If you spent time around here lately, you already know that all this writing stuff is not new to me and I’ve played around it for quite some time now. Nothing important, nothing big, most of them hidden in my drawers for no one else to see. The problem that I had – and sometimes I still have – is one that maybe others are familiar with already. I’ve started so many stories and never really finished one.
I found it easy to come up with new ideas for short stories (or novels) and get excited about them. That first moment when all the pieces start floating around your mind, the happiness they brings when it all starts to fit into a big picture, the first words you write and the frenzy you get when you manage to close the notebook or the file after a long writing session… And then you abandon it for a long time, maybe forever. (You will find a word I repeat constantly in this post and that is stat, because this is what I did and there is no need to cover it up.) Continue reading “Finish what you started”
When I first considered my relation with writing seriously, I got a little bit scared. I was a cheater, hiding all our meetings, whispering so no one could hear us. I wasn’t ready to break up with what I had, I wasn’t ready to break up with writing either. I knew nothing of it and I don’t think it was too accustomed of me either. I loved it, I could not spend my life lusting for it and do nothing, even if that meant we were lovers. That was all I knew then so I took my chance.
Discovering each other was magic, new, and made my heart rush. I felt good, I felt bad, I felt worse, I wanted to go back to the way things were before we started the adventure, I wanted to go further and run with it in the world. All my thoughts were conflicted, and even now, after all this time, they still are. Continue reading “Now I’m prepared”
The first memory I have about me and “writing” is even before I was able to do it. I can still see myself when I close my eyes, climbed on my grand grand parents’ fence, mumbling words while looking at the sun in the sky. Neighbors came around and asked me about the beautiful poems I was reciting, words that I invented as odes to the sky. I was just a kid, they were being nice, god knows what I was saying or if it made any sense. What I know for sure is that I felt good then and I still feel now, whenever I let my mind go free into this world.
The next memory is still related to the long summer days I spent at the countryside. This time I was older and I spent my sweets money received from my grandparents on notebooks I wrote stories on. Growing up I wasn’t surrounded by too many books and enjoyed spending time in the fantasy worlds as much as I could, through reading or imagining. I grew up without computers or internet and the few hours of television I saw back then increase my appetite for more. Like any child back then, we invented games and stories and I got captivated by them more than others. There was always a contest whose parents were greater, who’s life was magical and everything was just some lies by kids with nothing else to do. Continue reading “Regrets”
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” ― Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
If you are still here after all this time, you might have forgotten me and what were you doing on this blog. And if you spared a moment to ask yourself what happened, don’t worry, I’m still alive and healthy – hopefully. Just life and procrastination.
I’ve started this blog in 2011 – can’t believe how fast time flew – when I realized there were too many thoughts inside my head and I wanted to do more in life than just go to work and come home and repeat this every day. I wanted to write and share my mind with others who were willing to step inside it. I wanted to tell stories that I would have read, I wanted to be the person I was not. Hero, villain, human or alien. And I started to write. Continue reading “New year, new blog”
“I just wanna get out of here!” he yelled.
“You can’t!” she yelled back and slammed the door behind her.
He was furious. He wanted to yell and break things like he did before until there was no more energy left. He wanted to break the door down and just run as far away as possible. He just hated her.
He went to the window and looked outsides. Cars honking, people walking by, the sun up in the sky. It was all so alive and he was trapped in this tomb for his entire life. And what life was that?
A hamster living in a bubble. No school, no friends, no human interactions except for his parents and doctors, all the time new, curious to see the boy who could not live. Who could not breath the normal air, who got sick with only having another human being in his vicinity. As he grew older the room became smaller and smaller and all he wanted was for a way out.
Continue reading “Escape”