For Once

For once this post is not about books or writing. It's, randomly, about ethnicity.

Not so random, I guess. I was talking to Jeevan about how I don't really consider myself Korean-American, but just Korean, probably because I came here when I was eight and am still superficially in tune with the Korean culture and language. But, I realized that I am not really...anything.

When I visit Korea, it feels like I am in a foreign country, even if I look like the people there and understand the language perfectly. I guess it's kind of like an American being in England or Australia. I am too comfortably settled in the American culture and the setting that Korean culture is like a foreign entity. But, at the same time, I don't consider myself American and probably wouldn't mind living in Korea. (Although it might be a bit difficult for me to adjust, seeing that I am more fluent in English than in Korean.) And, I just found out that I have a slight accent when I speak English, which was new to me. So, here I am, stuck in the middle, not fully anything, not able to fully decide to be anything, because I have two cultures inside my belly that both make my current self.

It's a weird feeling. It feels like I am floating inside a gigantic fish net that's hung from two lonely planets in space.

Revision: Productivity II

I need to slightly revise what I said previously about my writing process. I said that making writing into work makes me not want to write, but sometimes, discipline must be forced if I do not show self-discipline. The internal rule to write certain number of pages a day is pretty effective. As long as it's flexible, that is.

Strangely, I am re-learning a lot of things about myself by arranging my personal thoughts on this blog. As Stephen King said, "I write to find out what I think."

Productive II

Funny thing. I previously wrote about productivity and today, I read a book proposal about how to achieve maximum productivity. The society's obsession with productivity is tremendous, stemming from our dissatisfaction with just how lazy we are. So, why are we so lazy or unproductive?

Maybe, we are so unproductive because we obsess over productivity in the first place. Because there is this stress to be productive, productivity becomes an obligation, a burden, or for a lack of a better word, work. And people tend to get lazy if they think that what they are doing is work. Wouldn't we achieve maximum productivity if we don't think about productivity? If we don't think about how much work we have to get done in a certain amount of time, but just do things step by step without thinking about just how much of a workload we have? The constant pressure to be productive overwhelms us, and that might be why we get lazy. Because, we just don't want to deal with it.

This is coming from a personal experience of writing. If I make an obligation to write a certain amount, that writing becomes work, and I suddenly don't want to do it anymore. But, if I just write on and on without thinking of its end, if I just let the momentum take me, I end up writing more. (But, this is different from writing as much or little as you want. If I have that kind of mindset, I would just write one paragraph a day...). The best way to be productive is to only look at the process of work rather than the work as a whole with its beginning and its end.

Being Productive

Unlike my internship at BK, my two previous internships did not have regular 10-5 work hours at an office. My blogging internship was completely online, in the comforts of my own home (or I guess, my dorm, which wasn't THAT comfortable), whereas my internship at an art gallery was not solely a desk job. (It involved a lot of manual labor...those canvases are HEAVY.) Although my internship at BK is only two days a week, it is safe to say that it's my first so-this-is-what-it's-like experience of having an office job. Although a desk job is not as physically draining as carrying twenty pound canvases, it does pose a sneaky danger. It's really easy to doze off, especially at the wee hour after lunch, just plain space out (which I am very good at, unfortunately), or do personal yet completely unnecessary things on the computer. (But, I am pretty good at staying focused on work, so this one's not too much of a problem.) In other words, it's really easy to be unproductive.


But, there is something nice about being productive. Even at home, I feel this satisfaction of having done something worthwhile. After working on something for hours, I would realize, "Wow! I've been working for so long!" and would feel really good about myself. It's funny, we think that being lazy and not doing anything will make us happy, because we are finally free from the shackles of work. I mean, being lazy from time to time is absolutely enjoyable, but in the end, having something to do makes us happier than not doing anything. I guess the hard part about being productive is actually getting started. At least, that's the hardest part for me.

Used vs. New: The Monetary Value of Books

It is painful for a college kid to buy new books. That is, spend $14.95 on a fiction that I could probably buy for $6 used. Ever since I was introduced into the wonderful world of used books at Berkeley, I just couldn't bear to spend more than twice the amount of money to buy the same book, simply with a newer cover and whiter paper. The only problem is that when there is a book that I really want to buy or have always wanted to buy, but can never seem to find it as used. Then, I arrive at the point of dilemma: To spend $14.95 or to not spend $14.95. I have succumbed to buying new books before, especially for the books that I felt as if I just had to read at that moment, or else I would go into book-withdrawals, or a massive depression (Small things do make me moody, such as the overcast weather, not reading when I want to read, etc.) Even if I cringe as I hand my crisp twenty dollar bill at the cash register, I am still happy enough once I get that book in my hands. So, if it's not so devastating to buy new books and I can indeed buy new books without bashing myself over it, then buying used books is not the only choice for my conscience. In other words, I am ultimately okay buying either used or new books.

Which brings me to the question of what is the monetary value of books? Economically, buying used books is more prudent, because you get the same content for half the price. But, what is considered "expensive" for books? $14.95 is only too expensive, because I know that there is a $6 option somewhere in the world, but in the end, the joy of getting that book trumps all that pain of extra dollars. Poohh, call me a spendthrift, I can't help it with books sometimes.

Literary Ego

My literary ego made me read Proust as my leisurely reading.

As an English major, I have this smug obligation to read famous works of literature just so that I can say that I've read them. Hence, why I forced myself to finish Herman Melville's Moby-Dick even if I think that it's the most boring work of fiction ever written. (Even worse than Steinbeck's East of Eden; although, I think that one has potential, so I should go back to it.) So, when I heard about Proust's epic seven-volume attempt to grasp the passage of time, there was a little blip in my English major brain, and I thought, 'That's it! Time for me to read Proust!' I had heard that it was hard to understand, but oh dear, I really underestimated that French author.

To business books, we are usually "Simplify! Simplify!" Yes, Proust, simplify. No, just kidding. Simplifying In Search of Lost Time would be taking away the major artistic merit of the work. And his writing is absolutely gorgeous, and scarily precise. What a brain to be able to express, in words, a single train of thought that takes less than a second.

Because I admire such literature, I think it's good that I am interning at BK. I am exposed to books that I would probably never think of picking up in the bookstore, and I am learning that not all books are published in the same way.

Okay, I got to get back to the mind-wringing world of Proust. (And no, I will not quit midway through the book. I am going to finish it and feed my ego.)

Editing is not empathetic

My first author's day yesterday was awesome! It felt pretty exhilarating to come out of the narrow shell of academia and meet people working in the real world. My favorite meetings were the editorial meetings (good thing that I am an editorial intern), just because I actually love editing. (Yes, I actually get pleasure from editing. Hmmm, something tell me that I'll feel just fine with this internship). Well, more specifically, I like editing other people's works. Maybe, this is that cruel, hidden streak in me, because I feel no remorse in telling people they could fix this and that in their manuscript that they've poured their sweat and blood into for a long time. As for my own writing, I love watching it improve as I edit, but I have to admit that it's one of the most mentally painful experiences of my life. It's quite difficult to be objective with self-editing, because you are so personally invested in your own writing. But, I think we always forget that when we are simply editors. I think it's crucial to bring an objective perspective to editing a piece of writing, but we also easily forget that the piece is like the author's baby. If we criticize it ruthlessly, it's like insulting their child.

Constructive criticism is a way to not only make the editing process productive but also to take into consideration that it is decent etiquette to be respectful to other people's writing. It is just plain rude to say that something is crap without giving sufficient reason or ways to improve it. In a way, it's a tool for empathy, to connect with the authors in striving for the same goal of improving the piece of writing. But, the fact that I get pleasure from editing other people's works, because I have the opportunity to be objective and be productive with criticism, seems to distance me from the author's feelings. This is necessary for editing well, but it does show me that editing is not the emotionally kindest or most sympathetic act that one could do. But, I guess the karma comes when we have to edit our own works and pull our hair out.