Online readers know Dean Francis Alfar as the multi-awarded literary guy who blogs (his site, Notes from the Peanut Gallery, is blogrolled by many). He is a suki (a regular) speaker at blogging conventions and graphic design conferences.

You can also say he’s a regular at the Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature: Dean has nine citations for six plays, a short story (“How Rosang Taba Won a Race,” in 2006), a futuristic fiction piece, and a novel (Salamanca, which bagged the grand prize in 2005).

Followers of speculative fiction know him for the two anthologies of Philippine Speculative Fiction (a call for entries for the third compilation was recently sent out), and the myriad of short stories that have been published both locally and internationally (“The Kite of Stars” was included in 17th edition of The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror, edited by Ellen Datlow, Kelly Link, and Gavin Grant, and published by St. Martin’s Press).

Dean is also known for the graphic novels Siglo: Passion and Siglo: Freedom, which won the National Book Award in 2004 and 2006. These were written with Andrew Drilon, Nikki Alfar, Antonio Abad, Jason Banico, Jonas Diego, Paolo Manalo, Vin Simbulan, and Vincent Groyon, among others.

Bloggers seriously pay attention when he’s onstage, surreptitiously taking notes and blogging about their reactions when they get home (pity the poor suman latik, which Dean used as an example in a previous talk—for days, it was all bloggers talked about). The guy is sticky. When he says something, you can’t help but pay attention.

At the iBlog (it’s the third year in a row that he is a speaker), “fans” respectfully approach, introducing themselves. He seems to remember every person who has commented on his blog (even Anonymous, that ubiquitous lurker), dispensing advice to younger, aspiring writers. He gladly obliges an autograph seeker—“Anybody who buys my book is a friend of mine,” he quips.

Despite all the fans clamoring for a second with him, PinoyCentric managed to steal him away for some 40 minutes to talk about writing, getting published, and judging the Palanca awards (oh yes, he has!). In this interview, he also dishes out advice to young (and old) writers who aspire to be published, with the reminder, nevertheless, that while awards may open doors, the journey to success can be a long one and takes a lot of hard work.

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PC: You seem to have been very prolific with the Palanca awards, getting nine in all, between 1990 and 2006. There were even years when you won for two separate works. Tell us, how do you psych yourself for the Palanca? Is there a conscious effort to sit down and seriously come up with what could be a winning piece?

Dean Francis Alfar: The politically correct answer would be that you write well ahead of the contest so that you are not too contest-oriented. A lot of people frown on other people who write for the competition itself, oddly enough, considering it a sell-out.

In the same way that there are tournaments that you prepare for and that you compete in, whatever sport it is—whether it’s a physical sport like basketball, or an intellectual sport like chess—you do prepare for the competition.

For me, writing contests are the same thing. There are people who write ahead, they have more time to go over their drafts and polish their work. There are some people who write up to the eleventh hour and somehow, miraculously, manage to come up with something of quality. Depende sa character mo as a writer and your discipline.

Ideally one should write well ahead of time. But given certain constraints like work, family time, and other responsibilities, you simply will have to do with what time you have and engage in what I call “guerilla writing”—write when you can and hope that you get it to the Palanca before the deadline.

I noticed that you seemed “absent” from the Palanca roster between 1994 and 2003. What happened during this time? Did you withdraw from writing in general or only from competing?

DFA: In 1995 I got married and I decided that I should prioritize my real life. When you get married, there’s a certain sense of duty, of obligation. You have two mouths to feed, and honestly, writing doesn’t pay the bills—impossible. So I found work and I did all sorts of things.

Between 2001 or 2002, I was living in Hong Kong. I wasn’t writing anymore. I vanished off the face of the writing planet, kasi as a writer you exist through your text. Kung wala kang kwento, wala ka.

What happened was, I got a phone call saying that my cousin, who was close to me—closer than my brother—died. It opened, once again, the floodgates. I had this grief that I needed to express, and I knew no other healthy way than to express it through writing. And so I started writing again and I found out that I had a lot to say and that I felt strongly about certain things. And that’s when I started my advocacy for speculative fiction.

I started writing and competing again. Thank God, since I resumed writing, sunud-sunod na.

You once wrote, “Even if you win in these literary contests, there’s no guarantee that you will be published.” Now with several awards to your name, is it easier to be published locally? Tell us about your publishing experience before and after having all these awards.

DFA: Iba yung world ng award-giving bodies. Iba din ang publishers and magazines.

In the international scene, it doesn’t matter what your accomplishments are. Your awards do not matter. What matters is your story, your material.

Here in the Philippines, people actually react differently when they know you’re a Palanca winner.

So every new story I write still competes for a publication. If I get published, then great. The difference is, because of the awards, there are editors who contact me directly to commission me. That’s different.

Having the awards helps. But awards are not the be-all and end-all. Granted also, there are people that are impressed by them, but I’d rather my work compete on its own merit than coast along because of whatever awards I’ve won.

What is your advice to the aspiring writer who wants to be published?

DFA: To be published, work on the quality of your story. Work on the discourse level. By discourse, I mean the craftwork, the language, the tone, the characterization, your description, your setting. All these are the fundamental things that can make or break the story.

You need to understand the difference between the story elements and the discourse. The story elements include existents and plot: girl falls in love with boy, and boy dies—the end. But how you render that, how you tell the story, that’s the discourse. Work on that and make it the best.

Next, take a couple of steps back from your text and take a harsh look at it because the last thing you want is to fall in love with your text. If you fall in love with your text, if it pains you to edit or cut or take away, you have no business writing. You have to learn how to do things with a clear head and not be run by your emotions as a writer. “It took me three months to write it!” But if it’s really bad then let it go.

By the same token, do not be too harsh on yourself because you have to admit that there is some value to your work. You have to learn to be self-critical. If you can’t, find someone whose judgment you trust in that editorial capacity—which is probably not your mom. Find readers who will give honest comments, and don’t take it too personally if they don’t like your story.

Finally take the step of sending it out to a publisher. If a rejection letter comes back, maybe it’s not the time yet. You can polish it or write another one and send the story off to someone else.

How does the writing process go for you? Do you have a writing ritual? Do you need to get away and write in peace?

DFA: Sometimes I don’t let go until I’m happy. But distance is always important—at a certain point in time after all the tinkering and step-backs.

I have a literary criticism group along with Vin Simbulan and every so often we write new fiction and do critique and we are relentless with praise and terrible things said if the story warrants it, because the overall goal is to create something good.

You need to conquer the fear of facing criticism because if you’re afraid, you have no business writing. Writing is about taking risks. If all writers were guaranteed that all their stories would be published, there would be no good stories.

You started with plays and later moved to other forms. How did you make the shift? Was it difficult for you? What was the challenge in trying out different forms?

DFA: When I was writing drama, I thought I couldn’t possibly write fiction or poetry, but I also thought, “Why do you think na hindi kaya? Subukan kaya natin?” I tried it and I did it.

And I thought, what are the flaws? How do I improve myself? So I read on that particular type of writing, whether it’s drama or science fiction. I learned and I asked questions from people. So you need to go through your own passage. You need to select who you listen to and what you learn.

You’ve written one-act and full-length plays, a novel, short stories, and “grafiction.” What are you most comfortable with and why? Do you intend to focus on just one form in the future?

DFA: I love most the short story. I know I’m not the best at it but I love writing short fiction. But what I find myself most comfortable with is anything with dialogue. Plays, drama. I developed my ear for dialogue a long time ago just by listening to people talk at any occasions—funerals, speeches.

How many times have you been a judge of the Palanca?

DFA: Once or twice. Between 1993 and 1994.

How did it feel to be invited to judge? Did you think, “Oh my god, I have arrived!”?

DFA: No, I thought I didn’t have the right. I had only won two Palancas and I was twenty-something. Ang feeling ko, “Oh my god, do I know enough about the craft to actually judge at the Palanca level?” Apparently they thought I did.

You mentioned in your blog that there is a lot of “wrestling with other judges to determine which text wins which place.” Can you tell us briefly—without us running into trouble with the people behind the awards—what happens during the judging? How long does it take?

DFA: First of all, if you’re a judge, you cannot compete that year. You know you’re a judge ahead of time. You cannot tell people that you’re judging. You don’t want to be influenced.

The Palanca will hold a meeting for all judges and they will give you one copy of the manuscript. That’s why there are four copies. For the three judges and one for the competition. So each judge goes home with a stack of entries.

You go home with your stack of materials and you read. Then a meeting is called for your group. You come up with your shortlist. The issue is, your shortlist is not like the two other judges’.

If I feel really that my number one choice is superior to the others, I would have to advocate. I would have to wrestle. Only when there is an agreement do we sign our name on the list of winners.

We have around three months. Matrabaho talaga siya. At kailangan basahin mo lahat. Because put yourself in the position of someone who sends an entry: of course, I demand to be read.

I have to structure my time to read. It’s similar to when I get submissions for my annual speculative fiction anthology. I print each out. I have an “oh my god, yes!” file. A “no” and “to consider,” which I’m iffy and possibly hindi ko naintindihan or it wasn’t my taste but I might give a chance. After the process, I take a step back. A week or so later I come back. I go through all the nos. Kung no pa rin si no, tapos na ang usapan natin.

I step back, two days later I will read the yes. Bakit yes? And I’m sharper now and more critical. Bakit ako na thrill? Bakit ako na delight?

What catches my attention? Discourse. Language. How you are able to be inventive or creative in the use of language. How competent a wordsmith are you? What is your language like? And I don’t mean flowery or elaborate. I can appreciate simple, understated elegance like Hemingway, the magical realism of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, na paikot-ikot. But if it engages me, it arrests me, then I take a look at the story. What is the story about? How do you handle your characters? Are they believable? What is your dialogue like? Is it convincing? Is it persuasive? Is it the best your story can be?

Along the way if I see a lot of grammatical errors, out ka na. Because this being the Palanca competition, the basic assumption is you know your rules of grammar, punctuation.

I know there must be manuscripts that are really, really good but—

DFA: True. But the thing is, I cannot play editor. I’m the judge. I cannot tell the writer, “If you cut a bit here, cut a bit here, polish it up, it will be beautiful.” We grade your work as is. So I am to assume that this is the best you have come up with. I can’t do that.

But having said that, kung may mga grammatically riddled thing, na maganda pa din? What do I do? I give it third prize—I’d give it an honorable mention, just to honor it. But I’d speak to the author during the awards ceremony. Sana lang ma-polish pa, something like that.

You’re an advocate for speculative fiction. Can you explain, for the uninitiated, what speculative fiction is? What specific categories are under SF and how do you classify your works?

DFA: Speculative fiction or “spec fic” is the umbrella term we use for the genres of fantasy, science fiction, horror, surrealism, magical realism, and slipstream fiction. These labels are bookstore labels, and for me, are as artificial as fiction itself. Definitely all fiction is fiction. It’s all make-believe.

I advocate this movement of shifting the paradigm and thus exposing more people to these stories, so that the value of these stories becomes more apparent rather than the status quo, which is they are considered worthless. Academics raise their eyebrows at these stories because they have privileged the mode of realism.

I have no issue with the realist writers. All I’m saying is they should have no issue with us and permit these stories to be published and to be read.

When I was “writerly” growing up, there was no market in the Philippines for speculative fiction. Kung meron, sa children’s literature lang. This was not considered serious enough, but the reasoning is, literature, with the capital L, of the lettered part of the arts and letters, has to be serious. Fiction had to be socially relevant and had to help uplift the Filipinos.

But the academics shouldn’t have issues with the stories that we want to read and write. Fantasy is the literature of the imagination. We’d like to create wonder, to pursue something that is actually traditional, that is engraved in the Filipino. We have legends, we have myths, we have stories told to us by our lolos and lolas.

Science fiction is new and perhaps odd to a country that has no scientific tradition. But we are Filipinos and we know how to adjust, we know how to invent, and we know how to critique. Why can’t we write this kind of thing? Are we saying that this kind of writing is only the privileged nations’, the first world?

Horror allows us to take a look at what frightens us. It exposes our anxieties and helps us cope by facing them. People like reading horror. They like being scared. They like the appeal of the horror.

The supernatural: we have the kapre, the tikbalang, the manananggal, and all of these creatures of the night. That’s wonderful. Right now you have a generation on the Internet which is increasingly looking outward, adapting other cultures, more anime than Filipino. It’s important for us to celebrate fiction that is ours. Like our monsters. They’re monsters, yes, but they’re OUR monsters. And we’ll write about our monsters and make them interesting. We’ll make them readable.

The issue is, those stories that have these monsters are not well written. They’re not engaging. They’re not entertaining. They’re dry. So write them better. Encourage people to read it.

And you know what? Monsters lead to wonder. Because na turn on mo yung batang magbasa about the manananggal: saan ba nanggaling yan? They want to read up more on that. They’ll be exposed to history.

You said in an interview with Read or Die that you’ve always wanted to be a writer and rebelled against the idea of being anything else. If you had not been successful with writing, what would you choose to focus on instead?

DFA: I would probably be a teacher.

Not a businessman?

DFA: I’d like to think I’m a reluctant businessman because my background is wrong. I’m horrible with math. But it turns out I can do business. Despite the fact that I have a small number of businesses now, I’m still not 100 percent comfortable with the notion of being a businessman. I would rather teach.

How has blogging enabled you to reach a bigger audience?

DFA: It’s odd because I am the most barok blogger out there here. I don’t know much about blogging technology and new widgets and such. My wife Nikki put my blog together for me. I’m in charge of writing the content but the technical part, I really don’t know. I just concentrated on writing what I wanted to write about and happened to enjoy writing, and happily unti-unti, may nagbabasa, may nagko-comment. I had no idea that people knew me because really, the blog persona for me is my outlet. I’m happy and surprised that people come up to me and say, “Hey, I read your blog,” and I think, “Really, did I write something bad?”

But ultimately, it has helped me reach a wider readership than before because I would never have met these great people otherwise.

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Dean Francis Alfar’s photo courtesy of the LitCritters