Is there still a legitimate place in today’s literary ecosystem for a thinking-led, non-performative writer like me who works on her own pace? If so, how does she survive and thrive in this kind of environment?
I came here to write a Standard Operating Procedure (sort of) to know how to proceed. Knowing how to proceed helps me feel safe; it’s control, it’s sitting in the driver’s seat and directing my writing career and life.
Basically, what I want is to live in the 90s in terms of technology. There was internet then, but there was no demand to respond live. Imagine not being the slave of your notifications from WhatsApp, Viber, Facebook Messenger, Microsoft Teams… should I say more? Just naming them, hina-highblood na ko.
As a writer, I like the systems of that bygone era. It’s not just the pacing; it’s something else, something I can’t quite put my finger on. If I could only work inside and with these systems, namely:
- Looking for new books in bookstores
- Looking for new books in libraries
- Reading newspapers and magazines — remember those glossies?
- Having a manuscript accepted by a publisher
- A publisher I can meet face-to-face
- A literary agent
- The Big Five publishers, or even a large local one like Anvil
- Getting interviewed when invited, and having that interview broadcast later
As the lyrics of the Queen song go, “Bring it back, bring it back, don’t take it away from me, because you don’t know what it means to me.” Oh how I pine for those days.
In contrast, there are things I do not like and do not want to accommodate in my life: TikTok, YouTube videos, making content with my face in it. And as I mentioned, reacting, commenting, etc., in real time. All of these zap my creativity. Thinking about doing them just does not make me want to be a writer.
However, as far as adaptability goes, I am (at least) on Facebook. I am not a total luddite. But there, when I do post a picture of my (no make-up, no-filter) face, it’s documentation, not decoration. Atypically, I don’t have an “I want followers” mindset. (I do not count my followers, nor do I have any interest in doing so.)
For me, the fact that I write and that it exists—that is already enough. The act of creating an essay is healing and growing in itself. I love the Likes and I answer every comment, just like any other person who enthusiastically posts their creation for others to see. But the stance is still: if people jive with what I write, great. If I get followers, that’s a bonus.
I do recognize that this kind of thinking is unconventional. When I was a teenager, I listened to NU 107 and Sisters of Mercy to be against the flow. That tendency has not changed. I read last night that most INTJs (introverted, intuitive, thinking, judging) are like that. I want to stand by my iconoclastic stance now that I’m in my forties. Why not? I am integrating my Inner Rebel.
But with this stance comes a dilemma.
Why I think differently from most writers
By writing two drafts of this essay, I realized something I had surmised for years but never properly named: I think very differently from most writers — especially those trained in the UP–Ateneo–UST–Silliman circuits. (They are this Philippines’ elite literati.)
A long time ago, I just called them “the artistic types,” knowing deep down inside I don’t quite belong, idolize and admiring them for their innate talent / bent. These idolized creators, these artsy ones, these celebrated writers, some of them my friends.
Finally, I finally found more accurate language, found the words as I got deeper into my practice as a psychotherapist and psychologist. Let me share them with you now.
Most writers who thrive in workshops and later become institutionally successful tend to cluster around a few personality orientations. In MBTI terms, they are often:
INFP – Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Perceiving (The Dreamer)
INFPs write from their inner emotional truth. I married an INFP, he is not a writer, but I am a firsthand witness to how they value sincerity over structure. They get into literary workshops and perform well because their drafts are seen as vulnerable, authentic, and values-driven. INFPs are very okay with feedback, so they don’t mind very much being corrected for the service of the craft.
ISFP – Introverted, Sensing, Feeling, Perceiving (The Artist)
ISFPs are especially attuned to sensory experience. They are drawn to aesthetics like bees to honey. It’s no surprise people of this type are literally called “The Artist” because of their exquisite tastes. Your girl who just has an eye for beauty? That’s an ISFP right there.
ENFJ – Extraverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Judging (The Teacher)
ENFJs write with an audience in mind from the very beginning. I was surprised “The Teacher” popped up in my research, but actually, it makes sense. These are the journalist-academicians—remember the likes of Krip Yuson of the Philippine Inquirer? The Teacher takes up noble causes and virtues; naturally, they align with institutions that are supposed to champion their advocacies.
ESFJ – Extraverted, Sensing, Feeling, Judging (The Caregiver)
ESFJs write as the social justice warriors that they are. The stories come from lived social reality. They have an ear out for injustice, and they will fight with valor for this. Practitioners of ethics of care in literary spaces, they write all about caring for the community, humanity, and peace. Their literary pieces usually get the awards because of their relevance to world events.
One very, very important thing: for all four types of writers, Feeling is their dominant function. So sobrang hilig nila sa the mottos “show, don’t tell” and “make me feel it.”
Eeek. But I don’t write that way.
How I actually write
Kung baga sa kotse, and primero ko ay Thinking. Feeling yung sa other writers. I am quite different.
I sincerely tried forcing the feely thing, but it is uncomfortable and destabilizing. All it did was make me confused and reactive. I just want to keep going back to calm. But as a lot of writers with mood disorders will tell you, the drugs kill the mood, and that mood feeds the artiste. A bit true for me. But I am the last person to advocate stopping your meds if you’re diagnosed and prescribed them by your mental health practitioner.
Emotional regulation is of utmost importance for me.
I write to create order, make unambiguous things clear. I am still trying to make peace with this why. But I know it’s king.
May magbabasa ba? Ewan ko, but I will keep on trying, I will keep on writing and showing up.
I may write non-sensational pieces like this one, pero may storya (in a narrative form), because I know it makes more sense if there is a story. People absorb it better; I absorb it better. But to make the story the star of the show? No. Palamuti lang siya.
The grist of the writing is always, always the lesson.
The process that leads to the lesson is the reflection. Think of it as the story arc, and the end of the rainbow is the values imparted. Then I ask people, explicitly, how they relate to that lesson. That’s my mode d’emploi.
This is not workshop-friendly writing. But it is wholly mine, undiluted.
Wanting a place in this world
I beg and hope that this wonderful tech-enabled world still has space for a writer like me, for I value slow discovery.
Real-time messaging, with the pressure to respond and constantly be seen, drains me and hollows me out. Interacting too much with platforms that enable this makes me want to run away. Help! Somebody hand me back my Nokia 3210 dumbphone!
(I actually have a present-day version of one. Only my family knows the number. Wink.)
I don’t know if the model will work. But here is what I have, for now—my personal SOP:
- Maintain my blog
- Post on my Facebook Page using Meta Planner, on my own terms
- Show up in grad school and finish my PhD — grind, learn, make connections
- Show up at my publisher’s events
- Never ever stop writing
- Email people things I’ve written (still working on how this will be like a newsletter)
- Stay off platforms that sap my energy and demand constant visibility
- Nope, still no videos or reels, and worse short-form videos
That’s it. And hope the world discovers me.
How about you? Are you a rebel like me? Does your style “not quite fit”? Then let’s keep doing it our way and refuse to be hollowed out by the shoulds we’ve internalized for so long. Everybody—even writers like me—can do art. We’re actually fortunate these days: we can get readers anywhere, publish in many places for free, and get readers to read us for free, unlike back in the 90s, 80s, 70s, and way earlier.
What’s the main point of doing it anyway? It is to nourish our essence. We need it to exist.
