Mary Eastmacott

2010-08-14T18:54:00.000-07:00

I like you.
I still do, and I believe I always shall. I find you attractive, extremely sexy and hot, I REALLY like you, and I always will. The sound of your voice is... God! But, you know what? As taunting as I found you, I don't think I am still in love with you. No, I don't think I'm in love with you. But that I like you, that's for sure. You don't pass inadvertedly, obviously. You provoke things in me, thins nobody had provoked before, but, sorry to tell you, I am owned by somebody else.

Is reading for everyone?

2009-11-27T13:11:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone!!! I’m thrilled, I’ve just finished school! Yay! No more boring classes or stupid homework, I’m free for 3 months! =)

I have realized I can’t really post as much as I’d like, because my head doesn’t let me, and my time doesn’t either. So I proposed myself to write, if not twice a week, once, which I believe is the most I can do. I hope you’re not too disappointed, though.

Well, for today’s post:

A few days ago I went with some friends to a bookstore near my school. They don’t like reading that much, while I am a total book dork, as Roni would say. I was showimg them “Endless world” by Ken Follet (you know, that bestseller with more than 1400 pages) and they, opening their eyes wide, bewildered, asked me if I would really read that. I answered ‘Yeah, wouldn’t you?’. So that started me thinking. I don’t sincerely believe everyone likes reading, for there are plenty of people, in particular young people, who can’t even stand the thought of it, and that is due to the variety of people, the diversity of opinions and likes, and the difference from one another (which, I believe, makes the world a better place). But I wonder, nevertheless: how can they live without reading? I know I couldn’t.

That made me think about a world without books (sure, hell for me). How would that be? I can’t even imagine… I know that kind of world would be totally uninteresting for me –even though there are other things I like besides reading- but I realize it is one of the things I enjoy doing the most, and I sure couldn’t live without it.

So what do you think? How would a world without books be? And, better still, what would it mean to you? How would you manage to survive? Come on, comment, tell me your opinion.

Reading vs. watching

2009-11-23T07:25:00.000-08:00

Hey! Sorry I’ve not been writing for a while, I was just overwhelmed by my exams. I promise it won’t happen again, LOL.

I came across a cool post at Roni’s blog about reading a book before or after watching the movie based on it. I commented on the post as follows:

I am and have always been a read first person. I believe that if you watch a movie before reading its book you lose the chance to experience the reading.

When you read, you create a world based on what the writers tell you, but it is yours, it's in your head and therefore it is susceptible to your thoughts, your beliefs and your mood. For example, when the writer describes a house as white, your subconscious imagination may turn it black, just because YOU don’t see it that way.

Also, when I read a book after watching its movie, I fail to get the experience of creating that world, of imagining my own characters, and start seeing things the way they’re shown in the movie. That’s what happened with Harry Potter, for instance. I don’t even remember how I used to imagine the school, or even the main characters… When I read the books now, they just look and act like the actors. That is why I prefer reading before watching, so as to keep the excellent experience of imagining, which, after all, is what reading is all about.

After all, I seriously believe you, as a reader, finish writing the story when you read it.

So what do you think? Do you prefer reading before or after watching? Do you agree with the statement about finishing to write the story ourselves?

Nasty thoughts

2009-11-18T12:58:00.000-08:00

Today I’m gonna do something someone back in time suggested that I did when I had so many emotions I felt like exploding, which is to write. She said that by writing you can get things off your chest, which is what I now desire most.

I have been through some situations that were stressful and made me very sad, from which I couldn’t get out, and that I will only be 100% relieved from when I come of age –and I am not very sure that then I will be fully relieved-. I don’t wish to upset or make you sad, so I won’t go into much detail about these situations, I’m just gonna say they stress me a lot and bring the worst of me, and give me the need to be alone and lie on my bed for hours. Or maybe the need to stand at the top floor of my building and shout my heart out till the anger and sadness go away… Or perhaps just curl up and hold my knees as tightly as I can, and play loud music, so as to avoid hearing my thoughts.

Instead of doing all that, I decided to follow the advice I once received and write, pour my feelings onto this blank blog thing, to turn my rage, sadness, anger into something else. So here I am. Devoting my thoughts to the noble art of writing to keep them away from cruel reality.

Not that reality is always so cruel, no. I have two different realities, which is something I don’t even understand. I have the suffering reality that thinks about these facts, that tells me I don’t have a way out, that depresses me and drives me nuts. And I have the other reality, the one which –thankfully- I perceive most of the time, the one that is wonderfully happy with her situation, the one that is in love, the one that has so many friends and enjoys spending her life with them, the one that reads, writes, the one that loves her granny so much she could endure the annoyance of being thoroughly clean just to be with her all the time, the one that loves dancing and singing… The one that lives.

Thankfully, the nicest reality is the most present in my life, but when these nasty situations appear, on comes the sad one, and away goes the happy. I just wish I could make the happy one stay with me a little longer, teach me how to defeat the sad one… Anyway, I believe everyone has two parts inside, the good and the bad, the happy and the sad, the ying and the yang… And we, especially me, need to learn to live with them both, enjoying life as much as we can…

Thank you very much for enduring the boredom of reading this post, if you did, and if you didn’t, I don’t blame you, it must have been absolutely boring, but I needed to get this burden off of me, and I believe that by writing this I eased a bit the horrible pain I feel at the top of my stomach, I slightly loosened the huge knot I had in my soul. But don’t worry, tomorrow I’ll be happier, and I’ll do a much happier post.

Typing vs writing

2009-11-17T07:30:00.000-08:00

I was looking at David's blog and reading a post he made about the fun of writing [See the whole post here], and a particular topic called my attention.

He mentioned that old-fashioned writers wrote in paper, and modern ones typed, but that he felt more like a writer and less like a typist when he wrote by hand. That started me thinking.

When I write by hand, I make arrows, graphs, drawings, etc. If you saw my scrapbooks, you would see a scribbled sea of little spiders, one on top of the other, a giant knot of black pencil (I hate writing by pen, but I love my black pencil). When I type, I cannot do this, of course, but I have other resources: I can get ideas, look for unknown words, find names or characters, etc. through google.

Personally, I write by hand, on a notebook or just on any scrap piece of paper, and when I am happy with my first draft, I copy it on the computer. That’s the moment when I start looking for stuff with my bestest friend, google. I may look for a name’s meaning, some geographical information, or maybe for a writing prompt to keep on writing. I believe that writing by hand doesn’t make you more a writer than typing, but it makes you feel (at least I do) that your creation is more yours, because instead of being written in Arial 12, it is written in your personal writing.

So what do you think? Is a writer less a writer because of writing on a computer? What do you prefer when writing?

Award moment

2009-11-15T08:45:00.000-08:00

Thank you very much Serene Chaos for this awesome award... I can't believe such a gifted, talented artist thought me worthy of receiving this... =) Check out her super cool blog: http://serenechaos101.blogspot.com/

These are the instructions coming with the award:

1. Thank whoever gave this to you
2. Copy award
3. Post it in your blog
4. Tell us 7 things that your readers don’t know
5. Link 7 new bloggers
6. Notify winners of the award with a comment on their blog
7. Keep being awesome!

So, for the 7 things my readers might not know:

I am in love with someone 15 years older than me.
I am about to finish my first year of Jazz Dance Teacher Training.
I want to be an English teacher.
I'm raising money up to buy a digital piano.
I live and was born in Argentina.
I wear braces... (I'll hopefully and willingly leave them in December! YAY!)

And now, ladies and gentlemen, the most awaited moment of the day... My chosen winners!

http://fictiongroupie.blogspot.com/ Roni gives the best advice in regards to writing, and has helped me to write better! =)
http://jodyhedlund.blogspot.com/ Jody has an amazing writing style.
http://www.awritersvoice.com/ Deborah's posts are full of feeling and sympathy.
http://insanitysmusings.blogspot.com/ Gavin writes and makes you feel exactly the way he wants.
http://picturespoetryprose.blogspot.com/ It's been a while since they post, but I love them, their prompts are of the best.
http://oneminutewriter.blogspot.com/ Another blog with great prompts, C. Beth rocks it!
http://juleswrites.blogspot.com/ Julie keeps a diary of her life that is very interesting to read.

All these blogs are great, go check them out!

Stormy night

2009-11-14T07:24:00.000-08:00

Yesterday night I saw the most impressing storm I had ever seen. I had never seen such a wonderful, enormous and scary thing in my life. What I saw looked more or less like this:

Or this:

Let me explain myself. I live on a 9th floor, and my building overlooks the residential part of the city, which only has small houses, so I have an enormous view of the sky (it actually is half of my window). Last night there was a huge storm going on up there, with the wind rattling my windows and throwing my flowerpots away, but there was no rain. What I did see, was the most impressing demostration of nature power, when thousands or electricity particles moved in the sky. Not only I saw what you see in the pictures above, the vertical rays hitting the ground, but there were rays doing semi-circles and going in crazy angles.

It made me feel a bunch of unexpected emotions: I was veery scared, I felt exposed because I've never been so near to the sky during a storm, I felt the need to go and hide, to protect myself under something like a cave, but I also felt fascination, wonder and amazement. I was captured instantly by it, I could not take my eyes off the sky. It was funny because my family was watching their stupid soap opera and I was literallly giving my back to them, watching outside, my eyes glued to the shining clouds, waiting for the next flow of rays. At one point my mother even said: "We're watching the TV and she's watching hers". I could not help it, not only I hate TV, but I was totally absorbed by the whole thing. It also made me feel very tiny, insignificant, and made me realise how big the sky really is.

It was an unbelievable and marvellous experience, I can't wait to see it again!

A police encounter

2009-11-12T12:25:00.000-08:00

There was a post at The One Minute Writer about an encounter with a police officer that made me think a lot. Here is what I answered:

As soon as I saw today's prompt, I jumped to answer it, because whenever someone mentions the word 'police' to me, I instantly think about Garrido.
He was a police officer down in my village, and he was in charge of the busiest street, the one I walk through every day. He was a very cheerful man, saying hi to everyone and always smiling. He knew everyone there!
But one day, a couple was robbing a store, a Kevingston to be more specific, and he came to help, and was shot and instantly killed. This happened last February, and was a major piece of news, appearing in every news channel.
As justice is slower than anything in this country, the thieves are still waiting to be tried, and nothing has been done on the subject. If you looked at the floor of that main street, you saw, in huge white letters “Justice for Garrido or for his murderers?”
However, not everything is bad news, for he got a piece of love from all the grateful people he had helped: when you walk in those streets you see a black bow in every window, and there is a small monument at Kevingston's door. They even named that part of the street after him!
People were raising keys to build a real monument, because the government complained that copper was way too expensive... And that is just because there had been a misunderstanding between the government of the city and Garrido, because it was corrupt and he was not.
And that's what our government teaches us to do: not to appreciate people who sacrifice their lives to protect us.

2009-10-31T18:47:00.000-07:00

I've just finished reading a post at http://fictiongroupie.blogspot.com/ , about the importance of the first lines of a book in order to get the potential reader/publisher/editor's attention.
The writer says that they are crucial, and gives examples of her own writing as to catching the reader's attention. If you wish to read more about it, go to the blog mentioned before and read the complete post.
In my arrogant opinion, [=)] first lines are important to get the reader involved, but they are not the main thing of the story. If they are re-written, they may lose part of their charm, which may lie on that first draft. So don't go crazy trying to think which sentences should somehow sum up the whole book, or at least mention very subtly what will happen at the end, after all, the best thing about writing is to see what becomes of your ideas when you start developing them!
She suggested that her followers should write the first lines they liked the most, the ones that had best caught their attentions immediately. Here are mine:

"It’s a funny thing about mothers and fathers. Even when their own child is the most disgusting little blister you could ever imagine, they still think that he or she is wonderful.
Some parents go further. They become so blinded by adoration they manage to convince themselves their child has qualities of genius.
Well, there is nothing very wrong with all this. It’s the way of the world. It is only when the parents begin telling u s about the brilliance of their own revolting offspring, that we start shouting, “Bring us a basin! We’re going to be sick!”" Matilda, Roald Dahl

Needless to say this got hold of my eyes immediately; I couldn't wait to see what was next. And Roald Dahl sorta mentions the main theme of the story, that being about Matilda's parent's hatred towards her. I just loved it! =)

"Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born (as I have been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelve o'clock at night. It was remarked that the clock began to strike, and I began to cry, simultaneously.
In consideration of the day and hour of my birth, it was declared by the nurse, and by some sage women in the neighbourhood who had taken a lively interest in me several months before there was any possibility of our becoming personally acquainted, first, that I was destined to be unlucky in life; and secondly, that I was privileged to see ghosts and spirits; both these gifts inevitably attaching, as they believed, to all unlucky infants of either gender, born towards the small hours on a Friday night.
I need say nothing here, on the first head, because nothing can show better than my history whether that prediction was verified or falsified by the result. On the second branch of the question, I will only remark, that unless I ran through that part of my inheritance while I was still a baby, I have not come into it yet. But I do not at all complain of having been kept out of this property; and if anybody else should be in the present enjoyment of it, he is heartily welcome to keep it." David Copperfield, Charles Dickens

I only have to say that this first three paragraphs made me smile as no other book had ever made me smile, and I think that they hold the best summary of Dickens' magic, which we two love. It contains irony, witty comments, and also provides evidence of what will happen at the end... It is great.

"SQUIRE TRELAWNEY, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted, I take up my pen in the year of grace 17__ and go back to the time when my father kept the Admiral Benbow inn and the brown old seaman with the sabre cut first took up his lodging under our roof." Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson.

This extract made me smile too. It is witty, intelligent and it gives subtle, and not so subtle, clues about what will happen. I particularly chose it because of its originality on introducing the story.

So what are your favourite first lines of books? Do you think they are so important?

Literary crush

2009-10-31T17:05:00.000-07:00

Here is a cool blog I found: http://fictiongroupie.blogspot.com/
In one post, the writer asked for questions she could answer in her next post, and here is one of them, the one I liked the most. I thought I'd give it a try and answer it.

Your two biggest literary crushes show up on your doorstep ready to sweep you off your feet. Who do you go with and why?

Looking through my bookshelf, I went through the most important guys of my favourite books...
Some of them are: the perfect Edward Cullen, from Twilight, David Copperfield, from the book of the same name, Mr Darcy, from Pride and prejudice, and Farid, from Inkheart.
Edward Cullen is such a "cliched" character, the most perfect of perfection, that he turns boring. He doesn't have many evident bad qualities, everything about him is just great, so there is nothing to fight for, nothing to change, nothing to worry about... And although he is tempting, he is not very interesting, and too perfect to be true, that he lacks of realism.
David Copperfield is a character very well described throughout Dicken's story. We get to know him since the very moment he was born to the middle of his manhood, so we have a very full knowledge about his self. I would like to say I would go out with him, and I could fall in love with him, because I consider him to be intelligent, sensible and sympathetic, and a good man above all. I believe I could find him attractive, although he is not top of my list.
Mr Darcy is a hated character from the beginning of the novel, for Jane Austen makes the reader feel what Elizabeth feels about him right away. However, I do like him very much, he is the kind of person one would seldom quarrel with, he is quite chivalrous, but for sure, very tender and loving. I would fall in love with him as well, but I think I'd rather be his sister Georgiana than his wife.
Farid is a character you don't give anything for when he's first mentioned. He's just called 'a guy', and nothing more. Nevertheless, he's one of the most important characters of the book, even more of the book #2. He is a thin, arabig boy of about 15 who was a helper of the 40 thieves of the legendary tale. Therefore, he doesn't speak a word, and he is very shy. He is very simple, but I believe he is cunning, and very wise. I'd rather have him for a date than the others.

What do you think? What would you answer to the prompt question?

SCREAM!

2009-10-20T13:29:00.000-07:00

Another prompt in TheOneMinuteWriter.

What makes you want to scream?

My mum when she questions EVERYTHING I say or do, or when she questions my friends, doesn't she know that they are untouchable?
My classmates, when they can't do a tidy essay and leave all the hard work to me.
My teachers, when they believe their subject is the only one we have.

Free

2009-10-20T13:26:00.001-07:00

This is a prompt at TheOneMinuteWriter blog (http://www.oneminutewriter.blogspot.com/), which I thought was cool and led to interesting conclusions.

Type a four-letter F word (no, not that one!) and then see where that word takes you as you write for a minute.

Free

I would like to be free from my school responsabilities right now, I feel so stressed and tired... I would like to be on vacation already, but I still have 28 schooldays to go. School shouldn't be so tiring, students should enjoy it and it should be a part of their lives, not their lives themselves. But well, nothing is gonna chage that when classes finish, we feel free.

2009-06-05T22:04:00.000-07:00

This is an answer on a post by A writer's voice, you should check out her blog, it's great!

Oh my God! Your post was so... I don't know... It left me speechless!

First of all, I'm sorry for your grandma, I know how it feels to lose someone so dearly loved.

Second, I have to congratulate you for what you did, because it was something I could never do.

You see, before my grandpa died, he spent almost a year in a very deplorable state, barely living. He was on bed, with a constant nurse by his side, imposibilited to breathe naturally, to eat, to moove, to see (he had a problem on his left eye), and, well, to live.

The first time I saw him in that state, I couldn't keep my tears from falling, though I knew I had to be strong, for his sake, for my mom's, for my grandma's... While I was there, holding his strong hand in mine, seeing his emaciated body, which used to be so strong, as healthy as a horse's... I had to bite my lip to stop the tears from falling, I knew crying in front of him was more than forbidden. But when I left that room and went to my grandparent's, which was occupied by my grandma alone those days, I burst into the most sorrowful and horrible tears. The worst thing is that I couldn't stop them anymore, I just cried and cried in front of my grandma, one of the people I needed to be strongest to. She couldn't help crying too, and there we stood, hugging each other, crying out hearts out. I think it was so hard for me because I was realising I was losing him, one of the dearest people in my life.

I guess that is why I wasn't shocked at all the day he passed away (last December 24th, at 2:30 on the evening, believe it or not), because he had already done so for me, the day he wasn't "alive", going from place to place, never sitting still, fixing this and that, swimming in the pool or going for a walk, always mooving. I had long ago realised he would die, and I had long ago said good bye to him, I guess, that day, when I first saw him in that state. Also, I was more happy than sad of his, er, departure, because I knew that all that suffering was over, that he and my family got to rest at last.

I tried to be strong on that ocassion, but I guess you were far much stronger than I was.

By the way, thank you very much for your prompt, it brought back recollections of one I love so tenderly, one I miss so much, and it made me think about that time, which I hadn't thought about for so long.

2009-06-05T20:59:00.000-07:00

Another PPP Prompt: [ Write something with the phrase and the rain fell gently. ]

And the rain fell gently, washing away my astonishment. I had dumped other guys before, I had been dumped before, but Josh... How could this be actualy happening? I thought we had agreed to have a life full of each other, and now, what I've got, is this stupid rain, somehow, however, soothing. To think of him, of the time spent together, of the promises made, of the love shared... At least you weren't married, mom said. How could she be so insensible? I loved him! But Becky was right, somebody who said what he had said, and did what he had done isn't worthy of my love, neither he is of any other's love. But how could I convince myself of that? It is not easy to forget someone you are so deeply in love with all of a sudden, specially when they come with this out of the blue, when you least expect it. And now, all I've got, all I've got left, are these stupid tears, somehow soothing, mingling with the gentle tears of the sky.

2009-06-05T20:47:00.000-07:00

Hey, new PPP promtp, as follows.

[ Write a story with this phrase:
Standing at the edge of the canal I was where I belonged... ]

...I could see that old building of mine, just like it had always been, a little dark but still wonderful. The square windows were just the same, they had always made me thought that there was somebody inside, expecting my arrival. This time, I knew aunt Sarah was in there, awaiting for the marvelous stories I had to tell her about the faraway land of Germany, of the secret island of Ireland. This time, I knew, aunt Sarah was going to tell me about all the good things that had happened during my trip, and all the not-so-good things that had happened, the ones I hadn't heard of in her letters.
But, one thing was sure, I was back home, the only place in the world I could call so, and was about to re-start my life there, as soon as I crossed that dear old threshold.

2008-12-31T13:58:00.000-08:00

[I found a webpage that gives you 329 prompts to write creatively, here's the link to it: http://www.creativewritingprompts.com/. Here's my answer to one of the prompts.]

Write from the POV of the last tree standing on a forest.

I'm the only survivor of this never ending war. I had to see my brother fall. I had to see my father fall. I had to see my daughter fall. I had to see everyone around me fall. Everyone but myself.
I'm the only survivor of this never ending war. I had to see everyone around me fall, and I couldn't do anything to avoid that, anything to help them in their suffering.
I'm the only survivor of this never ending war. And I cannot do anything to end it, I cannot do anything to make them stop. And they won't stop.
The day before this all happened, that lovely girl who is fighting for us almost gave her life to protect us, for if her father hadn't come to drag her away, they would have run her over with their big, yellow monsters. With those monsters they killed my family, they killed everyone around me.
It is really unbearable to see everyone you love and care for die, and not be able to do anything to protect them.

And, I wonder, what have we done to diserve that? Have we killed them? Have we make them unhappy? Have we done any bad to them?
No, we have given them fresh air to breathe, we have contributed to improve our environment

To think their ancestors gave us birth, planted our very seeds and watered us, made us become what we now are. They looked after us with loving care, they told us they loved us. But they don't seem to think that anymore, for, instead of giving us life, they are taking it away from us.
So I wonder, what has changed? Why has that changed?
Why did the relationship between men and trees, which used to be great, turn to be what it is now/a war fought just from one side?
This is a war fought just from one side, the other side just tries to resist as long as they can, try to defend themselves...
Poor us.

Percy Penguin

2008-12-30T18:14:00.001-08:00

A lame poem I wrote... I was just passing the time with Molly and I wrote this... LOL

Percy Penguin sat A
as quiet as a bat A
in the middle of the night B
when mom said 'Sleep tight'.B

He wondered were she was C
and that, is just because, D
for he was not the boss, C
he couldn't just turn and toss. D

With the uttermost fear E
he realised she wasn't near E
and, very sadly, he cried F
'mom, stay by my side'. F

2008-12-30T17:24:00.000-08:00

[Answer on a PPP prompt about a door, and who's behind.]

'Ring' rang the bell. Somebody knocked on the door.
From my place on the sofa all I could see was a black shape through the glass, a dark figure.
I wondered who would be this early in the morning. Maybe dad, who had come to visit me. Or maybe John, who had forgotten his keys. I don't know.
Maybe it was someone who was going to bring more unhappiness to my life, who has going to make me more worried, more tired...
Maybe it was someone, on the other hand, who was going to bring me happiness, the one to make me smile at last, somebody to take all the stress away, to make my worries disappear...
I won't know, I told myself, until I open that door.
I toddled towards it, irresolutely, still wondering who that person would be. I reached out, for the door's handle, shaking a little. Maybe this person is going to make my life worse... Yes, definetely, I was then thinking about the bad 'mabies'.
I opened the door, looking at the floor, not daring to look up yet, worried about the stranger I was about to met, wondering if the stranger may bring more unhappiness, more worries...
And when, finally, I looked up and saw the stranger's face...

I discovered it brought peace.

"Why do you write?"

2008-12-30T04:14:00.001-08:00

[This is a answer on a task ('Why do you write?') on a blog called 'A Writer's Voice']

I write because I've read lots of books and discovered writers leave a really nice feeling on me: I realized I understood the magic of their art, so I try to create some sort of that magic. I also think that, as every author has a personal style, they have a personal "magic".

My 'Jazzqueen' blog is about my school essays for my ESL class, I take them seriously because I wish to become a serious writer someday, or at least write as a hobby, because, as I said before, I want to be able to create that magic. I'm trying to develop and uncover MY magic, inspired by all the great writers around me, and I'm hoping to finish my lovely "masterpiece", which I'm currently writing.

Thanks for the task, it made me think and discover a lot! : )

Mr. Slug

2008-12-29T10:18:00.000-08:00

[Answer to a PPP prompt. Write from Mr. Slug's POV.]

Many don't understand me. They call me slow. Lazy. They've even called me boring. They don't understand why I take so long to do everything, they're just too worried about their stupid, fast lives that all they manage to see is the frentic blur around them, for they run for everything, not taking a pause to breathe. If they did, oh my, they would really enjoy the good things of life! But no, they only care about arriving on time and doing things quickly, always quickly, always worried about speed...
If only they slowed down... They would see what I see, they would feel what I feel...
They would see the charm of a not-in-a-hurry life, they would forget about the clock, always following them. They would finally get time to do whatever they want to do.
They would appreciate the sun, the moon, the soft summer breeze, the colours of nature, the good and worthy things in life...

They would appreciate life itself.

Bird-love.

2008-12-29T10:03:00.000-08:00

[Here's another answer to a prompt by PPP. It was a picture of two terns, and the suggested prompt said to explain what that couple, that had been together for many, many, many years was talking about.]

After centuries of love, even bird centuries of love, one never gets tired of saying:

'I love you.'
'I love you too.'

'But how did she know it was you?' Lavender asked.

2008-12-29T07:42:00.000-08:00

[Answer to a Pictures, Poetry and Prose prompt; pick a book and open it at page 100, choose a random sentence and write using it.]

'Matilda' by Roald Dahl, page 100.

"'But how did she know it was you?' Lavender asked."
She had been listening to me very attentively, carefully, in order to understand every single word I said, assimilating very accurately the story I was telling her.
'She didn't, Ben told her' I answered.
'Why?' She asked me.
'Well, because I had stolen his bike... That was just a kids fight, it got worse later...'
She had to choose between her big amount of questions the most harmless, given that she knew this was a dangerous topic to talk to me about, for I was still so susceptible about that.
'Is that why you and my husband don't talk to each other anymore?' she asked me, trying to sound calm but with evident interest.
'Well, that's what started it, but we could call it that way, if you want to' I answered, feeling a bit guilty.
'You know, your mum is very sad because of this, not beeing able to see you at the same time, for this stupid brother-sister fight...' she started, testing my mood.
'I know, she has told me so, but, what can I do? Everytime I try to talk to Ben he just turns around and walks away, he's so stubborn!' I couldn't believe I was telling this story to my sister-in-law, it just sounded too awkward.
'That's where I can help you, you know I'm the only person he truly listens to. I could talk to him, I could tell him you're sorry for whichever bad thing you've done to him, and that you agree to talk to him calmly and without trying to fight... Only if that's what you really are gonna do, do you understand?' she was still testing my answers and possible sudden mood shifts.
'Well, I agree, just don't let him know it wasn't my idea, it's just family pride...'
'As you wish, my dear friend.' And away she went, coming back two hours later with her husband, my brother Ben.
I smiled timidly at him when I saw him, he smiled back, widely. That way I knew everything was forgiven.

= )

2008-12-27T12:06:00.000-08:00

Wow! This is so great!
I have a new keyboard, which Armando gave mum and me for Christmas... It is so smooth and soft to write with, I'm so happy! (The previous one was as hard as stone, and some letters wouldn't work properly...)
Now I feel so much like writing!
But I have nothing to write about, I just have this great longing to use this new keyboard, which by the way came with its own mouse.
To press these small buttons that have printed little white letters (it is black) is so smooth and comfy! = )

So, I just have to say... THANKS ARMANDO!

PS: Lollipop is the most grateful of us! "¿¡Qué tiene que ver lo blanco con la sopa!?" BTW, great phrase.

Boredom

2008-12-27T10:43:00.000-08:00

[This is something I wrote in a free period at school some months ago, when I was desperate for writing on my blogs and all I had at hand was a piece of paper and a pencil.]

It's easy to describe the concept of boredom, wether or not experienced.

Boredom is the not having something to do, or the having but not the wanting to. I've experienced boredom so many times, and I have no choice but to regret that.

Due to our lack of time, feeling boredom should be avoided, though, given that we are living beings, and taking into account our human nature, boredom is unavoidable, as we can't have the wanting to do something all the time. Also, we can have the wanting but not the elements, as it's happening to me now, that I'm in a free period at school, my clasmates are playing cards and I'm in need of my blog to write and write and write.

So we could define boredom as the lack of wanting or of having something to do, which might, too, be 'sujeto' to circumstances*, such as not having the elements to do something.

The kind of boredom I'm experiencing right now is the kind of needing to do somwething but not having the elements to do so, and it's difficult, because I have stuff to do, but I just have one thing on my mind: my need to express something deep inside of me by writing and writing and writing.

Nevertheless, boredom, in all types, must be put up wth, for we need to learn to deal with it without reaching desperation, and we need to start, if not enjoying it, accepting boredom, being boredom something natural, necessary and healthy.

*I keep on trying to express myself, thankfully, really a little bit, in Spanish...

The big bad wolf

2008-11-25T16:48:00.000-08:00

I just run, run for me, run for my life, run for my hunger, run for the heck of it... Run for the thrilling joy of running, chasing for a prey... A prey which also runs, runs for its life, for itself, for its hunger... For it knows, as every other creature around here, who I am - the most feared creature: a killer.
When I give up on everything, I still have my instincts, which are my one and only guide in this wild life. So I guess my instincts make me run, make me run faster and faster... So fast, everything around me becomes a frentic blur, all I see are images moving in red - also black. So fast, I don't even feel my feet on the ground, so fast only I see my prey. And when I reach it, oh, glorious moment, I open my mouth wide, curling my lips to leave my teeth free. It's that short moment when I am able to feel my prey's fear, the fear of pain, the fear of death. It's exactly then when I bury my teeth deeply in its neck, to kill it as quickly as I can. Then all I have to do is wait a few seconds and it will all have ended. After a short but tiring sprint, all I have to do is eat. When I look up, feeling my blood leaking fangs, to contemplate the power of my legs, the strength of my jaws, I finally see what I have done. I finally see the desperate dead prey, that has definetely stop moving, under my feet, below my mouth, with a deep wound in its neck. You could call me weak, but I can't witness what I myself do, I can't bear to know how many harmless and innocent creatures I have killed.
When I finally look up, feeling my blood leaking fangs, to contemplate the power of my legs, the strength of my jaws, I finally become scared of myself.

The coin

2008-11-24T02:49:00.001-08:00

This is another super cool blog I found the other day, in which you have to write something based on a picture (really cute pictures, btw) and on a suggested prompt they give you. The blog is called Pictures, Poetry & Prose ( http://www.picturespoetryprose.blogspot.com )

This is my writing on a coin:

The morning before the affair I woke up feeling a little dizzy; the night had already gone by the time I went out of the house into the streets, without pausing to have a quick breakfast. I didn't even take my utterly necessary moments to wash my face and my teeth, I just went out into the streets. The weather didn't help much either, for it was, in spite of the weather forecasts, drizzly and a bit gloomy. The discouraging dark clouds at the sky casted dark shadows on the things I saw.

Walking through that menacing atmosphere I saw a tiny fraction of a sunbeam, a small shiny piece of hope in a whole sad world. Under the sunbeam was a tiny coin, dated 1972. I picked it up. It was slightly heavy, they didn't make them like that anymore. I wondered why that unfair God of ours had put that coin in my way. I wondered if it was going to bring one more unhappiness to my life, if it was going to take away the last portions of life I had left. Maybe, though, that coin wasn't going to be relevant, for there are thousands of coins in the world, and not even a tenth of them are crucial for my life.

So I turned around, placing the one penny coin inside of my pocket. After all, it was just one penny, nobody needs one penny.

I kept on walking, with no aim at all, just for the heck of it, as I tripped. I started fumbling some senseless words when I realised what had happened: the beggar of the village, the most despisbale person according to most of my neighbours, was sitting down, roofless under the rain, and had unintentionally made me fall.

He looked at me, with the apology written in his sad eyes. The look of that poor old man scared me; I didn't think he could damage me, I was scared of not being able to help him. Then I remembered about the coin inside of my pocket. I took it out and placed it carefully on his hand, resting on his thigh. His eyes opened widely, cheerful all of a sudden. Instead of the apology and saddness, I could now see hope in his eyes, and a great gratitude, too. Without any word, I walked away, smiling.

The coin, after all, was aimed to make me smile.

Expressing in English

2008-11-23T08:09:00.000-08:00

My talking English is by no means compalsory; nobody tells me to write this blog in Enlgish, for example. I could much more easily write in Spanish, my native language, for I guess in this 14 years of life I've heard its words more. It's my liking of the beautiful language, my seeking of the learning and my need of those magnificent words that impulses me to express myself in English.
Of course I could express myself in Spanish:

Es decir, ¿cuán más difícil puede ser expresarse en la lengua materna de uno? No, lo que a mí me impulsa a expresarme en es idioma tan hermoso es eso mismo, el idioma. Y es que he conocido, a lo largo de estos cortos catorce años a muchísime gente que me ha mostrado la riqueza con que el inglés cuenta. Y algunos de ellos son: Miss Vicky, Chris, Mary, Andy, Little Romi, the great singer y my dear V. Pero los dos más importantes: Palmerita y the special guy, the 'dream lover'.

As you can see, and as I have just realised, words seem to flow easier in Spanish, though I found myself trying to write in Spanish but thinking in English. That's another issue: 70% or even 80% of my thoughts are in English, and that's so cool! = )

Así que, for I think in two languages (Enlgish predomina) this is kind of my thoughts. Spanglish, as Palmerita would say, pero con muchísimo más inglés que español.

Hope you've liked my trying to organise my thoughts on the subject, this was hard. And maybe you found it dull, and in that case, I'm truely sorry, but I REALLY felt I had to write this down.

The missing something

2008-11-22T19:36:00.001-08:00

I found another cool blog in which you have to write something in just six sentences. It is called The Six Sentences (6S) http://www.sixsentences.blogspot.com

This are my six sentences of last Saturday:

I woke up. All the worries were disturbing me. They seemed so real, but at the same time... Something was missing, something, that was always there, wasn't there anymore. I wondered what that was, when I remembered. All the worries were gone.

What could it mean?

2008-11-21T14:59:00.000-08:00

HEY! I've come across another coooooooool blog in which you have to invent a meaning for the little coloured word given when you have to post a comment...
http://www.whatcoulditmean-d.blogspot.com

Here are some of my answers to the posts:

oxystod: (adj.) Able to avoid oxid.
Great oxystod kasserolle you could buy for just US$ 19.99, and if you call now you will get a smaller one free!

poldo: Nickname for 'Leopoldo', 'Leopold' in English.
Have you seen that blue T-shirt Poldo was wearing today?

shrou: (Derived from Lucyland) (tr.v.) To throw a shower, meaning to take a shower suuuuper quickly.
"Lucy, aren't you coming?" "In a minute, I have to shrou and I'll be right back"

manone: (noun) A copy of a well known brand of cookies in Arg. (Manon) "What are you eating? 'Manon' cookies?" "No, these are new, they're called 'Manone'..."

coldrom:(noun)A bedroom that is cold or cool, and is good for sleeping in Summer.
After realising the night was going to be unbearably hot, Mike decided to sleep in his coldrom.

paterop:(noun)New kind of rope used to fasten ponytails.
Mum tied my hair using this new paterop she bought for me.

fianych:(noun) A French fancy 40s dress.
Carrie was wearing a dark blue velvet fianych.

bellymp:(noun)A crocodile or alligator's belly.
They found the adventurer's watch inside of the croc's bellymp.

leati:[Le-ah-TEE] (noun) Carnivorous mammal, with grey and red fur and a long tail with black strings, from the family of the Central and South American "coatí".
The Leati they saw at the zoo wasn't as big as they expected it to be.

regatess: [Derived from Spanish] (noun) A woman that bargains.
The regatess got the best fruits for the lowest cost.

selychin: [SELL - e - chin] (adj) Used to describe a salesman/woman who lies in order to sell expensive but low quality products.1
The man in that TV advertisement is such a selychin!

nessemd: (adj) Someone who is nessemd is stubborn and doesn't believe what others say.
"Will she give us our ball back?" "No, miss Wenworth is a complete nessemd; she doesn't believe we didn't intend to break her glass."

perstnem: [perst-NEM] (noun) An archnemesis which is very persistent.
Sherlock Holmes wouldn't have fallen from the Reichenbach Falls if professor Moriarty hadn't been such a perstnem.

catestsp [Being catest from a word and sp from another one; CATEST-sp] (noun) Contraction of "Catest" and "Spanish". A special test given in middle-school to test Spanish.

"Have you already taken your catestsp?" "No, I'm in Elementary school".

menati [MEN-ah-tee] (noun) An African hip-moving type of dance.
They were thrilled by the joy showed by the Africans when dancing the menati.

dysterm [dis-TERN] (noun) A new Japanese electronic devise that regulates or disables temperature.
The oven's temperature was easily regulated by the new dysterm we bought.

gymnisti [gym-NEES-tee] (noun) The science of gymnistics.
Sarah told me she wanted to study the history of gymnisti.

billume [BILL-um] (noun) A new, pink and blue coloured type of flower.
Mary was cultivating some billumes in her garden.

chies [CHIS] (noun singular: chy) Special seeds for geen tomatoes.
He spread the chies all aroun the garden.

velesse [ve-LESS] (noun derived from French) A very beautiful little girl or young woman.
Sitting at the audience, Roberto looked at the runway and, seeing a young model, exclaimed "velesse!"

rencish (noun) A relly small net to fish little fishes.
The fishermen had lost their rencishes so they had to fish bigger fishes.

pirfi (Derived from Spanish) Slang for 'please'.
Would you lend me some money, mom? Pirfi?

Grandpa reminiscences

2008-11-19T02:45:00.000-08:00

This is an old comment I made at "A Writer's Voice", a blog I follow.She mentioned remembering her grandpa's speaking voice, and the particular sound it made. That brought back recollections about my grandpa:

WOW! Your story is so cute! Your stories are always very cute... = )
I'm amazed at how much that story looks like mine.
My grandpa is kinda in coma now, always lying on a bed at my granny's house and using a special machine to breathe and 'eat'. Before, he also used a special devise to be able to talk, as he has a tube inside of his throat. He made a strange sound when speaking, too.
But what reminded me of my story was that you missed so much the sound of his voice. One of the things I miss the most is his smell: he used to wear a special brand of perfume I'm never gonna forget. The other day I was buying some stuff at a random shop, when a middle-aged man joined the kinda cue that had formed behind of me. I has thrilled: he wore the exact scent my grandpa used to wear! I tried to inhale as much as I could, it smelled exactly as my grandpa! When the man left, I felt a strange feeling of emptyness, as I miss that smell so much! = (

When I remember his scent, I can't avoid smiling, for I miss him, but at the same time, I now know he's at a better place now. And I know that, someday, I'll see him again, so I just have to wait. =)

Thanks again for your post, it made me smile.

New blog!

2008-11-18T14:38:00.001-08:00

Opening my second blog!
There has been some problems and I had to rearrange my thoughts, so I made a new blog to be more organised, as I'm so obsessively organised...

Well, this new blog is due to my need of expressions, for my having so many feelings inside and for my need to write them down, to, at the same time, create art.

Oh, by the way, as this blog will be for me to write and write and write, I have to thank the owners of the following blogs for all their ideas and creativity. Visit them! They're great!
www.oneminutewriter.blogspot.com
www.whatocoulditmean-d.blogspot.com
www.litchick73.blogspot.com
www.allymaureen.blogspot.com

Let's start with the blog! = )