Where to, young writer?
National Literature Month just drew to a close, but now’s as good a time as any to reflect on stubborn questions that might offer the literary community some illumination in the long run: What future awaits our young writers? Are old formulas, like workshops, still working? How do we foster a writing environment where critical thinking thrives?
For author and educator Laurence Marvin Castillo, there is a flush of possibilities for literary practice in the Philippines now. “In addition to the more traditional venues for publications such as academic and commercial presses, we’ve seen alternative spaces for literary production and circulation carved by indie initiatives that flourish within and beyond the metropolitan centers,” he told Young STAR.
Castillo, an associate professor teaching literature at the University of the Philippines Los Baños, said that the flourishing of independent publishing and small presses “means that literary practice is no longer tethered to institutional gatekeeping.”
“This also embodies more opportunities for the amplification of literary voices that have been traditionally sidestepped by mainstream creative practices.”
Trist’n Buenaflor, activist and founding chairperson of the queer writing collective Kinaiya, recognized the efforts to democratize literary practice in the country, citing the likes of local independent feminist publishing Gantala Press and the Cavite Young Writers Association.
But he also noted a caveat, as practice does not necessarily translate to livelihood. “There is little opportunity to make a living from writing alone,” the UP Baguio alumnus told Young STAR, lamenting the institutional focus on relentless writing tilts in lieu of inclusive programs for writers, acclaimed or otherwise.
Apart from careers like journalism and university teaching, writing, by Castillo’s own admission, is rarely taken up as full-time work locally, considering “the measly royalties from books circulated in a country where only a small segment of the population can be counted as a reading public.”
That the Philippines cannot cultivate a broader, inclusive reading public surely has to do with the country’s education crisis. In fact, nearly 19 million Filipino junior and senior high school graduates from 2019 to 2024, per recent data from the Philippine Statistics Authority, are tagged as “functionally illiterate,” or those who do not have higher-level comprehension skills beyond basic reading, writing, and numeracy.
“In the academe, we’re somehow more fortunate, because writing is supplementary to the main work we do,” Castillo added. “If you’re teaching at the university, writing is incentivized; creative work can earn you points for promotion. Of course, finding the time, energy and resources to write, while fulfilling teaching and administrative duties, has its own set of difficulties.”
Time, too, is a glaring roadblock for emergent writers like Buenaflor. “Liberal writers would always say that an aspiring writer would always find time for their craft,” he explained. “But the economic crisis right now makes it impossible for the smallest of writers to balance out their bread and butter with their writing.”
One way of extending spaces to burgeoning talents is through writing workshops, even as they remain chiefly confined to traditional, often academic, settings. Buenaflor is a product of such an environment, having been a fellow of the 7th Amelia Lapeña-Bonifacio Writers Workshop and the 63rd UP National Writers Workshop, both hosted by the UP Institute of Creative Writing.
But through Kinaiya, Buenaflor intends to recalibrate the way workshops are practiced, just as the collective did in their first writing fellowship a year ago. “We decided that we will have the fellows revise their work for publication,” he said. “The plenary discussions are more democratic, and all will be sensitive to the overall mental health of the participants.”
Weeks ago, an online debate came about after author Joel Donato Ching Jacob singled out the frequency of writing workshops in the country, arguing that we should instead give more attention to writing residencies—where writers (mid-career writers, to be exact) are given the opportunity to devote time to their craft without financial woes.
Eminent author and screenwriter Jerry Grácio weighed in, saying that while workshops are necessary for the development of writing communities in provinces like Northern Samar, there’s a need to fine-tune them through residency programs.
As long as there’s an educational crisis and a government that is inhumane to the merits of the humanities, there will be little to no true opportunity for writing that is freeing.
“Kung panay workshop ang gagawin, para tayong laging nag-uumpisa, minsan may tendency na ‘yun at ‘yun din ang mga participants sa workshop. Wala namang napo-produce na text dahil nga busy ang mga writer, kailangan nilang magtrabaho, kailangan kumita, walang panahon para sa pagsulat,” he said.
While there’s merit in streamlining writing workshops, it seems rather myopic that it is viewed as though its sole function is to produce more text fit for publication, instead of fostering writers and readers alike to appreciate the text, read it and read it critically, sharpen their curiosities, and in the long run, move past the text. And what about those who wish to pursue writing beyond the pragmatic sense, considering its precarity as a full-time career in the country? Of course, this isn’t to say that mid-career writers don’t deserve support through residencies and grants. If anything, both initiatives can flourish at the same time.
Castillo, for his part, took into account the complexities of the gradual uptick in writing workshops. “On the one hand, yes, we have lots of workshops devoted to creative writing, many of which have recently emerged in localities often bereft of opportunities for literary practice,” he explained. “This development goes hand in hand with efforts to create more opportunities for younger writers coming from different regional backgrounds, socio-economic conditions, SOGIE, etc., to pursue their craft.”
“On the other hand,” Castillo continued, “there is only one workshop devoted to critical writing—a kind of discursive practice that I believe we should be pursuing more if we are serious in cultivating a critical public—that is still currently running.”
Castillo added that workshops, or all writing initiatives for that matter, should not remain within the walls of the academe. “While universities do have the resources and the expertise necessary to facilitate such efforts, these institutions, as cogent critiques of dominant workshop practices have attested to, may also pose certain constraints—aesthetic, political, even parochial in nature—to creative practice,” he said.
“We’re seeing lots of (independent) efforts—community-based, activist-oriented—and they enrich our literary landscape, even foregrounding thematic concerns that often get unheeded in more formalized settings,” he continued. “That said, writing communities have long existed outside university settings; even revolutionary movements have networks of literary practitioners; some guerrillas even hold writing workshops!”
This demand to retrofit and make writing spaces more accessible is only symptomatic of broader, more systemic hurdles. Even post-midterm elections, these hurdles are likely to continue without profound resolution.
As it stands, the lack of proactive, grassroots pathways for young writers, who largely belong to the studentry, remains a glaring footnote in their hopes to turn writing into a sustainable practice and bring its cultural value to the fore.
As Buenaflor put it, “As long as there’s an educational crisis and a government that is inhumane to the merits of the humanities, there will be little to no true opportunity for writing that is freeing.”
Still, the 26-year-old writer does not cave into pessimism. “Maybe it’s the activist in me but I believe that art should always contribute itself to societal issues and that art should always seek the joys and hopes of the people,” Buenaflor said.
“I want to fight for a country that values all voices in literature,” he continued. “A country that will not red-tag topics it deems subversive; which will celebrate rather than crucify its minority writers. In this spirit, yes, I will continue to write.”
