own maps—and his journeys ended up producing something different. He was able to turn around his own weaknesses, integrate them into his process and make them work for him.
Your flaws are part of you. Make them work instead of resisting them.
In the end, write your story for others, not just for yourself. Self-expression and ambition are okay, sure. But in the end, a story wants to be of service to another.
Last Recs
The Last of the Zoroastrians via Pocket
If you want to try Skillshare for free for 2 months — you can use my link here. Cancel anytime.
Canva Uncovered: How A Young Australian Kitesurfer Built A $3.2 Billion (Profitable!) Startup Phenom via Forbes
P.S. Canva Manila is hiring.
Set your career in motion & work with us! Canva Manila is looking for DESIGNERS. Know more about what drives us: The pursuit of excellence and being a force for good. For more info ➡️ bit.ly/2DliZTD
💌 DM me or email your CV/Resume/Portfolio to cha@canva.com. (THREAD)
Thank you so much for making it this far.
Xo,
K