MY VANITY is legendary.
I mean, who publishes his own memoir at 27?
Who publishes three memoirs before he is 30?
Granted, that perhaps I just called the books memoirs because I simply couldn’t properly place my miscellany of essays, poems, dialogues, monologues, letters, and whatnots, still, those books sang largely of, and mostly about, myself.
I mean, sure, you can find in them a map to your own heart and desires, if you look hard enough, but, you know…
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From a very young age, I knew I wanted to be a writer.
I didn’t exactly know what kind of writer.
But I knew I wanted my name on the cover of books.
My first two published efforts of national scale were terrible “poetry” books.
Pure juvenilia — raw, unschooled, palpably trying hard.
I mean, sure, my poetry is still mostly raw and trying hard even now; but, at least, I’m not so unschooled in poetry anymore.
I really think I can write some good poems now if I diligently apply myself to the task.
Or, at least, I try not to waste too much time these days writing crappy ones.
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Not counting the four Peter’s Prize anthologies that I published in 2014, and two other poetry collections that I have edited for The Peter Solis Nery Foundation, my latest book is officially my 28thbook.
(Book No. 23, the DIWA Creative Writingtextbook for Philippine Senior High School published in 2017, with a second edition published in 2019, sadly does not carry my name on the front cover.
Seriously, you may have to look as far as the bottom of the copyright page to find my name.)
But in truth, except for the brand new appended introductions, my latest book is but Book No. 3 — The Essential Thoughts of a Purple Cat (Giraffe Books: 1996); Book No. 6 — Moon River, Butterflies, and Me (New Day Publishers: 1997); and Book No. 8 — My Life as a Hermit: 19 Letters and a Dream(Giraffe Books: 1998) — all three memoirs from the late 1990s bundled into one volume as The Heart of My Youth: The Purple Cat Saga.
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You need to understand that in order to have all three books in one convenient volume, I had to wait for my publishing contracts to expire, and make sure that none of the two publishers are interested in reprinting any of the three titles.
So, maybe that can partly explain the twenty-some years.
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I do not know the real value of republishing these memoirs that are more than two decades old, except that the first editions are now out of print.
From my self-indulgent perspective, nostalgia is the biggest part of my decision to republish.
I turned 51 this year, and, occasionally, over morning coffee, I indulge myself thinking about my literary legacy.
(I already told you that my vanity is legendary!)
No doubt, the social distancing forced on the world by the crazy, scary COVID-19 pandemic has also pressured me to produce a few more books this year, even if one or two, like the latest, are simply rehashed material.
(Believe it or not, I am aiming for six titles this year 2020, including two commissioned textbooks for Philippine senior high school: one on 21stCentury Literature, and the other on Philippine Contemporary Arts.)
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But before all these fancy and numerous book deals, before all the literary accolades (19 Palancas as of 2020!), before I became the self-indulgent Peter Solis Nery of the Ilonggo newspapers at the dawn of the new millennium, before I was even dubbed “the PSN” (around 2017) by my growing number of literary progenies (mostly online), I was this young, self-indulgent dreamer who didn’t care much about what critics have to say about my books.
At that time of my sweet and also anguished youth, I just wanted to write my love letters to the world—my books, these memoirs, that would speak, and speak gently and lovingly, only to those who needed my words of love, comfort, sympathy, reassurance, and beauty of expression.
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(To be continued as “To rise above the human condition”)/PN
