From immemorial time, I confess, does not wake these shores. It will be a period that I'm not much for which will be the writer's block who goes crazy, you are simply apathetic, the fact remains that I have not posted anything. Peace and amen, to my journal, my decision to post that you want? News relevant ...: I read the first two books of Stroud, and I did not like. I doubt that the publisher (the English) has had a hand in the first twenty pages of the first book, since there is a continuous leap in perspective: Teza person, first person, third person, first person ... even distance of two lines: WTF?! Then fortunately stylistic horrors disappear (fade, say) and the book flows, but not too much. Do not read the third one, because having read the plot on wikipedia now I do not feel. That said, we move on to other literary considerations: I read Neil Gaiman as well: it is a damn genius! The plot is intrippantissima, presonaggi are perhaps too many, but for someone like me, are fond of myths, the book is really nice. Thin in places, so much so that I wondered if any layman could appreciate the plot (I do not have fully understood all riferimetni), but it certainly is well written. Scroll to the right place, I only found the beginning a bit 'slow. Goodkind's next book should be the first of dodecalogia the "Sword of Truth," but I could always give up and opt for the latest book by Banana, I think Dolphins, returning to my old love. And then there's "Demons" by Dostoyevsky that I watch every night on the bedside table, book started and finished sooner or later it will reopen.
Bon, that being said, we pass to another passion: writing. ASLS langue, there will have noticed. I solemnly swear to end it, though. I'm participating in and, to a writing contest so much fun: I created a hero on the site perFiducia . Basically you create a hero and every two days the Goose elusive webmistress, turn a card. On paper there are the dictates of what must happen in the chapter is written. Each chapter has a maximum length of 420 characters. The story is coming out horrible, really bad, because the cards are seen one at a time and make happen what is written in 420 characters (including spaces!) Is almost impossible. At least for me. More than that is just impossible to happen is something interesting: that is, I find that the cards are only good to pay a banal love story or the like. Probably, however, is that I am incapable, P
However, if readers of way, would do me the pleasure of reading my story and tell me what you think (to me sucks then you are also brutally honest, so I do not recognize even my style!) will do me a pleasure. If, then, you would like to also register at the site (it takes a minute poor) and become followers of my hero, I would do extra pleasure, that I can ever win a camera (because the initiative works on the basis of followers who wins it has more!). Finally, if you also want to write fun, hurry that the initiative is about to end, and have already been turn a lot of cards! Here then
la mer (d) Avigliano literary work work in progress that I'm dedicating: The hero
parenchyma Myrddin, the description and the page found HERE , good reading. The story, for the lazy, the site below:
change makes us feel alive. It is the wind pushing the boat that we are at the helm, the cocoon silk weaving around each ego when he feels ready to take flight. Myrddin wanted nothing more at the moment, motionless, surrounded by candles, left to wander for hours looking out the window sad, powerless all'incedere night. That's when all the candles went out.
The darkness fell bully. Not looked back, but felt a presence behind him. The reason, finally awakened from its slumber, cried out to move, but he trusted his instincts. Setting aside the logic, stood still, closed his eyes and asked, "Who are you?". Heard no response and he remembered: it is useless to ask 'Who are you'.
"What do you want?"
"Help." He recognized the voice and turned around, but his grandmother was gone.
-is absurd! - Thought jumping up and looking around, I was nervous just too time-
For the first time in his life, the darkness became uncomfortable and was afraid . His eyes fell upon a smoldering wick. An unconscious awareness led him to focus on it wanting the light. Thrilled, watched the flame come to life slowly. "My subconscious is right: I need help! -
"Myrddin" said the man opened the door.
"Dr. Cox must help me!"
"Sure, come," she smiled. "I never thought to see you here," said sit down.
"Neither do I, but she was right: I started to hallucinate."
"Give me time to finish a session and will listen to you," and returned with this promise in the study. He came out a few minutes later, in the company of a blonde girl.
When their eyes met, the girl's face was distorted with terror. The cry that launched before fleeing towards the door, left Myrddin disoriented. As soon as he looked around, though, the fear was replaced by confusion, slowly crawling under his skin and undermining his heart behind him, suspended in midair, the ghost of her grandmother shouted angrily. Yet, there was no sound.
stood motionless, staring eyes fixed on the ethereal figure that floated from before. He did not even dare to scream as the girl was just standing there, catatonic, to hold his breath while his grandmother, more and more faded, gesticulating animatedly, her face contracted by rage.
"Myrddin, all right?" Dr. Cox's voice aroused him.
"What?" Gasped turning around quickly.
"Are you okay?" Cox asked again approaching reassuring.
The other did not answer, going back to study the void where until recently he had seen his grandmother.
"I ..." began to sputter in tears with broken breath.
"Drink," said the doctor, handing him a steaming cup pop out of nowhere. Myrddin did not object, he sent down the tea taste bitter and now problems, worries and confusion disappeared instantly.
He woke up the next morning with the certainty that he had never slept so well. It was a sunny Saturday. Euphoric, decided to try to get off the street. For the first time in his life, he walked calmly through the crowd, unaware of the thoughts, anxieties and fears of those around him. All entries and innate awareness had disappeared. Thanks to Dr. Cox, he was finally coming back to life.
His serenity, however, was short-lived: as a sudden summer storm, a powerful cry filled his ears, forcing his knees to cover her head. The people around him looked at him curiously or largely dodged him, pretending that did not exist. Understood to be the only one to hear the cry for help and thus the only one who can do something. Reluctantly, he took the direction from which came the cry.
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