Photo taken from Rubase.com

Until June24, the deadline date. So remember from inspiration, to the written word.

A.R. Román

The post Practice Writing Wednesday #4: Opening line appeared first on .

The words are Food, Wine, Travel.

from Writers Digest

Until June 16, and remember from inspiration to the written word.

A.R. Román

The post Practice Writing Wednesday #3: Three Words appeared first on .

Escribe un relato en que el principio y el final sean el mismo y la historia quede englobada en el interior como un círculo. La estructura debe estar justificada

Aquí está el relato:

Envainada estaba la causa del final de la mortalidad carnosa de unas existencias pasadas. “Al infierno,” susurraban. Los esqueletos le daban la bienvenida con sonrisas pintadas en sus calaveras. Dos de ellos sujetaban una sombrilla azul marino y miraban hacia arriba con sus inexistentes ojos al malabar. El caballero vestido con su negra armadura peladeaba una unibicicleta con rueda de tanque sobre una delgada soga, amarrada sobre un negruzco y profundo hueco del cual se alazaba una anaranjada y densa columna de humo. Sujetaba en la mano derecha una bola de hierro con púas y en su izquierda, un pergarmino de sus sentencias mortales. Hacía un acto de balanceo como en la mortalidad hizo a varios de los presentes por malévolo entretenimiento. A su llegada al final de la soga le esperaba el que fue su primera víctima, quien desvainó su espada, le quito el casco y tras el degolle susurró, “Al infierno.”

The post Martes de Entrega: Consigna #2 Historias Circulares appeared first on .

Escribe un relato en que el principio y el final sean el mismo y la historia quede englobada en el interior como un círculo. La estructura debe estar justificada

Francisco García nos dice que en las “historias circulares la narración se desarrolla hacia delante, pero el final coincide con el inicio, dándose un movimiento circular. Esta circularidad puede ser temporal y entonces la acción vuelve adonde se inició, haciendo un círculo en el tiempo, pero puede ser también espacial”.

Al medio día de hoy salí con mis hijos ha realizar un ejercicio en el Museo de Arte de Bayamón. Es un lugar que visitamos con frecuencia y en él hemos participado de varios talleres. Nuestra misión era encontrar los colores escogidos en casa, los cuales tenían que estar presentes en nuestra vestimenta, y luego de identificarlos en las obras de arte, dibujar su versión de ellos.

Mi hijo escogió la de un caballero en armadura. La obra se titula El disparate  del artitsta puertorriqueño Lorenzo Homar, 1954, y es parte de la colección permanente del museo.

Mientras le observaba hacer trazos con su lápiz, pararse para observarla más de cerca y volver a su papel y dibujar lo visto, la historia comenzó a pintarse en mi mente. Mientras ellos dibujaban, yo escribía mi historia circular, el primer escrito. El próximo martes, 10 de junio, publicaré la historia.

Más sobre narrativa circular:
–Escrilia
–e how en español

Hasta la próxima, y recuerda de la inspiración a la palabra escrita.

A.R. Román

The post Miércoles de Consignas de Escritura #2: Historias circulares appeared first on .

To get started, let’s loose up. Let’s unlock the mind. Today, take twenty minutes to free write. And don’t think bout what you’ll write. Just write.

Breath in, breath out. Relax and let it flow.

Pencil in hand, I draw letter by letter in carbon to construct words that form sentences and they make paragraphs that combined make up a story. Something for someone to enjoy.

Writers block is a haunting entity that possesses your state of mind. As I write this, I inhale slowly and exhale slowly, not listening to voices inside that might criticise and make me stop.

The television is on, but my thoughts are in what I am writing right this instant. My hand hurts a bit, I have been writing for a while passing the notes from my Fantasy and Science Fiction class at Coursera. When I watched the videos where the professor introduced the course, he took away all the fears I had when taking this course. It made me realized I had nothing to fear and that I had so much to gain and to learn. As a writer it was a promise of growth.

But, with a full schedule. How am I going to manage to do my list of writing prompts and class and reading books, cooking, cleaning, and making a fun summer for my kids Easy, a step at a time, schedules, not taking during the day more than I can do.

Feeling thrust worthy of oneself, gives you some type power. It sets fears aside and makes you understand what can be accomplish with ones time as writers. I even did laundry today and mofongo for dinner (follow the link so you can know what this delicious dish is)

Breath in, breath out.

A writing summer adventure has begun. Excitement is overwhelming and looking forward to rock it, accomplish all of my goals or some, but will not fail all of them and that includes a rocking fun summer for my kids. Tomorrow will be one with lots of fun.

Until next prompt and remember from inspiration to the written word.

A.R. Román

The post Blogging U 101: Unlock the mind appeared first on .

Así que la escritora se embarca en una aventura veraniega y toma consignas de escritura para que ella no se aferre a la pereza. ¡Oh, verano! Tus promesas de descanso, de unas vacaciones etéreas son tentadoras.

Las consignas de escritura navegan por el internet como los peces en el océano. Son muchas y en inglés y español. Los miércoles será día de escoger entre tantas y el martes de arriba, el día de presentarlas. Puedes lector atreverte a realizarlas también y compartirlas conmigo. Es bueno leer, aprender y deleitarse del talento de los colegas. Es inspiración a la vez.

Retos se toman en partida triple, mientras mas se tengan se tiene la posibilidad que la mayoría se realizarán. El segundo, contemplado por el pasado año, llega desde Coursera en donde se ofrecen cursos gratuitos por universidades de varias partes del mundo. Por once semanas estudiaré, en inglés, el curso de Fantasy and Science Fiction: The human mind, our modern worldClass por el profesor Erik Rabkin de la Universidad de Michigan. El syllabus intimida con su larga lista de lectura, clásicos como Drácula de Bram Stocker, Poe, Grimm, Frankenstein de Shelley, Le Guin, entre otros. Todo será lecturas, ensayos, ensayos y más ensayos- no me quejo, adoro hacer ensayos-, y discusiones en foros. Ya he comenzado con Drácula…

Blogging U Challenge by WordPress, es el tercero. Tareas semanales como las consignas de escritura, pero enfocadas en mi bitacora (blog). Este espacio necesita dedicación constante y en él se derrama la palabra escrita nacida de la inspiración.

No hay receso veraniego para la escritora. Hay que darle tareas. Hay que aceitar su creatividad. Hay que enseñarle cosas nuevas y expandir su universo. Hay que alimentarla con letras.

Hasta la próxima y recuerda de la inspiración a la palabra escrita. Ánimate y toma retos literarios en este verano.

A.R. Román

The post Los retos veraniegos de una escritora appeared first on .

Así ocurrió la pasada semana. El jueves debía ir al maxilofacial para que me quitaran los puntos. Me extrajeron los cuatro cordales y me recupero, aunque ya estoy abatida por las sopas. Había que hacer la compra y mi hija mayor salió temprano. Son eventos en la vida cotidiana que no podemos evitar y que son parte de nosotros.

El viernes los chicos no tuvieron clases, el silencio sería inexistente y la soledad brillaría por su ausencia. Sabía que no sería un día para dedicarme, aunque fuera unos minutos, a la escritura. Así que ya que tenía que estar en la cocina, a preparar esenciales para cuando cocine y confeccionar varios antojitos.

Adobo de ajo con aceite de oliva, pimenta y sal. Lo uso para adobar mis carnes. Tomas tres cabezas de ajos, se pelan (mi cuñada me enseñó un truco y es sumergirlos en agua por varios minutos y se facilita el pelarlos). En el procesador de alimentos o licuadora los mueles con aceite de oliva, sal y pimienta. Lo guardo en envases de cristal.

Sofrito. En la cocina puertorriqueña no puede faltar este esencial ingrediente. En Sazón Boricua receta Sofrito, puedes encontrar la receta.

Sorullitos de maíz. A mi hijo le encantan con mayoketchup.

Tiramisu. Mi antojito y ya que no pude prepararme para San Valentín por mi operación, hice varios para regalar.

Mini cupcakes para la merienda del sábado del coro de mi hija.

La cocina fue mi oficina creativa durante casi todo el día del viernes. Así como mis horas matutinas durante la semana, fueron horas productivas que me permitirán añadir minutos adicionales para escribir en esta próxima semana . ¿Qué haces cuándo la vida te desvía de tu rutina?

The post De la vida cotidiana de una escritora appeared first on .

Encarar mis miedos está en el noveno lugar de una lista de trece objetivos, algunos de ellos de corto plazo, otros de largo y algunos que no trascenderán al plano realista. Por supuesto, hay que tener todo tipo de categorías para que ésta no se quede plasmada en la obscura existencia de un papel engabetado. A base de ésta resolución, enfrento la extracción de mis cordales, no sé explicar el porqué el temor que para muchos es una cuestión tonta y sencilla, pero mi mente la registra de otra manera y las reacciones químicas de mi cuerpo afectan mis nervios.

Encarar mis miedo al rechazo. Uno muy común entre la raza humana. Es una de no aceptación o no admisión a algo o a alguien, que muchas veces lleva a sentimientos no deseados e inhumanos. Una palabra que es sinónimo de repudio . Mas no es ese rechazo el que me llevó a incluirla como sub-resolución de es novena. Es ese rechazo que experimentan esos humanos conocidos como creadores de historias, los escritores. No he dado un rechazo al miedo, lo llevo como compañero; al fin y al cabo, muchas veces, son las cosas que dan miedo las que debemos encarar y realizar, mas cuando se tiene progenie.

He recibido mi primer rechazo para “Ascensión Divina”. La frustración y la desesperación no me invadieron, tan solo la alegría plasmada en una sonrisa. Una confirmación de que voy por el camino correcto. La lista de rechazos siempre es larga comparada con esa de las aceptaciones. Se logran los objetivos, solo hay que tener paciencia y encarar los miedos. De eso en particular consiste el proceso para poder dejar que la paz y la felicidad por lo que se hace en la y por esa vida, sea fructífera aunque solo se realice una sola resolución.

¿Forma ésta parte de tu lista?

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Era un tiempo diferente, una ciudad diferente, al igual que esos que me acompañaban. Cuando la noche me tocó con su frialdad al salir del aeropuerto  de Connecticut estas pasadas navidades, estaba preparada, pero no era mi estado el que me preocupaba sino el de mis hijos, que sonrieron exaltados y llenos de curiosidad, deleitados de ver rastros de lo que días atrás fue una blanca nieve. Yo, respiré profundamente, el aire frío llenó mis pulmones y el desagrado desvaneció. Con él marqué el principio de nuevas transformaciones en mi vida. Solo quedaba disfrutar de la primera experiencia invernal de mi descendencia y empaparme de recuerdos para una eternidad.

The post Transformación de experiencias pasadas appeared first on .

Fahrenheit 451 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Jack Collins from AcademicEarth.org shares a video he produced explaining “in less than three minutes,  Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451“. Ray Bradbury, as explained in AcademicEarth.org, “wrote his dystopian classic Fahrenheit 451 at the height of McCarthyism and Cold War paranoia. In the novel, Guy Montag is employed as a fireman who burns books. The whole of American society has descended into a zombie-like stupor of instant gratification, and books are seen as challenging and disruptive relics, which must be destroyed at any cost.”

‘Fahrenheit 451’ pictogram movie poster (Photo credit: Viktor Hertz)

“The video highlights the major plot points, characters, and themes used in this cornerstone of modern literature,” says Jack Collins. It is enjoyable and with outstanding illustrations that keeps you watching it. 

To watch the video, please visit this link,  http://academicearth.org/electives/tldr-fahrenheit-451/, since I had problems posting it here. Hope you enjoy it and thanks to Jack Collins for sharing it.

Thanks,

A.R. Román de Hernádez

The post “Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451” a contribution by Jack Collins appeared first on .

Lotería Nacional, España, 14-08-2004 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

La ilusión

“Cuando me pegue, me compraré…,” con ojos llenitos de ilusión, enumeró afanadamente los anhelos materiales con los que llenaría su vida. Le seguían los viajes turísticos, esos que ha hecho miles de veces en su mente, que revive al mirar las fotos y leer los artículos en las revistas de viaje. El cotejo del billete con los números ganadores le hace exclamar, “¡No me pegué! Será pa’la próxima.” Sus ojos aún guardan un diminuto destello de ilusión.

***********************************************************

El premio

Lotería, la grande,

pa’salir del hoyo.

Esperanza numérica.

Cotejo. Un rostro sombrío,

manos frías, un suspiro.

El filo corta y la esencia

de la vida fluye.

****************************************************

Desesperanza

“Juega la loto.” La frase como navaja de doble filo asesinó la esperanza anidada en su corazón. El deseo de una futura vivencia de un sueño trazado, donde la sonrisa juvenil de su progenie venía envuelta en exaltación.

¡Le enseñaré el mundo! Letra a letra se desvaneció la frase de orgullo maternal y despertó el oscuro sentimiento al lado del fraternal.

The post Sueños al azar appeared first on .

Disfrutando de la vida.
Enjoying life.

¿Qué has estado haciendo?
What you’ve been doing?

The post De pesca / Fishing appeared first on .

Ray Bradbury, Miami Book Fair International, 1990 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Any man who keeps working is not a failure. He may not be a great writer, but if he applies the old-fashioned virtues of hard, constant labor, he’ll eventually make some kind of career for himself as writer.

Cualquier hombre que sigue trabajando no es un fracaso. Él tal vez no pueda ser un gran escritor, pero si se aplica a las virtudes antiguas trabajar duro , constantemente, con el tiempo va a hacer algún tipo de carrera para sí mismo como escritor.

Ray Bradbury

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The post Ray Bradbury in keep working / en seguir trabajando appeared first on .

Acclaimed poet, Elizabeth Bishop, class of 1934 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Being a poet is one of the unhealthier jobs–no regular hours, so many temptations!

¡Ser un poeta es uno de los trabajos menos saludables- no hay horarios regulares, y tantas tentaciones!

Elizabeth Bishop

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The post Elizabeth Bishop on being a poet / …en ser un poeta appeared first on .

“Keep a small can of WD-40 on your desk—away from any open flames—to remind yourself that if you don’t write daily, you will get rusty.”

“Manten una lata pequeña de WD-40 en tu escritorio-lejos de una vela-para recordarte que si no escribes diariamente, te pondrás mohoso.”

—George Singleton

Hay cosas simples que nos recuerdan nuestra responsabilidad, no ha nuestros seguidores y lectores, ha nosotros mismos de escribir diariamente. Aunque no podamos por un tiempo extendido realizar esta tarea, la sencillez de una oración o quizás varias, nos dará la satisfacción de decir me encamino a mi destino. 

¿Qué mantienes a tu lado para recordarte que debes escribir diariamente?

There are simple things that remind us of our responsibility, not our fans and readers, but to ourselves to write daily. Although we can not  do it for an extended period of time, the simplicity of a sentence or perhaps several, will give us the satisfaction to say I making my way to my destination. 

What do you keep near to remind you to write daily?

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• EWN Favorite, George Singleton, to be Published by Dzanc Books (emergingwriters.typepad.com)

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Untamed grass lands thrive alongside the road that leads straight to the mountains. As we ascend we are greeted by droplets of rain that rapidly disappear from the windshield. In the back seat my daughter stares through the window, while my son asks “Have we made it to the mountain?” I smile, he still thinks we are going to “una montaña rusa” confused by the term “montaña”, hopefully he won’t be disappointed.  “Almost there,” I answer.

To our surprise the place is packed of people wishing to have the same adventure. We’re not alone. A Texaco station surrounded by dozens of cars and motorcycles serves as a stop for the adventures. There a wooden lounge stands near the entrance marked by a brown sign with caption white letters, which reads Cueva Ventana. A round of Medallas (Puerto Rican beer) calms the thirst of my companions and then, we are off.

Our steps followed the ones left behind and now invisible on the smooth pale rocky path that stretched alongside bushes, tall grasses and a canopy of trees that shades us from the sun. We walked exchanging jokes of how exhausted we might get or if we would need assistance after the hike, because of our lack of exercise in our lives. But, to say the truth the road was not difficult, instead it was pleasant, especially with company and the felt embrace of nature all around us.

The first cave was at our left marked by a sign, “Ruta”. We were tempted to go in, but looked steep and with a five year old, who was wishing to go in, that could be more than an adventure. So, on we went up the hill to find production workers from the movie “Runner, Runner” changing with their equipment the natural surroundings that we should have encountered and were dying to experience. Instead of bird chirping and the sounds of bats and the breeze and the conversations of excitement of multitude of visitors, the strong noise of an electric plant powering the lights placed on the interior of the cave was deafening.

The waiting took a couple of minutes to start descending the man made steps, just a few the caves greets you with her own rocky ones. Thankfully for us parents, ropes meant for the cast of the movie were placed near the steps and were a big help as we entered hand in hand with our children the mouth of “Cueva Ventana”.

Inside, there was no need of flashlights for the artificial lights placed lighted the way, on a normal day you would and in some parts, me and my daughter explored, were needed. The winding and short entrance path takes you to the first chamber. A dome like with dozen of holes serving as niches for the bats that slept close together, probably desiring to be left alone. A narrow corridor lighted at its end by natural light takes you straight to the chamber of the window that gives the cave’s name. You don’t see anything else, not even the people standing in awe in front of it, but the grand opening that gives you a gorgeous glimpse of the panoramic view of the land at its feet stretching as far as the eye can see. A wonder of Puerto Rico!

I look at my daughter as she was admiring with amazement, “Mom, this is awesome!” I smile, “It is,” and hold her hand tight as we walk closer, with care, towards the window. There were others braver than me, for I’m scare of highs, going down to get near the opening. I snap pictures on my camera and my phone, when I notice the picture taken of those in front, all taking pictures at the same time on their phones.

A stone face, if you use your imagination, stares at the horizons from the right corner of the window opening of the cave as a silent guardian. Soft rain starts to fall outside making the view even more beautiful. A calm river runs through the grassy green land below, serving as a mirror for the mountain. It is a scenery regal and grand deserving of a fantastical tale.

We part to take on the other cave that’s beside “Cueva Ventana”, which you must go down and out of it by way of rope, so my husband and son stay behind to meet us at the other side of the cave. The floor was more slippery than the other and in complete darkness. A tree root stretch its way down the cave’s floor as stating his domain. The second cave was just a huge chamber that we explore for a few minutes and came out of it climbing the rocks and holding the hands of our companions that helped us up.

The road waited for us as traffic of visitors made their way up the hill. Back at the gas station, we said our goodbyes to our companions and headed to Tonny’s Pizza World in town, which serves an amazing pizza, to finish our day and browse the pictures we took- and, of course, upload some to our social networks- but most importantly, to talk with our children of their experience.  Their smiles are our rewards and my son was not dissapointed.

More photos:

[slideshow]

Alexandra

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The post “Cueva Ventana” and its rewards appeared first on .

“Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind, is written large in his works.”

“Cada secreto del alma de un escritor, cada experiencia de su vida, cada cualidad de su mente, está escrita en grande en su trabajo.”

Virginia Woolf

¿Tienes algún secreto que contar, una experiencia que debe ser leída Toma tus armas y escribe. Liberate de tu carga y compartela.

Do you have a secret to tell, an experience that must be read Take upon weapons and write. Relieve yourself of the burden and share it.

Related articles

• Writers’ retreat provides Woolf-style heaven (bloggingwoolf.wordpress.com)
• Writers’ rooms: Virginia Woolf | Books | guardian.co.uk (steffanjoneshughes.wordpress.com)
• Writing is the characters – 6 #quotes (word2live.wordpress.com)

The post Virginia Woolf and the work of a writter appeared first on .

Is my daughter’s favorite color. It always sorrounds her, henceforth it sorrounds me.  The walls of her room are painted in purple.

A color that has been present in those that have been in my life: a friend, a cousin, the lovely orchid blooming in my grandmother’s garden. It remind me of lent, of advent. The color of preference of royalty. A regal color, one of grandeur.

You learn from childhood it is the mix of two, red and blue, so you go on an experiment to marvel in surprise as the purple tones appear slowly as the two mix.

It painted the lips and nails of my grandmother, making a beautiful contrast with her chocolate skin. Una trigueña bella ella era.  

But, it has never been my choice of color.

Alexandra

The post Weekly Photo Challenge: Purple, a color I’m familiar with appeared first on .

What do you have to Beware of Is it the big bad wolf or the big black bat or the ides of March or, perhaps, maybe, of the stranger standing at the corner of your street. It might be of those marked by society, of those that have a strange look in their eyes, their way of walking, the aesthetics that surrounds them as they could be terrorist, weirdoes, insane. Traits that make them perfect candidates for the phrase “Beware of”.

It means to be cautious or careful which takes its origins from a phrase of warning be ware (1150-1200). They are not meant for fear; it is a warning to those spoken to or to those who read the words. It has nothing to do with fear only caution, even though fear can be near. In a story the characters might ignore the warning, those in our favorite stories, or just by chance or destiny be encountered with that they have to beware of. And that, for us readers, is a delight. For we wish, no we want them to be face to face with it. We need the action, to feel the fear that brings them close to danger or that put them in a position that moves the storyline. Also, we need them there, how else are we going to put a face to that we made a mental picture of when we read the warning of danger?

“Beware of” intrigues us as readers and moves the story taking the characters where he/she thought would never go or be. It might even sow the seed of fear in their souls and that of hopelessness, which can make them thrive in adversity when they least expect it or to coward and run to find themselves in far of places.

“Beware of” sets a standard for a compelling story, if done right. It captures the attention of the reader, for they want to know why the characters have to beware of something that at the end might not be or be dangerous.

“Beware of” is meant to keep people away from someplace, someone, or something. In the real world we tell it to our kids: Beware of strangers; in our homes: Beware of dog, beware of the serpentine fence. And of course, they’re much, much more, but we have a choice as the characters in the story have. We choose to hear or ignore the warnings. It is then that the story revolves around the warning and the consequences that come after. Yes, it’s our choice to do or not to do; nonetheless, as writers we push the characters to make a choice. It is then when they grow into major characters, mature and, as we desire, the plot thickens.

So, do you have a memory of those words Maybe, a story to tell to others to beware of

Alexandra Román

PS: Idea of title taken from “A Year of Blogging and Journaling Ideas” EBook by Cynthia Louden 

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Un libro, como un viaje, se comienza con inquietud y se termina con melancolía.  

A book, as a journey, it begins with ends with concern and sadness.

José Vasconcelos, Filósofo, educador y político mexicano.

The post José Vasconcelos, un libro como un viaje / A book as a journey appeared first on .

Sharing is what’s all about with the Weekly Photo Challenges and I’m here to share the photos from my vacation using the pasts challenges posts I’ve missed. So let’s start from the beginning…

Fleeting:

My son and his Godmother at Wekiva Springs

My kids at Sea World

Movement:

My son trying to fly like a Pterodactylus

A dolphing after his jump at Sea World

Dreaming:

Statues of the child Jesus with his father Josehp at his carpenter workshop, taken in Virgin Mary Queen of the Universe Church

Vineyard at Winery Lakeridge

Hiking trail at Wekiva Springs

Inside:

This is a photo taken by my five year old son. It is the inside of a wine bottle at the Winery Lakeridge. He took over the photographing while I was munching on some free samples. Very clever!

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The post The Weekly Photos Challenge inspired by my Vacation appeared first on .

El libro es fuerza, es valor, es fuerza, es alimento; antorcha del pensamiento y manantial del amor.

The book’s strength, courage, strength, food, torch of thought and the source of love.

Ruben Darío, poeta y periodista nicaragüense

The post Ruben Darío, el libro es… appeared first on .

Charles W. Eliot

More on Charles W. Eliot:

• Bio

The post Charles W. Eliot and books as friends appeared first on .

For the past week I’ve looked for a photo that will go well with last week challenge Close, I had no luck. This week came along with a word as a writer I’m familiar with, well lets say comfortable for create stories is what I love to do.

On the wall that my white desk rests, lays my brainstorming board and in it ideas get stock on small papers trapped in ink, in no organize fashion. All of them close together, close at hand for when needed. As my sharpie pens and pencils are close for use, like the photos of those I love and miss and inspire me. Everything close so I can create. And as always, be inspire to create.

The post Weekly photo challenge: Close and Create appeared first on .

Un buen libro debe dejarte… un poco exhausto al final. Vives varias vidas mientras lees.

William Styron in an interview 1958, Writers at Work.

Related stories:

• William Styron, The Art of Fiction No. 5 from The Paris Review

The post William Styron on a good book… appeared first on .

At the Omega Confernce in NYC! Love this group of women!

The post Weekly Photo Challenge: Frienship appeared first on .

Finishing a chapter

Sunday Mass at Parroquía Espíritu Santo

Had a delicious home made pizza by my husband

Walked a few meters in the Da Vida walk-a-thon with friends and my kids, is done yearly to raise money and awareness to fight cancer.

A salad for dinner from my daughter’s harvest, buen provecho.

Inpiration still linger near, whispering the next words for the new chapter of Ascensión Divina. So I bid you farewell for now and hope, as always, you are inspired.

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            Hasta ese momento había conocido la fantasía de los cuentos de hadas, pero este libro abrió un mundo nuevo de estilo de ficción que exploraban mundos, que aunque en muchos habían príncipes y princesas, iban más allá que las simples historias a las que estaba acostumbrada desde niña. Cursaba el séptimo grado cuando fui seducida por la letra escrita, una relación nacida de la lectura y que se mantiene fuerte hasta hoy día. 

            Las mil y una noches me impulsaron a escribir un cuento de fantasía, de magia y aventura, narrado al estilo de la novela que leía: una historia dentro de la otra. Tristemente, este nunca nació al mundo literario, quedo incompleto y se perdió en el mundo del olvido. Hubieron más intentos, como todo en la vida, por ahí se comienza, y mientras cursaba la escuela superior escribí poesía. Comencé con versos cortos de amor, como toda adolescente hace en sus momentos de romance platónico. Sin saber que me dirigía por un camino del que no hay regreso, pues en mis años universitarios escribir se convirtió en un deleite, en especial cuando para las clases de español e inglés tenía que entregar ensayos.

            No hay marcha atrás, pues no es solo una profesión que llevamos como una insignia que nos define y nos da nuestro lugar en el mundo, es una forma de vida que se ama. Por la cual nos desvivimos y le damos tiempo para obtener de ella experiencias que solo se viven a través del bolígrafo y papel, bueno hoy día, del azotar las teclas de la computadora, y las emociones que se viven mientras son plasmadas. Es una buena vida y la gozo en cada letra, por eso ya no me avergüenzo de decir que soy una forjadora de letras, ven y adéntrate en mi mundo.

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The post Es una buena vida… appeared first on .

So don’t forget, Inspiration is around us, every where waiting to be transformed into Written Words. 

Old San Juan a view from the town I live in. Taken this morning when I left my children at school. Beautiful Morning!

Two Subjects, my sons shadow and, on the bottom, his tiny cute feet.

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And in nature we find these beautiful distortions that serve as inspiration to those who conjure words.

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  When done, I yield, in an excessive degree, to the gratification of the pleasures of a double life: me and my writer self.

To yield to… To Indulge in the simplest moments in a life for which I’m thankful for.

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Van aproximadamente diez minutos desde que arribé y tomé asiento al final de la plaza. Estoy inmóvil, observo un niño y su abuela jugar con las palomas. Sonrio, pero me siento perdida. Quizás porque el día comenzó turbulento para mí y mi alma se regocija con la serenidad del lugar, se alimenta. Te llevaré alma a la Catedral, por ahora déjame ir, caminar, disfrutar, olvidar.

Libre, comienzo mi recorrido por las carpas. Termino comprando primero para mis hijos en SM y luego para mí en Terranova. Pero mis recuerdos de un pasado no vivido, experimentado a través de la comunicación verbal, me lleva a ascender por la calle O’Donell esquina Luna. De esa calle de adoquines azulados y grises, tengo una foto de mi abuelo con mi madre y tío cuando vivían allí. Necesito un GPS, así que llamé a mi madrina y ella me dio las coordenadas. Una foto para comparar con la que tengo en casa.

Mi abuelo con mi madre y mi tío (él es el del jacket negro) en la calle O'Donell. Como no sé donde exactamente fue tomada la foto tome dos donde creo que es el lugar.

De camino a la Plaza de Armas me encuentro, entre los olores a pollo frito a las once de la mañana y que mi estómago no soporta, con la iglesia San Francisco. Alma esta es tu oportunidad. Me adentro y rezo luego de mi reverencia, pero la música que suena frente a las escalinatas de la iglesia me deducen. Termino y al salir me topo con un espectáculo de música y danza tradicional, siendo admirado, y con cámaras en mano, por una docena de turistas.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mkJLIahj5-M?rel=0]

Las tripas suenan al son de los tambores de la bomba y plena y recuerdo que cerca está La Bombonera. ¿Mallorca y jugo de china natural Por supuesto.

De ahí a la Plaza de Armas. Músicos se preparaban para deleitar a su audiencia de la edad de oro y yo, con el tiempo en mi contra visité la carpa de los artistas. Todo tentador y mis paredes sin lugar para sujetar alguna otra pintura, me detuve y admire. El tiempo, se acaba el tiempo. Así que antes de regresar a casa me detuve a descansar bajo la sombra del Ballajá y admirar El Morro y decir hasta mañana si Dios lo permite, que aún quedan cosas por disfrutar. Pies con ánimo, que ahora es cuesta abajo.

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En un pasado, la Ermita, que fue bendecida en 1759 en la Hacienda El Plantaje, era el único lugar de adoración para los feligreses de la iglesia Católica. Hacendados, campesinos, negros libres y esclavos venían allí a escuchar la palabra de Dios. A ser bautizados, a unirse en matrimonio, a celebrar las fiestas.

El pasado 2 de febrero, día en que se celebra el Día de la Purificación de Nuestra Señora de la Candelaria, tuve la oportunidad de visitar el lugar por el cual pasé de largo muchas veces cuando era pequeña, por una carretera que ahora está cerrada al publico. Allí, gracias a los esfuerzos de la Familia Picón, se mantiene la tradición centenaria viva y se enciende, luego de la celebración de la palabra y varios actos protocolares, la tradicional hoguera hecha de los secos árboles de navidad que fueron utilizados por los residentes de mi pueblo en las pasadas navidades.

No conocía de la actividad y acompañada por mi mejor amiga/comadre, nos fuimos a un lugar de la infancia. La Ermita era hermosa toda en ruinas y al final de su atrio, donde una vez estuvo el altar y la sacristía, estaba una imagen grande de Nuestra Señora de la Candelaria en vivos colores. Parecía que estaba vigilante. Los presentes estaban sentados dentro en sillas blancas. Sin techo que los cobijara, luces colgaban para alumbrar el interior. Las paredes ya no sujetaban ni ventanas ni puertas, y de cuatro solo quedaban tres.

Mientras hablaban comencé a capturar en fotos con mi celular la hermosura del lugar. Me acerqué a una de las ventanas por donde se veía la imagen de la Virgen, click. La cúpula aún permanece fuerte, con rastros de humedad y un círculo en su centro. La entrada en ruinas con sus ladrillos expuestos parece darle tregua al tiempo, como diciendo de aquí no me moveré. El tronco de un árbol fusionado a las paredes de la Ermita, evidencia el abandono en un pasado.

Llegó el momento de encender la hoguera y varios de los presentes se acercan para entre las aromáticas ramas de los pinos echar sus peticiones. Una antorcha fue encendida, el Alcalde la acerca y las llamas lamen las ramas. El fuego arde, el calor intenso se siente a flor de piel como si las llamas desearan acariciarte. Me interno dentro de la Ermita para protegerme, miro arriba y la noche se iluminaba con fragmentos pequeños que flotaban por la brisa nocturna. Parecía como si la fogata, a pesar de nuestra retirada, deseaba alcanzarnos, tocarnos.

El acto culminó con la muerte de la fogata, los presentes gozaban de un caldo de pollo y nosotras nos retiramos dejando nuestras huellas en el húmedo terreno con la promesa de un regreso el próximo 2 de febrero.

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So I’ve asked this inspiring Latina to give us a peek on her writing life and was very generous to answer some of my questions.

As writers we struggle with our first book and is a journey that takes to a different route. “My experience writing my first poetry collection was one of new discoveries.  I began with a different project than what evolved, and through the process resulted in two distinct manuscripts. I am currently revising a middle grade novel, Campo Girl. My poetry manuscript, “Miss Universe: poems” is under publication consideration.”

“What’s literature for you, Jina#8221; I asked. “I don’t know if I can come up with an adequate definition, but literature to me is engaging a person through writing.”

Since she is currently revising her middle grade manuscript, she shares that for revising fiction “you need different skills, in comparison to poetry.”

Her advice to other writers is “finish what you begin.  This is my primary advice for writers. Even if you do not like the end results, it is a great accomplishment to say you finished.”

To know more about Jina Ortiz, visit her social networks like Facebook, and Twitter, or visit her Writer’s Website.

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Would I find it there I ask. I have been ignoring my manuscript for three days now.  If it had the gift of life and could speak, my first chapter could describe in crude detail the whole structure and decor of my home for it had been all over it. Or just maybe, cry out loud the torture it has endure under my pencil. Words have been written and erased, written again and again erased. A tortured piece of white paper wanting to move on. I struggle to find the perfect opening line for my story for the one I wrote is not working. Is just weak.

Openings are as difficult as a teenager, stubborn and with an attitude problem. Every writer struggles with its opening line, I say to myself. But what is the Perfect opening line for this fantasy story Inspiration, I need inspiration from those that I admire and have gone through this.

So there I went and read and read and read all the opening lines of the books I love and look down on me waiting patently for their turn on the shelf. Inspiring, curious, perfect each and one of them. From lands of dragons of Christopher Paolini, romance by Jane Austin, the spiral hell of Dante, the journey of Eneas, a city of beasts of Isabel Allende, Kafka, Rosario Ferré, Homer, Dumas, Coelho, Tolkien, Dostoievski, García Marquez, Seneca…

Some went something like this: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. – Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice (1813)”; “Midway in our life’s journey, I went astray from the straight road and woke to find myself alone in a dark wood.- Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy, Inferno”; “As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect- Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis”; “The Alchemist picked up a book that someone in the caravan had brought. Leafing through the pages, he found a story about Narcissus -Paulo Coelho”… All of them perfect and intriguing. Mine must be the same, mine has to be an equal.

I lay on the cold hard floor and stare in awe at these pages and these lines. Minutes come and go, instrumental music fills the air and I keep staring. A word comes “Final” (end). I must start giving away her fear, her undesired end. Her fear is the key. And so it is that the fear of her end of one of my protagonists must be the opening line of this story.  A beginning of sorts.

What about yours?

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Smell  is the sense responsible for detecting and processing odors. It is a chemo-receptor in which the particles act as a stimulant aromatic or odoriferous detached from the volatile bodies, which enter the olfactory epithelium located in the nose, and processed by the olfactory system. The human nose distinguishes between more than 10,000 different smells. Smell is the strongest sense at birth. (Taken from Wikipedia)

Image via Wikipedia

In the article A sense of smell is said: “We are constantly surrounded by smells. Our environment, objects, animals and people are an endless source of good and bad smells.

Although many underestimate the smell, it is not a crucial survival mechanism, this stands out for having an enormous sensitive capacity . One of the main features of the sense of smell is that it acts to small stimuli.

The smell can capture at a distance and in low concentrations the molecules that react with its specialized organs.

While we have no olfactory sensitivity of animals such as dogs, our sense of smell contributes to the stimulation of appetite and digestive secretions, and prevent the presence of gases harmful to our health. “

As creative beings we are fascinated with aromas. They are always around us, make those special moments of our lives unforgettable. Just as the smell of your newborn, the perfume she wore on her first date, the scent of your child’s favorite blanket, the smell of a particular spice that reminds you of your grandmother’s kitchen, or your childhood. Odors stimulate the brain, well all the senses do this function, but being the strongest it makes us transcend the parameters of time and take us to the past, or perhaps what we’ll accomplish in the future.

In 2006 I had the opportunity to see the movie “Perfume, the story of a murderer” (an adaptation of a novel), ” is the first novel by German writer Patrick Süskind, published in 1985 under the title Das Parfum, die Geschichte eines Mörders. The novel explores the sense of smell and its relationship with the emotional meaning that scents may carry. Above all this is a story of identity, communication and the morality of the human spirit. The story focuses on Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, a perfume apprentice in 18th century France who, born with no body scent himself, begins to stalk and murder virgins in search of the “perfect scent”, which he finds in a young woman named Laura, whom his acute sense of smell finds in a secluded private garden in Grasse.” (Wikipedia)

Let’s perceive our world through the sense of smell, and transform our experiences into words. To do this we must find the aromas we like, those that relax us, those we don’t like, and those that, well, go unnoticed because they are constant in our daily lives, for example, the smell of your home.

Search the smell of food, perfumes on your dresser, the soap that you wash with… Take a trip and visit the garden nursery near your home, and dive into a world of strong, subtle and distinctive aromas, such as mint, rosemary, dill, the oregano. Look for roses, orchids, Maragarita… Inhale, perceive! Stroll through the section of the spices and vegetables at your local market. Start cooking! Then take a minute and write what comes to mind, all the feelings, memories and places the scent carried  you .

Unfortunately, the internet does not yet have a device so you can smell odors from other places to explore the world without leaving your computer. Fortunately, smells surround us daily and we can experience them forever.

Share your experiences with us! What was the one aroma that took you on a journey to the past or to an unforgettable moment in your life?

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The post Excersise the Senses: Smell appeared first on .

Lilly1949 says, “Although I really enjoy coffee’s taste and smell and I indulge in drinking it every day like a ritual: first thing in the morning while reading my e-news and the traditional Puerto Rican cup at three o’clock in the afternoon. There is another drink that I drink less, but enjoy more–chocolate! It is an indulgence, but not a ritual. And of lately, I’ve come to enjoy the concoction in a different way. I’m not talking about Nestle’s Quick mix, nor Hershey’s syrup, nor the semisweet Cortez’s chocolate bars so typical of my homeland, not even the kosher Ubett. I’m talking about the experience of picking the cacao pod, taking the nuts out, drying them, shelling them, roasting and grinding them and then, only then, can you make a cup of hot cocoa and experience the most orgasmic drink ever.“

Get your cup ready, for after reading this post you will want to have a cup of hot chocolate. If you are lucky and have some Cacao Beans near, or know where to find some, you will take upon yourself to satisfy your senses. Enjoy and have an invigorating journey through the sense of taste. Go ahead and read her post “What can I say about the sense of taste“.

Visit Lilly1949’s Blog (You and I) and enjoy her Poetry!

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Durante el 2011 pensé que leer sería un lujo y que me quitaría valioso tiempo de escritura que necesitaba para completar mi novela de fantasía. ¡Qué equivocada estuve! Sin darme cuenta la lectura se hizo, nuevamente, parte de mi diario vivir y no solo eso, me introdujo a otro método de lectura a través de los e-books.

Hay tiempo para todo, y me lo demostré cuando pude completar cinco libros del mismo autor (A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin). Así que este nuevo año decidí que la lectura debe ser parte de mi vida diaria al igual que la escritura y por tal creé una lista de los libros que deseo leer en este primer trimestre del 2012.

Aquí está la lista, que puede crecer, de los cuatro libro-los primeros dos los comencé pero no los he terminado-que he escogido.

************

During 2011 I thought that reading would be a luxury and it would take away valuable time from writing, needed to complete my fantasy novel. How wrong I was! Before I knew it reading, again, was part of my daily life and not only that, it introduced me to another method of reading through e-books.

There is time for everything, and I showed it to myself when I read five books by the same author (A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin). So this new year I decided that reading should be part of my daily life as well as writing and for that I created a list of books I want to read in the first quarter of 2012.

Here is the list, that might grow, of four books-the first two I started but have not finish yet-that I have chosen.

*************

El vencedor está solo de Paulo Coelho: En ella el autor describe con augurales palabras el mundo de las celebridades en el Festival Internacional de Cannes. Coelho retrata la vida de varios personajes, haciéndolas interactuar en conexión a la fama y el dinero. La ambición, la envidia, el rencor, la codicia y el desenfreno son combinados con el amor, el deseo de superación, el esfuerzo individual y el sacrificio; sentimientos que todos, alguna vez, sentimos. (Resumen sacado de Wikipedia)

Inheritance de Christopher Paulini: Not so very long ago, Eragon—Shadeslayer, Dragon Rider—was nothing more than a poor farm boy, and his dragon, Saphira, only a blue stone in the forest. Now the fate of an entire civilization rests on their shoulders. Long months of training and battle have brought victories and hope, but they have also brought heartbreaking loss. And still, the real battle lies ahead: they must confront Galbatorix. When they do, they will have to be strong enough to defeat him. And if they cannot, no one can. There will be no second chances. The Rider and his dragon have come further than anyone dared to hope. But can they topple the evil king and restore justice to Alagaësia And if so, at what cost?

The Hobbit de J.R.R. Tolkien: is the story of Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit who lives in Hobbiton. He enjoys a peaceful and pastoral life but his life is interrupted by a surprise visit by the wizard Gandalf. Before Bilbo is really able to improve upon the situation, Gandalf has invited himself to tea and when he arrives, he comes with a company of dwarves led by Thorin. They are embarking on a journey to recover lost treasure that is guarded by the dragon Smaug, at the Lonely Mountain. Gandalf has decided, much to Bilbo’s chagrin, that the hobbit will make an excellent addition to the team and Bilbo is going to play the role of a burglar. As they start on their way, Bilbo has serious misgivings.

La mansión de los Stevenson de Antonio Lagares: A mediados del siglo XX, los jóvenes buscaban identificarse con movimientos que proclamaran la libertad como único fin. Fue una época marcada por la propagación de todo tipo de drogas entre estudiantes, artistas e intelectuales. Esta obra narra los problemas internos de una familia aristócrata inglesa. Uno de sus miembros intenta desenmascarar una absurda leyenda que pesa sobre el apellido Stevenson. De fondo, nos encontramos con las secuelas que la droga dura, como la heroína, va dejando entre sus adeptos.

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The post En mi mesa de noche, lecturas para el 2012 / In my nightstand, readings for 2012 appeared first on .

When I think of this sense the only word that comes to mind is Mmmmm! Why not Through it a number of emotions emerge from tasting food and wine. Let start for the sense of Taste will be a very interesting one and full of adventure and seduction.

The taste brings a sea of ​​possibilities. From tasting different feelings are born in our system, shared with a particular flavor and a mood.

Hugo Jesús Montenegro Ruiz in his monograph “The sense of taste” shares in conclusion:

The sense of taste, perhaps the closest of our five senses, has traditionally been considered unsuitable for analysis with a certain seriousness: too physical, too particular and personal. However, in addition to causing physical pleasure, eating and drinking are actions that harbor a symbolic and aesthetic value in the lives of people, and continually inspire writers and artists. Carolyn Korsmeyer explains how taste has come to occupy a place so low in the hierarchy of the senses and why it deserves more attention and respect.

Korsmeyer begins with the great Greek thinkers who classified taste as an inferior and merely physical sense. Then, presents a scientific view of the actual operation of taste and identifies multiple components in taste experiences. Focusing on the objects of taste, the food and drink, ‘observes the different meanings that have adopted in art and literature and in everyday life, and proposes an approach to the aesthetic value of taste to recognize the representative role and expressive of the meal. Korsmeyer’s consideration about art includes works that use the food in contexts sacred or profane, which seek to stimulate or suppress appetite. Her selection of literary passages meets macabre tales of feasting and stories of affinities arising around a table.

With its splendid illustrations and clear prose and appealing sense of taste is an appetizer for those who are curious to know the true meaning of a sensory experience as universal and deeply personal.

Let us take on the task of stimulating the taste, and start writing our experiences on paper.

“Nothing could get tired of eating and drinking if God had not made ​​a pleasure as a necessity.”-Voltaire

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Exercises for the palate and creativity

Is a delight to perform this exercises, and the thought activates my salivary glands, which reminds me of Pavlov’s dogs. We exercise the taste, while black and white catches our experiences.

• Go to your refrigerator and sample the fruits and vegetables in it. Did you buy ham Try them, the prosciutto, one of my favorites, is salty and reminds me of a sunny afternoon, I like to accompany it with a glass of red wine.
• Speaking of wine, do you like it Arrange to attend a class of wine tasting or arrange a get together with friends at home. Take notes of what others and the instructor will say about the taste of wine. You might ask your friends to take a minute and write in a note what the wines remind them of, what feelings arouse from it.  If you can, buy a bottle, usually in the back it gives a description of its taste, compare these with what you taste of it.
• We all have a cookbook in our kitchen, right Open it at random and get cooking. Rejoice then and if you’re not good at cooking, just follow the instructions step by step, the results are unforgettable. Write the experience down, this is a great opportunity to combine the sense of smell and taste.
• What is your favorite flavor What memories come to mind Where does your soul go to when tasting this flavor?
• Escape to a restaurant you’ve always wanted to visit. In solitude enjoy it and write.
• Venture to try those foods and drinks you’ve never had, and sometimes ignore them in the restaurant or market.

Don’t forget to share your experiences with us here at Mink! Happy Tastings, dear writer and reader!

PS: You might also want to exercise this Senses: Hearing and Sight.

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I wanted to express my gratitude for the support you have given me this year 2011 that ends soon. But, especially, want to wish you, my dear readers, a wonderful Christmas. May the child Jesus bless you!

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Al leer qué era para él la literatura me senté a pensar si para mí significaba lo mismo. Como escritores deseamos tener todo el tiempo solo, para lo que algunos puedan denotar como un pasatiempo y que no comprenden cuando uno les dice “Soy escritor de profesión”. ¿Por qué preguntan otros, pero la respuesta es sencilla y las palabras de Antonio a mi pregunta, sobre por qué es escritor, quedará por siempre entre las citas que han tocado mi alma de escritora.

Porque creo que se lleva en la sangre. No cabe otra explicación, porque para escribir hay que robarle muchas horas al tiempo libre, a tu familia, al sueño y todo ello, para posiblemente, que luego se quede guardado en un cajón. Se tiene que llevar dentro para que no termines cansado de no ver recompensa en tus esfuerzos.

Como forjador de letras a tenido sus buenas y malas experiencias y con las que me puedo identificar, “Mi experiencia con mi primer libro fue negativa al principio, aunque muy positiva a través del tiempo. Fue la novela “Viaje sin retorno”, la escribí con 28 años, y es ahora cuando una editorial se ha decidido a publicarla, después de tantos años”.

Entre sus publicaciones figuran “Gaviotas del Sur”, “Obsesión” y “La Rastreadora” (actualmente en editorial), así como los ebooks “Sentimientos Negros”, “Ángel de la Guarda” y “La Maldición de los Stevenson”. Pertenece a diversos grupos literarios y ha recibido varios premios como GEMMA de poesía (1986, Vizcaya) por la obra «Juventud Perdida» y el del CERTAMEN RELATOS CANAL LITERATURA (Murcia, 2008) por el relato «El día libre».

Antonio en cómo escribre:

VOZ: “Mi voz al escribir procuro que sea siempre diferente, la del personaje que construyo, no me puedo identificar porque entonces siempre escribiría sobre un mismo personaje.”

RUTINA: “Suelo escribir todos los días, por la mañana de 8-11, después por la tarde de 18-21, y algunas veces por la noche de 23 horas en adelante.”

REVISIÓN: “El proceso de revisión es muy complicado. Una vez escrita la novela, la dejo reposar unos 15 días y le hago una revisión. Después la dejo 3-4 meses y le hago otra revisión. Así hasta alcanzar las 4-5 revisiones. Mis novelas necesitan entre 2-3 años para decir que las he finalizado.”

CONSEJO: “El único consejo que puedo dar es la constancia, hay que escribir todos los días, se tenga más o menos ganas, se vea claro o no, aunque se cambie de registro o de género, pero todos los días.”

Puedes conocer más del escritor Antonio Lagares y su tinta en su página web, a través de Facebook, y seguir sus tweets en Twitter.

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              MÁS QUE PASIÓN por las letras, lo mío ha sido siempre, pasión por las historias. Como la mayoría de la gente de mi generación, me crié con la televisión, el cine, los comics y los libros de aventuras de Julio Verne, Emilio Salgari y los libros de los tres investigadores. El primer libro que me leí fue uno de Salgari, titulado “Los mineros de Alaska”.  Era el típico niño que siempre tenía un “tebeo” entre las manos y solía dejar los deberes para más tarde. Cuando no leía, revivia las aventuras de mis personages favoritos con los madelman y los airgamboys. Inevitablemente, seguí inventando historias fantásticas cuando deje de jugar con los muñecos. De todas maneras, siempre me costó plasmar aquellas historias en papel.

           En el 96, mi obsesión por los comics era tal, que llegué a apuntarme a un cursillo de guión, mi profesor fue Alfredo Pons, dibujante y guionista en la mítica revista “El bibora”. Con él estuve prácticamente asta que murió en el 2001, Habíamos terminado un guión largo que se quedó en el olvido y empezando una segunda parte de dicho guión que nunca llegué a terminar.  Por aquel entonces, yo ya le daba vueltas a una historia que escribiría en solitario y que fue mi primera novela “La chica de Venus”. Al carecer de Internet en casa y por la enfermedad de mis padres, no sabía muy bien como mover el libro y finalmente, con la ayuda de un amigo terminé auto-publicando en Bubok y en Lulu. Mientras buscaba un argumento para otra novela, empecé a escribir algunas historias cortas y más tarde me apunte a un trimestre del aula de escritores de Barcelona, ahora con internet en casa y con problemas familiares, tuve que hacerlo Online. Ahí fue donde descubrí los blogs literarios. Un día decidí coger las historias cortas que tenía escritas en el blog y haciéndolas protagonizar por los mismos personajes y dándoles un hilo argumental que continuaría en más capítulos, se convirtió en mi segundo libro, el cual esta siendo revisado para poderlo esta vez enviar a alguna editorial y ya me encuentro preparando la segunda parte. 

             Con respecto al blog, “El Cuenta Historias: Historias propias y ajenas, empecé publicando un capítulo del libro al mes y no sabiendo, muy bien como promocionarlo, decidí que las semanas que no publicaba capítulo lo dedicaría a promocionar a otros compañeros en la misma situación, entre eso, el facebook y que luego me aficioné también a los microrelatos, el número de seguidores ha crecido bastante, aunque todavía veo muy lejos, el vivir de lo que escribo. Consideró que me queda mucho trecho por recorrer y sobretodo que aprender. Debo decir que salvo algún comic esporádico, que leo de vez en cuando y sobre todo los relatos que otros compañeros van dejando en sus blogs, no estoy leyendo ningún libro, ya que si empezara alguna lectura en serio, dejaría de estudiar Ingles, que bastante me está costando aprenderlo. Eso si, el último libro que leí, fue de un compañero. “No matéis al gorrión” de Antonio Lagares, desde aquí os lo recomiendo.                                                                                                    

                Un saludo a este estupendo blog que desde hace tiempo sigo, al resto de seguidores y sobre todo a Alexandra.

Juan Carlos Fernández Fernández

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The essence of pumpkin mixed with spices fills my house and I feel them near, I feel her by my side. Today I’ll watch my kids fight for the first of the ‘tortitas’ and smile as I remember his face smiling and making fun of me when he grabbed the first one long ago.

Tears rushed down my cheeks, but bumped into a smile, for they will be inspiration in this upcoming month. November is NaNoWriMo a challenge for writers to write their novel in a month, but since I’m already deep into mine I’m going Rebel. This rebellion was taken up by writer Emmie Mears in her blog in a post “NaNoRebels: Small Name. Big Results”. Also, there are the forums for NaNo Rebels at NaNoWriMo if you are interested in joining the rebellion.

I’m going Rebel this month with my writing; I NEED to finish “Asención Divina”. I put on my desk photos of my Abuela, my brother and, of course, my kids. I’m doing this for them, for those who are watching me from heaven and for those who fill my life with love, joy, inspiration and laughter.

I will post photos of the word counts here and on my Twitter and Facebook Group to keep you posted on my rebellion adventure. Words of encouragement are welcome!

In other news! / ¡En otras noticias!

There is a new section dedicated to writers called ‘Writer’s Ink’. Here you can read interviews made to Writers, and articles by them, from USA, Spain, Puerto Rico and many other countries.

Hay una sección nueva dedicada a los escritores llamada ‘Tinta de Escritor’. En ella podrás leer entrevistas a escritores, y artículos hechos por ellos, de Estados Unidos, España, Puerto Rico y muchos otros países.  

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Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart
and try to love the questions themselves …
Don’t search for the answers,
which could not be given to you now,
because you would not be able to live them.
And the point is, to live everything.
Live the questions now.
Perhaps then, someday far in the future,
you will gradually, without even noticing it,
live your way into the answer.

Taken from World Prayer

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The post Some part of life / Alguna parte de la vida appeared first on .

Here is where I have been the past few month and where I will linger longer. Just to let you know I have not forgotten you and I’m working hard to give you a great fantasy story.
Hope you are well, friend. Read you soon.

Aquí he estado por los pasados meses y estaré allí más tiempo. Solo deseaba decirte que no te he olvidado y estoy trabajando fuerte para darte una estupenda historia de fantasía.

Espero estés bien, amigo (a). Hasta pronto.

The post Un reino en mi mente./ A Kingdom in my Mind. appeared first on .

Was so happy when I open my email today and saw my cute photo was selected!

Here I leave you with a post link titled “The Northern Island” that talks a little bit more of Old San Juan. Hope you enjoy the post and the collage!

Have a great weekend and enjoy the Mink!

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El asfalto negro me transporta al pasado, a una juventud marcada con nostalgía en el espacio neuronal donde las memorias son tan solo reacciones químicas. De ellas nacen el deseo de recorrer el camino bordeado por árboles y rodeado de valles. Ese camino que corta por entre las montañas de la Cordillera Central de una isla sin medida precisa. Entre sus elevaciones verdes y la roca grisacea, entre el suspirar del alma y las preguntas de los pequeños, me adentro en su seno con deseo.

Una necesidad, quizás, es lo que me condujo hasta allí. Hasta los lugares que son besados por la neblina al crepúsculo asomarse. Los niños en el asiento trasero admiran la naturaleza a su alrededor, mientras mi corazón palpitante conversa con el subconsciente llamándolo a recordar.

Mis pupilas se dilataron en asombro cuando al subir la colina, la ruta obsidiana atravesaba millas el vientre rasgado en dos de las montañas que exponían sus entrañas ásperas y grisaceas a los elementos. Fue entonces, que una parte de mi ser, ese maternal, se mantuvo en la realidad, y mi ser creativo se transportó a la historia que espera paciente el roce de mi bolígrafo. Todo se transformó en el reino el cual mis protagonistas visitarían en el proximo capítulo.

Mi mundo imaginario solidificado en la realidad me hacía experimentar las ondulaciones que encorvan sus faldas,la magia del paisaje esmeralda que se alza para casi rozar el índigo cielo.

En una lancha recorro la ruta de escape que tomarán mis personajes, la brisa es suave y refrescante. La serenidad del lugar me adentra más en mi imaginación que me hace ver casas talladas en las montañas lejanas exponiendo trazos de la civilización que será plasmada en papel. Todo estaba allí y me perdía en él, deseaba estar en él.

El ser creativo se perdía con cada mirada y click de la cámara digital.

Pero fue ella que me hizo despertar y dejar grabada en la memoria la experiencia. Mi ser maternal tomó control por completo y se perdió en el momento que sus ojos admiraban y deseaban ser parte.

To a kingdom

The black asphalt took me to the past, a youth marked by nostalgia in the neuronal space where the memories are just chemical reactions. From them is born the desire to walk the road bordered by trees and surrounded by valleys. The one that cuts through the mountains of the Cordillera Central of the island that has no accurate measurement. Among its elevated green and grayish rock, between the sigh of the soul and the questions of the children, I step into her bosom with desire.

A need, perhaps, led me there. To the places that are kissed by the mist as dusk arrives. The children in the backseat admire the nature around them, while my beating heart dialogues with my subconscious calling it to remember.

My eyes widened in amazement when going up the hill the obsidian road crossed miles through the belly of the mountains ripped in two, grayish and rough exposed to the elements. It was then that part of my being, the maternal, remained in reality, and my creative being was transported to the story that patiently awaits the touch of my pen. Everything is transformed into the kingdom which my players would visit in the next chapter.

Solidified my imaginary world into reality, it made me experience the the undulated skirts, and the magic emerald landscapes that rises to almost touching the indigo sky.

In a ferry we go around the escape route my characters will take. The breeze is soft and refreshing. The serenity of the place immerse me further into my imagination which makes me see houses carved into the mountains beyond exposing traces of civilization that will be captured on paper. Everything was there and I was lost in it, I wanted to be in it.

The creative being is lost with every look and click of the digital camera.

But it was her who woke me up and left recorded the memories experienced. My maternal being took over completely and was lost in the moment her eyes admired and wanted to be part of.

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As visual creatures from birth, we begin to stimulate the sense of vision. Family Visual Stimulation Education in his article: “a world through the eyes” tells us:

Through the eyes numerous stimuli and experiences enters the brain of the baby. The eyesight of a child increases rapidly. The child not only distinguishes objects from birth, but can be fixed in one determined for a very short period.

Through stimulation and repeated viewing of objects an adequate basis is obtained for his powers of concentration and attention. After two months, the child learns to place an object in space and develop hand-eye coordination.

You can also expand the field of stimulation with moving objects and color contrasts, encouraging the development of your muscles, clamping capacity and coordination.

To keep the interest of the babies the complexity of the stimuli has to be increased gradually.

To keep our interest alive, look for these stimuli. Before taking pen and paper and cover it with letters’, lets concentrate on stimulating our vision.

Below this paragraph you will find places in the internet where the sense of vision has been stimulated.  Taken through the lens of a camera the photographer sees the world through his eyes capturing it in a photo as he sees it and desires it. Yes, a picture says a thousand words. It talks to us, makes us feel. Take your time as I have taken mine to dive into a visual paradise. After a few minutes of contemplation, I take pen and paper. I invite you to accompany me and write either a poem, a short story what you see and what the picture you chose makes you feel. Let your imagination be inspired by what you see and write without fear and encouragement.

Visual Estimulation:

I think of photographers and the thought gives me the desire to take my camera and watch the world through the lens, as they do. It’s a good idea! Grab your camera and go to one of your favorite places and take pictures. Then download them to your computer and watch them, place them in a file that is unique to the visual inspiration. Choose one of those pictures you took in the day and write for ten minutes. A picture says a thousand words; make yours a few of those.

Share your experiences, leave your comments here or leave us your link so we can visit your blog and share our thoughts. We learn together and share as colleagues!

Next Monday, I’ll post the second part in English. For those who read Spanish the full version is on the site already (just click here), but still share with us your thoughts.

You are sharing!

Michael Muller shared his poem with us, it is in the comments section, and this is the photo he choose for inspiration:

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The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible.  ~Vladimir Nabokov

Clamoring, clamoring over and over again. Echoed in the thoughts that become vivid pictures in the mind. In this lair they reign. Pen in hand, notebook wide open. Stares and more stares. A shy instant, not wanting to caress it with ink. But they are there, even thou they can’t be seen.

A page is torn for the words are not right, a ball of paper stained in ink is thrown away. A cat bounces out of the shadow of a chair, takes the ball, rips it apart.

Another pause, and the mind wonders off to distant places that are not the ones it needs to be. A sigh releases the feelings inside. Pen drops, the hand gives up. Still the mind lingers on top of that blank paper and imagines the words coming alive. The pen finds it’s way towards the hand again and a word is solidified in ink. From there another and another. A spark is felt inside the heart that raises with each letter formed. The mind concentrates and dictates the hand, while the soul is witness as a chapter of a story comes to live.

Las páginas están todavía en blanco, pero hay una sensación milagrosa de las palabras que existen, escrito en tinta invisible y clamando a ser visible. ~Vladimir Nabokov 

Clamando, pidiendo a gritos una y otra vez. Resonando en los pensamientos que se convirtierán en imágenes vivas en la mente. Es esa la guarida que reinan. Pluma en mano, libreta abierta. Miradas y más miradas. Un instante tímido, no queriendo acariciarlo con tinta. Pero están ahí, aunque no se puedan ver.

Una página es desgarrada las palabras que no son correctas, una bola de papel manchado con tinta se tira al suelo. Un gato salta de la sombra de una silla, toma la pelota, la destroza con sus dientes.

Otra pausa, y la mente viaja a lugares lejanos que no son esos que debe estar. Un suspiro libera los sentimientos internos. Cae la pluma, la mano se da por vencido. Aún la mente permanece sobre el papel en blanco e imagina que las palabras cobran vida. La pluma retorna a la mano y la palabra es solidificada en tinta. A partir de ahí otra y otra, una chispa se siente en el interior del corazón que aumenta su latir con cada letra formada. La mente se concentra y dicta a la mano, mientras que el alma es testigo de como un capítulo de una historia viene a la vida.

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     Vita Sackville-West can not explain better my lacck of writing in Mink. I know I have been out, but I love that you comprehend that is because I’m catching “the changes of” my “mind on the hop”. But tomorrow I will return, I know in my native language, with the second part of the fourth chapter of ‘The children of Oshmdwa’. Believe me I’m working on putting up the English version of the chapters I owe you, and I will. For now I leave you be and go back to my world of fiction which is going through some mayor changes.

     I have gone back to the begging, it had to be done, the story came to a holt and the future I pictured for the characters would not come to be. Maybe it was good like that, but not for this writer. The future of this characters are linked to each other even if they hated each other. To sad for them, I’m the forger of their lives.

     Until tomorrow, my friends, I’m back to my fiction world and some laundry and some motherly duties. Thanks for being here and letting my words touch your life.

Es necesario escribir, si los días no son para que pasen de largo. ¿Cómo entonces, poner la red sobre la mariposa del momento Pues el momento pasa, es olvidado; el humor se va; la vida misma se va. Ahí es cuando el escritor se apunta una ventaja sobre los suyos: él agarra la oportunidad de su mente en vuelo. ~Vita Sackville-West

Vita Sackville-West no lo pudo haber dicho mejor cuando a mi falta de atención a Mink. Sé que he estado fuera, pero me encanta que comprendas que he estado atrapando los cambios en mi mente. Pero mañana regresar en mi lengua nativa con la segunda parte del cuarto capítulo de ‘Los hijos de Oshmdwa’. He estado trabajando en poner la versión en inglés que debo, y lo haré. Por ahora les dejo y regreso a mi mundo de ficción que esta pasando por cambios extremos.

He regresado al principio, debía hacerlo, la historia llegó a un punto donde me obligó a detenerme, y el futuro de los personajes no era el planificado. Quizás era mejor de esa forma, pero no para esta escritora. El futuro de los personajes está relacionado el uno con el otro aunque ellos lo detesten. Triste para ellos, yo soy la forjadora de sus vidas.

Hasta mañana, mis amigos, regresaré a mi mundo de ficción y realizar una limpieza de ropa y a las responsabilidades maternales. Gracias por estar aquí y dejar mis palabras toquen tu vida.

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The twitterians are sharing their songs with their followers, spreading the love for those words smiths they enjoy reading. Some they call muses, inspirations, must reads, friends. Writers, and I’m not saying this because I’m one, are an exceptional group of friends. Each are diferent from each other and we are atracted to them for the way they manipulate words and inspire us with them.

What ever you may call your favorite writers, shared them with others and with Mink’s readers. There are some I’ve distinguish over at my piece of land at @AlexandraRoman, via #WW tag. Leave a comment here and share your favorites, inspirational, muses, must reads, friends writers. I will love to connect with them and with you. Don’t forget to leave your twitter and blog too so we can get there with just a click!

Have a great journey today at Twitter Country via #WW!

My list of #WW love (note, since I’m bilingual this list is also):

1. Theresa Meyers
2. Mildred Melendez
3. Thirty Creative Studio
4. Elidio La Torre
5. Libby poetry
6. Heather Blakey

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A desert. Why It is a place amongst many; I have never ever desire to be in. I love the green of nature, feel the humidity on my bare feet, breath the fresh air of the forest mist, and see the silhouette of the mountain range on the horizon. Touch the roughness of the bark of a majestic tree, lay still underneath its shadowy shape.

A desert goes beyond what my heart desires, a desert bares nothing of what relaxes me and my soul and my spirit. But, why then have the desire to go to a place that might bring you distress Ah, there is a question that many accustomed to comfort may ask, like me. For the risk of doing something I would never do, for it is in my nature to go where the comfort is and not where risks are.

Have you ever seen the dunes in photographs The shades the shadows make on the bare sand where the rays of the sun do not reach in a place govern by it They look as if alive, as if they’re moving. Mesmerizing is the word of the undulated shadows that resemble the movements of a dancer. The shapes of the earth.

It is said that the desert holds a raw beauty discovered by some, but at the same time it pushes you to the limits. Those limits that are conquered by those seduced and now live in it. Hot by day, Cold by night. A contradiction, a state of being. Aren’t we like that It is a place for finding one self, a place of loneliness perfect for meditation and letting go of the everyday routine that governs us. Where the sand, smooth to the touch and rough in your skin when blown by the wind, is the supreme ruler. A desert! It is a longing that emerges now and then, when melancholic.

A day traveling its wonders by camel under the scorching sun. A night to lay on it and stare at the starry night above that serves as a canopy to a silent beauty. Yes, a place I’ll like to visit, and you?

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Sometimes I find myself scouting for characters, traits in people I meet in the supermarket or in my daughter’s school. Characters that will make a story feel more real. Being the soul of a story and one of the most important keys of a book, trying not to make a perfect not without faults character tends to be a little hard. So looking and taking notes of characteristicS, way of expressing, mannerisms, a distinct trait… helps me understand what I want of a character.

For this new book I’m writing, I’m taking from those around me. Is not so much as for the reader to feel they know that character or that it feels real, but more for me. I want to feel he or she is real, imagine his or her eyes with their pierce stare, the way they breathe when excited or mad, and their peculiar way of walking, how they toss their hair, etc. I take from those around me and make them something new for my characters after I give them a little shake; I even dare take two and combine them into one. Taking from reality is quite a challenge, for us Puerto Ricans have a way of being ourselves very different from others and I say this in a good way. If you have met a Puerto Rican before, you know what I’m talking about. We are lively, lovable, out there, don’t get into our business, love to live life to its fullest, candid spirit, family oriented people. There is more, but it will be a long list!

We have fire burning in our veins and we make awesome fiction characters, and this is what I’m taking from the people around me. A character chart helps me along the way; every time there is a new one to be introduced I take notes and then write it on the chart. Take out, make some additions, and give it some spice here and there and flaws for nobody is perfect inside or outside.

Be in the lookout for your characters, they might be sitting right now next to you. Get the yummy insights on them and don’t be shy like me, start a conversation and write down even what they are wearing. Fashion too speaks of a person and can tell you a little bit more about their character.  Enjoy the scouting!

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Quote taken from The Quote Garden

This are the words that best explain my thoughts on writing a story or book. Samuel Butler hit the head of the nail with this one, for in the past he has read my heart, for books exist and they choose their word smith. We are just storytellers waiting for the story to choose us and whisper in our ears the story that needs to be born to reality.

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Another thing is that if you are a tourist and just hoped out of the cruise you came to visit and explore the old city, you will not have a municipal policeman bothering you and asking you to put the camera away or ask you for your permission form. Of course, that is really bad for tourism. Well, this just makes me want to hope to ‘La lancha de Cataño’, take my camera out, dress as a just arrived tourist and speak English until my heart drops. That last part won’t be that difficult, especially if I am with my daughter who loves to speak English as if she wasn’t born here.  

This is my patrimony and if I’m doing this for recreation and to have beautiful memories of a place as gorgeous as my Old San Juan, I should be allowed to. If the reason is that they are not getting the $ of the people that take Old San Juan’s monuments for commercial purposes, we who pay taxes that contribute to maintaining this landmark, do not need to pay for other peoples irresponsibility. Going to the extreme as making laws to make people actually follow the rules, only reflects the decline of a government that has the need to enforce itself on us.

Don’t get me wrong I LOVE living in Puerto Rico, I’m in love with Puerto Rico, even thou it has its gray, big ones, areas. Like  it’s sometimes corrupted government, it’s out of control legislators and the small minded one party way of thinking, their outrages law making, the obsession with the Status of the Island, the high rate criminality and unemployment, the not thinking we can do way better and other countries are better that this one… With all that, and I know there is more, I LOVE living here in my island, the land where I and my kids were born in, the land that has the most beautiful of mountain ranges and beaches, and of the best coffee you will ever have. All of that makes for the lack of other things that might make life easier for all Puerto Ricans and every time I lay my eyes on them I feel warm inside and smile giving thanks. We can make this a better place, we just need to put our ‘granito de arena’ especially when it’s time to vote.

So here is a slide show of monuments and scenery from Old San Juan, just a few,  in case you come visit and are not allowed to take photos with your professional camera. Enjoy!

[slideshow]

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My mother was raised her first childhood years in Old San Juan, the Northern Island or ‘La ciudad amurallada’, there’s a tradition she has pasted on to me and I have done this past years accompanied by my friends and matriarch. ‘La visita a los monumentos’ (The visit to the seven monuments) is a Catholic tradition done during the night of Holy Thursday, after mass, and during the day of Holy Friday where the parishioners visit the sacristy of seven churches where the holy communion, to be use for Holy Friday, is saved. My mother taught me that with this act we not only accompany Jesus, but most important we give thanks for the blessings he has given us during our lives. It is a beautiful tradition and this year I was able to do it again, the sad part is that our group was only composed of two. My mom move to Orlando to live, a good friend of ours went to the seminary in Spain to study, and others could not make it. Still my ‘comadre’ and I went on to visit the monuments in the metro area and here I live you with an assortment of pictures that we took of our visits. (If you wish to know more about this Catholic tradition you can read here in Spanish, also a little bit of history here; and here in English).

 [slideshow]

Mapping and I don’t mean the story for the new book. I have been drawing a map where the story will take place, a land inspired by the shapes of my Caribbean Sea and its children. It takes lots of developing like mountain ranges, woodlands, coasts lines, islands, rivers that cross and make fertile the land, mysterious places, kingdoms lines and its cities and capitals, bodies of water, and more much more. What I dislike of this process is drawing the mountains that look easy enough, but are hard to make them look as real as possible.

Having a visual drawing of the land where the plot develops and the characters linger, makes the story more real and you can track the advances of the protagonist visually knowing where he or she is going next. You can see what is near to them, how far is the place they are trying to reach or how hard is to get there because of the terrain. It is an exciting thing to do that sparks the imagination of the author and gives us more to develop, making the setting more alive and more vivid in the story.

I think the right term for this is Cartography! But since I’m only a humble writer I will say my map does not enter in the category where cartographers build beautiful and intricate maps. So mine is just an outline of a map that was conceive in my head and came to be on a computer. My apologies, to see it you will have to wait for the book to come out and I’m still not done yet with the story. The good news is I’m making one for Mink’s story ‘Los hijos de Oshmdwa’, and with this one you might see my not so good talents on map making.

About my book, I can say it has become to be more intricate than I expected and the thought just sparks my imagination on things to come in this world of fiction where immortals try to achieve perfection at all costs.  ‘Till next time, my friend!

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se marcan en las faldas de las jóvenes danzantes

al son de la pandereta y el timbal.

Los cueros nos hacen mover

y con sus rítmos pintan sonrisas.

El sónido que nos marca piel adentro,

que se impregna en la cultura,

que nos hace únicos en el hemisferio.

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            There are so many questions for something so simple.  The truth is that I am making all these questions in order not to look inside my manhole.  Is in front of me and I have no desire to look upon it, for I don’t wish to pull its top.  I do not want to know what monsters or strange beings will crawl out of it.  I fear a shadow is residing inside that manhole and that it will consume me if I let it out.  It should stay there!

           But wait!  What if it just goes away What if this shadow, cloaked in a purple fear, leaves when I free it from the prison I have kept it all these years It’s a chance I have to take.  I will do it!  I will open that manhole and let it be free.  I will let it be transformed into hope.  For in the shadows of my fears my hope has become a black sad being.  Kept from the light inside a manhole I created for it.  I will let it be free so it can grow by my side.  I will let it transform me into a new person with out fears and with new hopes and let it teach me to be brave. 

            I open the manhole with a little difficulty for it is a small one.  Put the iron oval top aside and waited for the shadow to come out.  It is a little afraid to come out for the rays of the sun are too bright and its eyes are accustomed to the darkness.  After a while it came out and stood in front of me looking straight to my eyes.  Its eyes were as black as the night as its hole body was.  Looking at it more closely I realize it was me. 

            We stood there in front of each other waiting for words to be spoken.  But all that came out was a tear drop from my eyes and a smile from the shadows lips.

This short story was made for an excersise for Soul Food Café

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Jules Renard, “Diary,” February 1895

This is how I am, constantly searching between the breezes the words that linger near. So don’t confuse me with an absent minded person when you see me walking as if not there, for I am staring at the air for the words of my story.

Thank God for the Puerto Rican coastline where there is a constant breeze pushing my way the words needed for my book. Sometime back I told you I will keep you posted on the advances of my writing. Fifteenchapters have been completed and new character emerges from the past of my history to live again in fiction. Happy, for they come together to give this story more depth, bring intrigue to the main characters and more, much more is coming.

Can’t wait for tomorrow, a morning of only writing awaits me. One that I have been longing for a while and finally I’m able to have it. So tomorrow will be one of those days where my mind will be lost to reality and will linger in a world that, for now, only me can access.

‘Till next time, friend.

La historia que estoy escribiendo existe, escrita en perfecta forma, en algún lugar, en el aire. Todo lo que tengo que hacer, es encontrarla, y copiarla.

Jules Renard, “Diary,” February 1895

Así soy, constantemente buscando entre las brisas las palabras que están cerca. No me confundas con una persona despistada cuando me veas caminando con la mirada perdida, pues estoy mirando al air por las palabras de mi historia.

Gracias a Dios por la costa norteña de Puerto Rico, donde hay una constante brisa que empuja las palabras que necesito para mi libro. Varios días atrás te dije que te mantendría al tanto de los avances de mi libro. Quince capítulos he completado y nuevos personajes salen del pasado de mi historia para vivir nuevamente en la ficción. Alegre, pues llegan para dar a este libro abundancia, intriga para los personajes principales y más, mucho más viene.

No puedo esperar hasta mañana, una mañana completa a solas solo para escribir me espera. Una que he deseado por algún tiempo y que finalmente puedo tener. Así que mañana será uno de esos días en que mi mente dejará el mundo real y se adentrará en un mundo, que por ahora, solo yo puedo asesar.

Hasta la próxima.

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As I write my new book of fiction and fantasy I find myself in and out of reality, most of the time I return to my mortality because of the need of others. In this case of my three year old with whom my writing does not compete, it comes second to him and to my daughter and my husband. They come first and for them I rejoin humanity in this world of reality that does not destroy me for I am being sorrounded by love even thou words that have to be written are transcribed in my mind.

I think I’m declaring here and now that I, as Ray Bradbury said, am drunk with writing. My mind always finds itself seeking constantly the perfect settings, the action in reality that will come to be written for a character. Reality is but the setting I go trhough in order to gain knowledge that can be turn into fiction or fantasy. I did not realize that until I read the quote on friday morning! It is in this truth that I find peace thinking of the feelings that arise from me everytime I day dream and I wonder off silently. Is serenety like that one gain from a prayer, what it feels like when I’m drunk with writing. Is who I am, I will not change it for the world!

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I felt scared as I approached Güarionex for I have always been afraid of horses. If they don’t trust you there is much that can happen. I looked deep into his black eyes at the same time he stared at mine. A moment of eternity passed between us while we gaze upon each other reading our souls.

Suddenly he made a nod and I came out of the trance. “He will let you ride him”, said the Horse Whisperer. I smiled for what I saw in his eyes was a story so extraordinary it was both uplifting and inspiring. This horse was no ordinary steed, he was a warrior amongst his kin who was the companion fo legendary warriors. I felt unworthy of such an honor of being able to ride him.

“We must go know, is getting late”, the Horse Whisperer added as he climbed up his white horse. “The trail is long, but inspiring. Let Güarionex feel the road and do not be scared for he will take good care of you. He has seen something special in you.”

“Why you say that?” I asked.

“He is letting you ride him. Last time he let someone ride him was a century ago by a great king of kings.”

“Maybe his bored and want to feel the road under his hooves.”

“No. He saw something in you, so do not think of yourself as entertainment for him. He knows when someone is worthy.”

I look at Güarionex once more wanting to ask him what he saw in me, but as I gaze upon him I felt a warm feeling inside my heart that took my fears away. I smiled, he nodded.

I climb on to his saddle and waited for the Horse Whisperer to tell me what to do. He just said, “Hold on and seat tight, is a bumpy ride.” Suddenly the horses started galoping fast. Tightly I hold on to the rope in order to slow him down, but Güarionex did not give in.

“Loose him up!”, the Horse Whisperer shouted.

I did not want to do that. A chill went up my spine as the only thing I could do was hold on. I got closer to his neck trying not to fall down for I knew it was going to hurt a lot if I fell.

“You have to let go!” The Horse Whisperer shouted again.

I looked at him not understanding what he said. I was really scared, the wind blowing hard at my face. The road passed fast underneath us as Güarionex rode faster and faster each passing second. The valley was hard to admire at that pace. Everything was a blur because I could not distinguish one color from the other, a wild flower from the grass. The only steady things were the sky above and the mountains beyond. They looked as if they were spectators looking down on us, not wanting to miss the action that went on in the valley beneath them.

The Horse Whisperer’s words echoed in my mind as I tried to understand their meaning. “Let go,” I said to myself. “Just let go,” as I said that my hands relaxed their grip and loosened the rope on Güarionex. A sense of freedom revolved around me and confidence took over my soul. It felt great! I let go of my fears and enjoyed the ride letting Güarionex ride faster than before and trusting myself to him.

A rush of adrenaline flew thru my veins as the wind in my face felt exhilarating. Then it came out of my mouth like it had been there all my life trying to get out, but never had the chance. A loud scream, yes I screamed so hard it was heard throughout the valley as we rode fast through its green pastures.

The Horse Whisperer laugh and I joined him. “Oh, this is awesome!” I exclaimed.

“Every time, every time,” he repeated with a huge smile.

“Can he go like this for a long time?” I asked out loud.

“A little longer!” He answered.

“Well then, let’s have a race!” As I said that I let out a “Hia!” and Güarionex went even faster. It was a glorious experience that uplifted my spirits. The Horse Whisperer caught us in seconds and he pointed to a group of trees for us to stop and for the horses to rest.

We stopped at the chosen spot and when I got down Güarionex caressed me with his face. I smiled and said to him, “Thank you, too.” I kissed him in his forehead and hugged him. We stayed there under the covers of the tree for an hour eating and laughing. The Horse Whisperer told me of his craft and talents, of his family and how he was chosen to be a horse whisperer. He explained that they choose a name that only the horse appointed to him must know, but I could call him Rob. He was taught at the University of Centaurs by one of the legendary centaurs of old. Playing wiht a leaf grass on his hand, he explained that the centaurs are the only creatures capable of teaching that craft, for after all they are half horses.

The road was waiting for us and we climbed up on our horses, this time, for we were closer to the Hermitage as we covered most of the road in our ride, we took it slow. I wanted to enjoy the sites as we past beautiful trees and enchanting roads. Soon enough the sanctuary of the Hermitage was visible in the distance. It look beautiful, I smiled as I saw it. I was finally there and my heart was full of joy to gaze upon it.

“When we get there I will attend to the horses. You go in and relax and enjoy your stay. It’s a good place for meditation so take advantage of your time.”

“I will.”

“I’ll see you when your party are ready to live.”

“Thanks for the wonderful trip!”

“Don’t thank me, thank him,” Rob, the Horse Whisperer, said pointing to Güarionex.

I smile and gave Güarionex a pad on his mane. We entered the Hermitage and left the traveled road behind.

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Tan solo de mirar esa fruta carnosa los recuerdos viajan al pasado lejano, a las noches frías características del llano, los juegos de briscas en la marquesina arropados de pie a cabeza con suéteres y frisas, a los mosquiteros que nos resguardaban durante la noche al dormir. La residencia de la matriarca era, y para algunos sigue siendo, el lugar de encuentro familiar; sitio sagrado de los Santiago Ortiz. Donde nuestro corazón late y encuentra paz entre los platanales, el canto de los gallos, el agrio de las naranjas con las que hacíamos maldades para inaugurar a los recién llegados a la familia.

Un riachuelo, ahora seco a causa de las construcciones de urbanizaciones aledañas, recorría el largo en el área este de la finca. Uno que varias veces engolfo nuestros juveniles cuerpo al caer en él por nuestros infructuosos intentos juguetones de cruzar a la otra orilla. Jaulas de conejos estaban cerca de él, les alimentábamos con el permiso de tío Coco, y quienes veían su fin en un guisado hecho por las mujeres de la casa. Pepinos colgaban de los árboles de panapén, y pobre de aquel que les tocara, su traspasar lo sentían en la punta del cinturón de cuero de mamá.

Las vivencias que viví en los campos de Aibonito, donde la miramelinda reina y embellece con su color el verde de las jaldas, son en mí enseñanzas de amor, de un estilo de vida diferente al que vivo en la loza. Ah! De la loza salgo para regresar al barro donde mi corazón pertenece y donde mi linaje nació. Al ver a mis hijos jugar y recorrer en la residencia de la matriarca me enorgullezco, pues aunque sea un poco de mi niñez le doy.

La última vez que visité Aibonito, tomé de la mano a mi hija y con ella me fui a recorrer los caminos que a su edad me veían pasar. Mucho había cambiado, hasta el arbusto de granadas de tío Chucho había desaparecido. Los cambios en esos momentos no eran importantes más sí las anécdotas que le pude contar a mi hija y ver en sus ojos la misma ilusión que yo sentía. Sonreí alegre al reconocer en esa ilusión que mi hija sentía en su alma la paz que amo de aquel lugar. Más mi alma se estremeció al llegar de regreso a la finca y ver a mi hijo jugar encantado con su primo en la misma jalda que yo lo hacía con mi hermano y mis primos.

La pomarrosa tiene forma de corazón y allí entre los llanos amparados por las montañas de la cordillera central, está el mío. Donde comenzó mi linaje, a donde el anhelo familiar regresa.

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I know my goal has not been reached, but still I will keep on, never surrender and I will finish this book! It haunts me every day, the characters created for it and they have demands. Type or write, type or write is the echo I hear in my thoughts when away from my notebook or computer while doing my daily household chores. Now I understand JK Rowling when she said she did not do lots of cleaning in her house, for writing the story was in her thoughts. Hey, can hold it against me, I’m Latina and we have been raised to have a clean and organized household.

Before I go cleaning away or writing depends on who seduces me first. Know this, my goal has not been reach as I expected, but will keep you up to date on my achievements on a weekly basis. Don’t forget to read ‘Los hijos de Oshmdwa’ unfortunately I have not had time to translated to English and will truly love so. So when I can I will, and post it on Mink. Have a beautiful journey of life today, here in the Island of Enchantment the day is gorgeous and the birds sing lovely tunes. But most of all, don’t forget today and tomorrow and the day after and so on, to take a minute and pray for those who need your prayers: our friends from Japan. It only takes a minute a day for a prayer, a minute is not much, but a prayer if powerful. God Bless!

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Oscar had just woken up and saw something awful in front of him.  There was a body being consumed by vultures lying on the sandy floor of the scorching desert.  He looked harder at the corpse for it looked very familiar.  He felt a chill all over his body.  Oscar took a step back horrified and gagging.

He closed his eyes and he began to cry desperately, but no tears came.  A sudden strong wind blew over him spreading sand everywhere.  Oscar turned away and covered his face with his hands.  Then it stopped.  He stood up and looked towards the place the vultures where devouring the body, and there was nothing. 

“It was a mirage,”- he said in a hopeless way.

He walked in search for some source of water to survive, and as he did, he felt lighter. But at the same time, the desert kept getting unbearably hot. Oscar walked for endless miles gradually feeling lighter, but hotter at the same time.  He could not understand what was happening, but kept going refusing to loose hope.  Suddenly, in the distance he saw what he was looking for, an oasis.  Oscar hesitated not knowing if it was an illusion or reality. 

“What if?”- Oscar wished.

Then he got a rush of excitement. “This most be it, I know it,”- he was determined not to stand there a second more guessing himself, for his life depended on it.  So he ran as fast as he could, looking straight to the oasis just in case it was a pigment of his imagination. 

When he reached the oasis, Oscar dropped to his knees.  The water looked cool and refreshing.  Oscar submerged his hands in the water, but it went straight trough them and he noticed they were not even wet. He tried again just in case he was hallucinating, but got the same results as the first time.  Oscar freaked out backing away from the water. 

“What’s happening?”- he said out loud, putting his hands on top of his head.

Oscar felt dizzy and lost, and couldn’t understand what he was experiencing.  Then he heard the squeak of a bird. He looked at the sky where a bird was passing by in an ode kind of way. A terrible thought came to his mind and he remembered an unbearable scene. The birds he saw before where really consuming a body and it was his own. 

“That could mean only one thing.  I am dead!”- He realized perplexed.  “It can’t be,”- he argued with himself. Oscar remembered blacking out, and when he regained consciousness he saw the birds feasting upon his flesh.  The wind that blew strongly afterwards covered his cadaver, saving it from the hungry vultures.  Oscar fell to the ground numb.

“I am a ghost wandering the sandy desert,”- said bewildered. He got up and looked once again at the water with sadness.  “How could it be that I can’t drink water, but still feel the unbearable heat of the sun and the thirst in my mouth If I am a ghost, I should feel nothing at all.”

These words made him very nervous, and looked around in panic.  He felt hotter! Oscar backed away from the oasis, always in the look out.  He heard cynical laughter from far away getting closer to him.  When he closed his eyes, a sudden burst of heat surrounded him. 

“Now I understand why the water was out of my reach,”- Oscar said crying, while he heard the sarcastic laughs right beside him, realizing his eternal fate.

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In August 22, 2005, I had the chance of being part of a creative writing online retreat on a marvelous place called Soul Food Café, and made a journey to the Island of Ancestors. In this exercise I got a chance to say goodbye, more of a farewell, to someone I love dearly. This piece is for those that I love and have been denied my last goodbye. My grandfather, for whom this piece was first created; my loving grandmother, I know you waited for him those three months you laid on that bed, that sacrifice will never be forgotten; my dear brother, who last time we saw each other we laughed, who I see through the round dark brown eyes of my son, to you I would love to say happy birthday. Even though they him and abuelita have been gone for almost four years, I never will forget their love.

Enjoy this story, warning, grab a tissue. Read you soon, my friend, and don’t forget: Always say I love you to someone special. Love you!

Journey to the Island of Ancestors

The meditation room in the hermitage gave me enough time to get in tune with myself and my soul. It truly was a peaceful experience and at this point I’m waiting for more. I think of myself as a complete unit- mind, spirit, body and soul –and that all of them are getting to a state, were each can live in peace with one another. Especially my mind, it is always in the clouds and not where it belongs, but still I love when it takes me to places I never been or want to be.

There was in front of my room door a piece of paper lying in the floor. I pick it up and opened it. The journey was going to take me now to another place, this time an island; but for what it’s called it seems this is not a regular island. You see it is called The Island of Ancestors. A chill ran down my spine for no reason I can explain. I figure it this will be an experience I will never forget. If it was an island of ancestors, maybe I might find great philosophers of old, like Aristotle or maybe Pluto. Who knows!

I went to the stables to see Güarionex whom was waiting for me and was ready, Rob, the Horse Whisperer, was holding him. When Güarionex saw me, he got much exited moving his head up and down. I smiled and went to him immediately giving him a kiss on his forehead. He made a sound with his nose that tickled my neck. The Horse Whisperer climbed his horse and I climbed Güarionex. We set out as we did the first time we met going as fast as the wind, like we were on a race against it. It was really lots of fun.

As we slowed down Rob told me a thing or two about the island. He explained that weird things happen to those who visited it. Some come out full of joy, others are traumatized by the experience. None are allowed to tell what happened there to them, for that will decrease the curiosity in people and travelers alike who want to visit the island. But it seems it is a most popular place for the waiting list is long. Only especial invitations are granted like the one I had. He instructed me not to pass this opportunity.

“Have you been there?” I asked him curious for he spoke of it as he knew it very well.

“Yes,” he answered looking ahead watching the Island from afar.

“How long was it that you visited it?”

“Many years ago,” his voice sounded sad and his expression changed completely. I wanted to asked, but remember what he had told me of not speaking of the experience gain on that island. I wonder if he was one of those who where traumatized by it. It seems that was not the case, for if it was like that he would not have accompanied me here and would have stayed in the hermitage.

As we approach the coast a ferry was visible from the top of the hill we were standing. A beautiful island was visible in the distance. It was all covered with nature and looked as an emerald was drop in the middle of the river. I breathed deeply for I was a little nervous for I didn’t know what to expect.

We went down the hill and got closer to the port. A woman was waiving her hand to us and we approached her. She was very happy and a little weird I might add. Well this woman was not a woman and you could see that after getting closer to her. Her skin was covered with scales, green ones and she had no ears. Her hands and feet were a strange mix of fingers and fins. Her arms were like those of a human being, but she had no nose and her mouth was of a round shape like those of a fish. When we got down of our horses and stood in front of her I smiled slightly. Rude of me, of course, but I was perplexed with what I saw. To think I should expect to encounter everything in this journey.

Suddenly, the fish-woman opened her arms wide and went to Rob who was doing the same thing. They both grab their hands up high and hit their foreheads. Then they laughed hard.

“It is good to see you again, Rob,” the fish-woman said, but it sounded more as if she was underwater than in land.

“It is good to be here, Trucha. I’m here to take her to the Island of Ancestors.”

Trucha turned to me and did the same as before. Probably that was the way she greeted people so I did the same. The hit in the forehead was not that hard and it was a cool way of salutation, for you feel like you are under water for an instant. Then just like that you feel you are back on land.

“I have been expecting you, my dear. You may leave the horses here, they will be taken to a place where they can relax and stretch their legs. Come on board for everything is ready for you, but we have to wait until nightfall. It’s the best way to navigate for the guardian of the Island is sleeping. He gets a little cranky during the day for the spirits are sleeping and he doesn’t want anybody disturbing them,” Trucha said much exited.

We got on board the ferry and ate on the deck that had been prepared with a dining area. We chat, drank and laughed for hours until the stars appeared. That’s when Trucha got up and said to me, “It is time. You may wait here while I navigate.”

Trucha stood up from the table, then she went up some metal stairs and got into the cabin on the second floor of the ferry were the control room was. I stood up and walked towards the rail as I admired the elegant night covering us completely. The stars looked like tiny diamonds sparkling elegantly. The breeze was soothing but it carried a strange smell that was sweet. Maybe it came from the island, were flowers bloom at night and perfumed everything around them like a special gift for those who dare to go to the island.

The journey on water took approximately fifteen minutes and the island was very visible indeed. A port could be seen getting nearer as we got closer. It was lighted by torches that made visible the beginning of it for the ferry fish-woman to see her way to it. When we got to the port Trucha came to me, as I was very nervous for the time had come for me to live and start my journey into the depths of the Island of Ancestors, and said, “We will wait for you here until you come back, we cannot go any further. Follow the torches until you find an apple groove. There is a path that goes inside the groove, take it. Keep walking forward; do not take any other paths, only the one that goes between the apples trees. If you do take another path you will be lost. When you reach the end of the groove you will find a mound and there a door, you must go through it. The rest is up to you.”

“What will happen if I take another path?”

“The ancestors will claim you. I do not need to say more.”

“Very well, off I go.”

I got down from the ferry and walked to the path as instructed, always looking at the trail beneath my feet. I didn’t want to get lost and be claimed by the Ancestors of the Island. Passing the apple groove I took one apple to eat it as I walked. At the end of it I saw the mound and in it the door. Two large torches lighted the way, I made my way through.

The passage was narrow and dim, it went downward. At the end of it I saw a light like that of a fire. I hurried my pace so I could find out what was in that room at the end of the corridor. Once there, in front of a great fire, sitting on an armchair there was a person covered with a black hood. Slowly I got near the figure, once in front of it I sat down on a marble bench. I waited for him or her to say a word, but nothing happen. Nervousness ran my whole body as I stared at the person in dismay not knowing what to do. My head was trying to understand the situation, but it was too complicated for it had never been in this kind of situation before.

Then, the person’s hands removed the hood and there I was looking at his face. My jaw dropped as I was astonished and out of breath. For in front of me was a man that still is the love of my life. The person that even thou passed away many years ago, still had a special place in my heart. Tear drops came from my eyes as they could not believe what they were seeing.

It was inevitable, an explosion of sentiments took over me completely. He approached me and hugged me tight as he used to do when I was a little girl. His smell was already gone from my memory and I could not remember it as I smelled him when he got closer. I cried more and more trying to hold on and didn’t want to let go of his grip. I was not letting go ever again.

When he died the only person he wanted to see was me, but the doctors at the hospital did not grant his last wish for I was a little girl and wasn’t allowed to go to the rooms. I knew he was gone for his sister, my great-aunt, came down crying inconsolable. But it did not hit me until my mother explained to me what happened. Then and there I knew the Lords of Time had denied me of a moment that was mine, of a wish that might have changed my life and my healing process. Now that I was there holding him tight no one was going to deny me of that moment.

“I have missed you so much!” I sob.

“I know.” He said.

“Grandpa, I wish so much you could still be alive. Sometimes I think life would have turned so different for me if you just been there. I know I would have been someone else with you by my side.”

“But think of all the things you would have lost if our story was written differently. Think of my great-granddaughter. She reminds me of you so much and it made me so proud that you thought of me when naming her.”

I laughed full of joy and looked at his blue eyes. They were as I used to remember.

“Well,” he said, “you are here to ask me a question. What would that question be?”

“I just want to talk a little longer. I don’t what to ask questions right know. Can we just talk, please?”

“You see, mi reina, we will have time for that in another life. When God sends for you I will be waiting at the entrance to greet you and forever be together. Know we have but little time to spend and I want to answer whatever question you have for me.”

“Then I shall stay here with you. So we could have an eternity know and not later!” I exclaimed crying.

My grandfather dried my tears and his hand felt soft. Looking at me straight in the eyes he said, “I can’t let you do that. There is too much at stake. Besides you are needed back there, Versaly needs her mother and our family too. Think of your grandmother that loves you as much as I do. Your mother, your husband and of your brother that even thou he sometimes looks as there is no hope for him there still is. But you must be there and as always be strong for them.”

He kissed my forehead gently and I finally stopped crying understanding that my time with him was limited. I grab his hands tight and smiled once again not knowing what to ask.

“I have always asked myself if you were proud of me. Of what I have become and what I wanted in life. You have always been in my thoughts when I think of my life. What would you say or do or advice?”

“There is no doubt that I have always been proud of everything you have accomplished in life and of what you want of it. I know sometimes you feel alone and without guidance, but I’m always there for you. Look for me inside your heart and feel the warmth of my arms hugging you whenever you feel alone and lost.”

We both smiled and I kissed his hand. The fire dimmed a little and my grandfather looked at it and said, “Time is running out. Know I have a question for you.”

“What is it?” I ask curiously.

“Will you promise me to take care of yourself and our family?”

“Always.”

“Then, please heal your heart of my loss. Do not cry for me with sadness, but with joy for I am in a better place know. A place you will be when your time comes. So no sad faces only happy ones, ok.”

“I promise.” As I said that, we hugged for a few minutes and I felt in peace with myself as I accomplished one of my most desired dreams. To see him one more time before living my life to the place he is now.

“I have a gift for you grandpa. It’s a lock of Versaly’s hair from when she was a baby, I always carry it with me to feel her closer. I want you to have it so you could have a little of her until you can finally meet her.”

“Thank you. I see her every day you know, even thou is from afar I’m always watching over her and praying for her. Here’s something for you too. I think someone lost this and couldn’t find it.”

He opened his hand and inside it was a small image cover in plastic of the Sacred Heart he used to wear every day. It was lost when my brother and I argued about who should have it. My heart rejoiced when I saw it for I thought it was lost forever. He had taken it to guard it and to give it back when the time was right.

“This means so much to me. I’m just sad I have to go.”

“Me too, but we’ll see each other again and spend eternity together.”

“We’ll do that; I will hold you to it.”

We hugged me again and he gave me his blessing. My heart, my soul and my spirit felt like crying again, but I hold it back. I had gained what once was denied to me, a final goodbye and a farewell. That moment right there could never be replaced.

So I got up and walked away only looking back once to see him smiling and throwing a kiss to me saying, “This is for your grandma, but don’t tell her is from me. Just give it to her.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I walked away feeling the tears come down my cheeks. I kept walking toward the port just looking at the relic my grandpa had given me. When I looked up I saw Rob, the Horse Whisperer, waiting for me at the port smiling happy to see me. I stopped to look back to the trail that had given me such an immense gift hoping to see a final glimpse of him. But he wasn’t there. Smiling joyfully and content I turned back to Rob and climbed aboard the ferry.

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       Lo que haces, es un poema inspirado en un suceso que ocurrió de improviso y me lanzó a expresarme en versos para sacar de adentro lo que sentía. Palabras mudas que no podían ser habladas en aquel instante, pero que me atrevo a dar a conocer ahora. Es tan solo un desahogo interior, tan solo eso.

      Si no he estado con ustedes un poco más a menudo, y espero que hayan disfrutado de la primera parte de ‘Los hijos de Oshmdwa’, es por trabajo. No, no me he incorporado al mundo laboral al que pertenecen muchos, incluyendo a mi amado Honey, sino al de la literatura. Recibí una grata noticia sobre el libro en el que estos momentos estoy trabajando y me he puesto una meta: Terminar el libro en treinta días (según Writers Digest es posible siguiendo unos trucos). Pensé comenzar el reto hace una semana y media atrás, pero hay prioridades en la vida como mis hijos. ¡Así que el reto comenzó en el día de ayer! Tal vez se haga hoy y los proximos días un poco tedioso por el mero hecho que tendré a mis hijos conmigo estos cuatro días a todas horas; días feriados y libres (contando el fin de semana) que lamentablemente son parte de la vida diaria. Mi hija está súper contenta con ellos. Bueno, pónganme en sus oraciones y envíen deseos positivos en mi camino para lograr lo que categorizo como un reto que me quemará las neuronas y me mantendrá caminando en las nubes.

Lo que haces

Naufraga mi alma en tus enfermizos
sentimientos con los que flagelas mi paz mental.
Esos que arrebatan la serenidad de la tuya
y encienden la hoguera de tu exasperación.
 

Mi anatomía se siente fría, en sequedad.
Inerte ante tu partida, doy quejas en las ondas
sonoras que se internan en el canal auditivo
de aquellos simpatizantes de mis emociones.
 

Cambias como los tiempos, pero a todo galope.
Impulsiva como la marea, tauro indomable.
Castigas sin compasión y te duele el castigo.
Azotas con dura lengua, más no aguantas al recibir.
 

Te llevo en el corazón clavada con lo bueno
y con las penas que has traído a mi existencia.
Rozándote como a la seda, así es nuestra unión.
Soñando con la sonrisa en tu rostro moreno.
 

¿Dónde estás ¿No sabes que me asesinas cada
segundo que fluye de éste presente que a carne viva
me impones en vivir Dama perfumada de egoísmo,
¡no me bañes de tu esencia para hacerme sufrir!
 

Apacigua tu interior, derrama torrentes en la
soledad que anhelas, pero vuelve. Repasa
los estudios pasados de tu voz a mis neuronas,
a mi espíritu, y halla en ellos el consuelo.

        What you do is a poem inspired by an incident which occurred suddenly and threw me to express myself in poetry, to draw from within what I felt. Silent words that could not be spoken at that moment, but I dare to make them known now. It’s just an inside relief, just that.

       If I have not been with you a more often, and I hope you enjoyed the first part of ‘Oshmdwa’s Children’ is because of work. No, I have not joined the working world many of you belong to including my beloved Honey, but that of literature. I received great news about the book in which I am currently working and I have set a goal: Finish the book in thirty days (according to Writers Digest is possible by following a few tricks). I started the challenge a week and a half ago, but there are priorities in life like my children. So I began the challenge yesterday! Maybe today and the next days will be a little tedious by the mere fact that I will have my children with me full time, these next four days, holidays and a free day (including the weekend) are unfortunately part of everyday life. My daughter is extremely happy with them. Well, put me in your prayers and send my way positive wishes to get, what I categorize as a challenge that will burn my neurons and send me walking amongst the clouds.

What you do

My soul sinks in your sickly
feelings that flagella my peace of mind.
Those who snatch the serenity of your own
and light the fire of your exasperation.

My anatomy feels cold, dry.
Inert before your departure, I complain to the waves
sound that go into the ear canal
of those supporters of my emotions.

You change as the time, but at full gallop.
Impulsive like the tide, indomitable Taurus.
You punish without mercy, but punishment hurts you.
Your tongue whips with hard words, still cannot withstand to receive.

I have you nailed in my heart with the good
and the sorrows that you brought to my existence.
I struck you as silk, this is our relation.
Dreaming of a smile on your light dark face.

Where are you Don’t you know kill me with each
second that flows of this present that raw skin
you impose me to live Lady perfumed in selfishness,
don’t bathe me in your essence to make me suffer!

Appease your inner self, pour torrents of
solitude that you crave, but return. Review the
past lessons of your voice that linger in my neurons,
my spirit, and find in them comfort.

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Great ideas must be shared with others, that’s what they are created for. So my friend and author of Thirty Creative Studios have develop a reading challenge, but it is not a typical one. She is challenging herself and you to read at least twelve books written by Puerto Rican authors during 2011, eather in Spanish or English (you choose). So here I leave her post on that topic and hope you share the love and get to know some of our great ‘boricua’ talent (“boricua” is a taino word, another way of calling ourselves, us Puerto Rican). Enjoy, and hope you get on board.

Alexandra Román

The 2011 Reading Challenge: Puerto Rican Young Writers is a book reading challenge created to spread Puerto Rican literature outside our 100 x 35 miles island. You can sign up on ThirtyCreativeStudio at any time. ———0000———- A couple of weeks ago I discovered the world of Book Blogs. It is an amazing community filled with incredible knowledge and commitment. I have been impressed with the amount of work and time they put into it. It i … Read More

via ThirtyCreativeStudio

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Me había olvidado, por razones alternas, compartir esto con ustedes que les exhorto pasen y lean y dejen sus comentarios. El blog Lector Cómplice hace una reseña de varios blogs que han sido redactados por colegas escritores que pertenecen a un grupo en Facebook llamado Tertulia de Escritores en Español, y en ellos está incluido Mink.

En la reseña “Tertulia de escritores en la red” se dice de Mink y esta servidora, lo siguiente: “Otra participante del grupo es Alexandra Román, una amante de las letras que, con su hermoso trabajo poético y literario, nos ha abierto un espacio en su rincón de palabras. Esta escritora tiene un trabajo muy interesante, en inglés y español, que alimenta diariamente con su labor escritural.” Le agradezco a Lesbia Quintero, oriunda de Venezuela, por estas palabras y vor visitar la casa de mis letras.

En la reseña se hace mención de otros blogs muy interesantes, así que les exhorto a visitar Lector Cómplice y leer, no solo esta reseña, sino tambien todo lo que nos ofrece en su diverso blog. Lesbia tambien tiene una novela “Sin bitácora” fascinante, al estilo de capítulos por entrega, que les invito a leer.

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…a common knowledge amongst humans. The fall of a kingdom was the rise of another; a dead king is replaced by other; at the last second when a year dies, the first of another passes like the blink of an eye without us even noticing it. On those first seconds of a so call new year that is dominated by the forces of time, we probably will embrace another being or be kissed. We’ll laugh, drink, sing or maybe cry for the memories of old have made their presence in the present. The phone lines will be filled to the fullest like the glasses of champagne. Thanks will be given for another year of life, also love and yearnings for those who lay the path for us and are not there anymore to share that moment.

It’s those seconds that mark the beginning of resolutions that must be achieve in the fast dying second by second of the newly arrived year. And as the night passes on, when our eyesight welcomes the first rays of light of a ‘new’ beginning, we daydream over a cup of coffee of what is up ahead intertwined with our day to day routine life. What was not accomplished in the last one and must be a priority in this one.

A new beginning must be mark by new things that are based on reality and dreams, filled with a new spirit of our selves. Breath for a new chance has been marked by the end. Smile for no matter what the dying seconds bring with their last breath, there is always a new one welcoming you with hope. Look for that one, and even thou it will die what it leave behind never die and is the beginning of much, much more empowering things, beings in your life and in your spirit.

Happy New Year, my beloved friend!

…conocimiento común entre los humanos. A la caída de un reino otro ascendía; un rey muerto era remplazado por otro; y en el último momento  en que un año muere, el primero de otro pasa tan rápido como un cerrar y abrir de los ojos sin que lo notemos. En esos primeros segundos de un llamado año nuevo que es dominado por las fuerzas del tiempo, probablemente abrazaremos a otro ser o seremos besados. Nos reiremos, tomaremos, cantaremos y quizás lloraremos por las memorias del pasado han hecho presentes en el presente. Las líneas telefónicas estarán llenas como las copas de champaña. Agradecimientos serán dados por un año más de vida, también el amor y los anhelos por aquellos que hicieron el camino para nosotros y no están más para compartir el momento.

Son esos segundos que marcan el comienzo de las resoluciones que deben ser alcanzadas en el año nuevo que muere rápidamente segundo a segundo. Y mientras la noche pasa, cuando nuestra vista le da la bienvenida a los primeros rayos de luz de un ‘nuevo’ comienzo, soñamos mientras tomamos una taza de café lo que nos espera más adelante enredado entre los días de nuestra vida rutinaria. Lo que no alcanzamos a realizar en el pasado año y que deben ser una prioridad en este.

Un nuevo comienzo debe estar marcado por nuevas cosas que estén basadas en la realidad y en los sueños (metas), lleno de un nuevo espíritu de nosotros mismos. Respira pues una nueva oportunidad ha sido marcada por el final. Sonríe porque no importa lo que los segundos que mueren traen con su último respirar, siempre hay uno que te da la bienvenida acompañada de la esperanza.  Busca a ese, y aunque muera lo que deja atrás nunca muere y es el comienzo de muchas, muchas cosas que te fortalecen, así como en tu espíritu y los seres en tu vida.

¡Feliz Año Nuevo, mi amado amigo! 

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Many people look forward to the new year for a new start on old habits.  ~Author Unknown

Muchas personas esperan el nuevo año para un nuevo comienzo en viejos hábitos. ~Autor Desconocido

We will open the book.  Its pages are blank.  We are going to put words on them ourselves.  The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year’s Day.  ~Edith Lovejoy Pierce

Abriremos el libro. Sus páginas están en blanco. Pondremos palabras en él nosotros mismos. El libro se titula Oportunidades y su primer capítulo es Día de Año Nuevo. ~Edith Lovejoy Pierce

Drop the last year into the silent limbo of the past.  Let it go, for it was imperfect, and thank God that it can go.  ~Brooks Atkinson

Deja caer el año pasado en el silencio del limbo del pasado. Dejalo ir, pues era imperfecto, y dale gracias a Dios que se puede ir. ~Brooks Atkinson

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I just enjoyed reading this poem by William Thomas, it is deep and touches the core of the soul. Enjoy and hope you think in this season of love of those who spend it in solitude.

A Frozen Tear

By William Thomas©

Winter in Kodiak, a time of little light.
The snow brightens the ground and the stars light up the night.
A cluster of Spruce sag deep, a drift in front of my car.
My heart weighs heavy. Thoughts of relatives afar.
A blustery wind blows, north then south.
A cold winter thirst, warm java for my mouth.
A homeless man sleeps, all bundled in clothes.
His heart deep with thoughts of past Christmas woes.
A handshake, a smile, a sip of my coffee.
A friend in waiting, I became to he.
Some food from the shelter, a warm place to rest.
His life for the moment, felt happy and blessed.
He told me the stories of days long ago.
My full attention, he required, to him I happily bestowed.
A veteran of the war, a father of four.
A long distance call seemed to matter no more.
The blanket of stars and the snow under his feet,
only brought back memories of a scar so deep.
A story from my life, I understood his loss.
To spend Christmas without family, there’s no greater cost.
One more handshake. A “man-hug” goodbye.
His face looked of worry, wondered if I would be back tonight.
A job in Kodiak sometimes is so rare.
But I am happy to tell you, where I work is here.
A smile, a thought, the lending of an ear.
A thousand times more helpful than a frozen tear.

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Just before Christmas, an honest politician, a generous lawyer and Santa Claus got into the lift (elevator) at the Ritz Hotel in London. As the lift travelled from the 5th floor down to the ground level, one-by-one they noticed a £50 note lying on the lift’s floor.

Which one picked up the £50 note, and handed it in at reception?

Santa of course, the other two don’t actually exist!

Christmas is for love

Author unknown

Christmas is for love. It is for joy, for giving and sharing, for laughter, for reuniting with family and friends, for tinsel and brightly decorated packages. But mostly, Christmas is for love. I had not believed this until a small elf-like student with wide-eyed innocent eyes and soft rosy cheeks gave me a wondrous gift one Christmas.

Mark was an 11 year old orphan who lived with his aunt, a bitter middle aged woman greatly annoyed with the burden of caring for her dead sister’s son. She never failed to remind young Mark, if it hadn’t been for her generosity, he would be a vagrant, homeless waif. Still, with all the scolding and chilliness at home, he was a sweet and gentle child.

I had not noticed Mark particularly until he began staying after class each day (at the risk of arousing his aunt’s anger, I later found) to help me straighten up the room. We did this quietly and comfortably, not speaking much, but enjoying the solitude of that hour of the day. When we did talk, Mark spoke mostly of his mother. Though he was quite small when she died, he remembered a kind, gentle, loving woman, who always spent much time with him.

As Christmas drew near however, Mark failed to stay after school each day. I looked forward to his coming, and when the days passed and he continued to scamper hurriedly from the room after class, I stopped him one afternoon and asked why he no longer helped me in the room. I told him how I had missed him, and his large gray eyes lit up eagerly as he replied, “Did you really miss me#8221;

I explained how he had been my best helper. “I was making you a surprise,” he whispered confidentially. “It’s for Christmas.” With that, he became embarrassed and dashed from the room. He didn’t stay after school any more after that.

Finally came the last school day before Christmas. Mark crept slowly into the room late that afternoon with his hands concealing something behind his back. “I have your present,” he said timidly when I looked up. “I hope you like it.” He held out his hands, and there lying in his small palms was a tiny wooden box.

“Its beautiful, Mark. Is there something in it#8221; I asked opening the top to look inside. ”

“Oh you can’t see what’s in it,” He replied, “and you can’t touch it, or taste it or feel it, but mother always said it makes you feel good all the time, warm on cold nights, and safe when you’re all alone.”

I gazed into the empty box. “What is it Mark,” I asked gently, “that will make me feel so good#8221; “It’s love,” he whispered softly, “and mother always said it’s best when you give it away.” And he turned and quietly left the room.

So now I keep a small box crudely made of scraps of wood on the piano in my living room and only smile as inquiring friends raise quizzical eyebrows when I explain to them that there is love in it.

Yes, Christmas is for gaiety, mirth and song, for good and wondrous gifts. But mostly, Christmas is for love.

The “W” in Christmas                                                      
                                                                           
Last December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful experience.   I had cut back on nonessential obligations – extensive card writing, endless baking, decorating, and even overspending. Yet still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of Christmas.       
     
My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season for a six year old. For weeks, he’d been memorizing songs for his school’s “Winter Pageant.”  I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d be working the night of the production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his teacher.  She assured me there’d be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation.  All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then.  Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise. 
                 
So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in ten minutes early,  found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw  several other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song. Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as “Christmas,” I didn’t expect anything other than fun, commercial    entertainment – songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer.

So, when my son’s class rose to sing, “Christmas Love,” I was slightly taken aback by its bold title. Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads.  Those in the front row- center stage – held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song. As the class would sing “C is for Christmas,” a child would hold up the  letter C. Then, “H is for Happy,” and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, “Christmas Love.” 

The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her; a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter “M” upside down –  totally unaware her letter “M” appeared as a “W”.  The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little one’s mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her “W”.  Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together.  A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen. In that instant, we understood the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos, there was a purpose for our  festivities. For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear: 

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THE GOLD WRAPPING PAPER – An Inspiring Christmas Story

Once upon a time, a man punished his five-year-old daughter for using up the family’s only roll of expensive gold wrapping paper before Christmas.

Money was tight, so he became even more upset when on Christmas Eve, he saw that the child had used the expensive gold paper to decorate a large shoebox she had put under the Christmas tree.

Nevertheless, the next morning the little girl, filled with excitement, brought the gift box to her father and said, “This is for you, Daddy!”

As he opened the box, the father was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, now regretting how he had punished her.

But when he opened the shoebox, he found it was empty and again his anger flared. “Don’t you know, young lady,” he said harshly, “when you give someone a present there’s supposed to be something inside the package!”

The little girl looked up at him with sad tears rolling from her eyes and whispered: “Daddy, it’s not empty. I blew kisses into it until it was all full.”

The father was crushed. He fell on his knees and put his arms around his precious little girl. He begged her to forgive him for his unnecessary anger.

An accident took the life of the child only a short time later. It is told that the father kept this little gold box by his bed for all the years of his life. Whenever he was discouraged or faced difficult problems, he would open the box, take out an imaginary kiss, and remember the love of this beautiful child who had put it there.

In a very real sense, each of us as human beings have been given an invisible golden box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family, friends and God.

There is no more precious possession anyone could hold

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Since seeing the movie “Eat, pray, love”, I’ve asked myself a simple question, ‘What is my word?’ It was on my search of describing me in one word that I’ve found that many people use three, not only for self description, but for describing their journey in life.

The most often used are ‘Live, laugh, love’. Simple words with lots of meaning. Love is always there, pure as ever, in its different forms. It mutates, sometimes, to accommodate the needs of its host, still when it is in its pure form, that for which it was created and not being transform to its dark one ‘hate’, love can change a life completely becoming the support bean for the other two words.

By now you might suspect that one of those words chosen by me is love. And why not! Love is God; love has filled my life in the form of a family, in the shape of letters, in my passion. As simple as that!

Even though I classified love as my second word, it is not less important being the first dream. Dream is not only a word, but a place reachable by anybody. Were I can escape and from it take what’s needed not only to set goals, also for creating new stories destined to be read. It’s a world, different for every human being, an intricate part of my reality and theirs.

Faith is the pillar of my soul and my spirit. Without it my hope will dissipate like alcohol evaporates by the invisible touch of air. Faith makes me stronger when the storm is upon me, when on arrival, when it passes. It is what I hold on to when everything else is gone. Faith will still be there perfuming my life with the exquisite essence of hope; it’ll whisper prayers in the silent days of solitude to uplift a hurting spirit. Faith, my armor!

‘Dream, love, faith’ three words that describe the journey of this writer, who also is a mother, wife, daughter, niece, sister, friend, cousin, and most recently a pet owner of a most cute and playful lady cat.

So the question comes upon you,

What are those three words that best describes the journey of your life?

Wow! A whole journey in three simple words!

            “Dream,

                        Love,

                                    Faith”

Join me!

Tres palabras

Desde que vi la película “Comer, rezar, amor”, me he hecho una simple pregunta: “¿Cuál es la palabra que me describe?” Fue en mi búsqueda para describirme en una sola palabra que me topé con que muchas personas utilizan tres para no solo describirse, pero para describir su aventura en la vida.

Las más utilizadas son ‘Vivir, reír, amar’, palabras sencillas que encierran un enorme significado. Amor siempre está ahí en sus diferentes formas. A veces muta dependiendo de su huésped y sus necesidades. Aun así cuando está en su forma pura, por la que fue creada y no su oscura ‘odio’, el amor puede cambiar la vida completamente convirtiéndose en la columna principal de las otras dos palabras.

Hasta ahora habrás sospechado que una de mis palabras es amor, y, ¡por qué no! Amor es Dios; el amor ha llenado mi vida en su forma familiar, en la de letras, en mi pasión. Tan sencillo como eso.

Aunque la he clasificado como mi segunda, no es menos importante que esa primera: soñar. No solo es una palabra, es también un lugar que está al alcance de cualquier ser humano. Donde se puede escapar y de él tomar lo necesario para formar metas y para crear historias que serán leídas. Un mundo diferente para cada persona, pero una parte intrínseca de mi realidad.

Fe es el pilar de mi alma y mi espíritu. Sin ella mi esperanza se disiparía como el alcohol se evapora ante el toque invisible del aire. La fe me fortalece en especial cuando la tormenta está por venir, cuando arriba y se marcha. Es en lo que me sostengo cuando todo lo demás no está. La fe siempre estará ahí perfumando mi vida con la exquisita esencia de la esperanza. Siempre susurrará oraciones en los días silenciosos de soledad para alzar mi dolorido espíritu. ¡La fe es mi armadura!

‘Soñar, amar, fe’, tres palabras que describen la aventura de la vida de esta escritora que es también madre, esposa, hija, sobrina, amiga, prima, y más reciente dueña de una hermosa y juguetona gatita.

Así que te pregunto,

¿Cuáles son las tres palabras que mejor describen tu aventura en la vida?

Wow! Una aventura en tres sencillas palabras.

            ‘Soñar,

                        Amar,

                                    Fe

Únete.

The post Three words / Tres palabras appeared first on .

[slideshow]

My Bday was one full of gratefulness, happiness, laughter, good wishes and arguing constantly with my three year old on who had ownership of this day. You can imagine he won, and almost got me to go to the store and buy a Spider Man cake like the one I made him for HIS Bday.

I woke up feeling something was missing and was about to happen: I waited for a wakeup call. My husband came to bed after taking care of breakfast for our daughter, and made the first prank of the day. According to him AARP send me a letter of congratulations for acquiring the age to be part of their organization. Jajajaja! Very funny :p And in between laughing and telling him he was the one happy for he was not going to be alone in the program, salsa music exploded out of my new cell phone (see the slideshow for a preview) that made my honey exclaim “What the heck! What’s that!” It was the phone call I was waiting for. He kept taking, and I said out loud “Shhhh, she’s going to sing ‘Las Mañanitas’ to me!”

Then her motherly voice sang the song she always wakes me up with on the day of my Bday. It was glorious for she went to live to Orlando and I’m here in Puerto Rico and I don’t have her close anymore. So her voice made my day, one that was starting, and thinking of the hour change (there is one hour less than here, and she called me at 6:50 am, which for her is 5:50), it was priceless. But the best happened after I got up and thought of checking my email that I don’t usually do so early. There was an email from her, not only she woke early to wake me up, she took time to write me a note. Mother love!!!!!

After that loving experience, I was ready for my coffee and storm out of the house to take my daughter to school, when I found near the coffee maker the most curious “present”. Inside a black and white paper bag wrapped with a green bow there was the old box of my new phone that I got as an early present. Inside it peeking out, a card. I took it with an “Ahhh!” As I open I saw my other prank of the day, words cannot express better than the card itself so take a peek on the slide show (the front of the card says in English “Get well soon”).

The day went by relaxing in my house while asking my son to sing Happy Bday to me, he refused; answering phone calls and Facebook messages (very grateful for them), when my second present arrived. A woman stood outside my house holding an edible arrangement of strawberries covered in chocolate, yummy! I took it, then I saw it said “Happy Anniversary”. I smiled thinking they had made a mistake, but said nothing. When I open the card I realized the happy anniversary thing was the third prank of the day. What can I say, I love my Honey sense of humor he made my Bday even better. Oh! The card is in the slide show too.

Since it was a Tuesday and a storm came in turning the day into night, I decided it was better to stay home, reschedule dinner for another day and eat in-hey I was not about to cook on this glorious day! Pizza from our favorite place made the night, a movie on demand TV and … Well, the rest is history and a story for my honey and me. Thanks all for your well wishes and may God bless you too.

Compartiendo lo que fue mi Cumpleaños

[slideshow]

Mi Cumpleaños estuvo lleno de agradecimiento, alegría, risas, buenos deseos y discutiendo con mi niño de tres años quien tenía autoría de este día. Puedes imaginar que él ganó, y que casi me hizo salir a la tienda y comprar un bizcocho de Spider Man como el que le hice para SU Cumpleaños.

Me desperté sintiendo que algo me faltaba y que estaba a punto de suceder: esperaba una llamada que me despertara. Mi esposo vino a la cama luego de hacerle el desayuno a nuestra hija, y hizo la primera broma del día. Según él AARP me envió una carta dándome las felicitaciones por adquirir la edad para ser parte de su organización. Jajajaja! Muy gracioso :p Y entre las risas y decirle que era él quien estaba feliz, pues ya no estaría solo en la organización, música de salsa explotó de mi nuevo celular (miren el slideshow para que lo vean) que hizo que mi Honey exclamara “!Qué! ¡Qué es eso!” Era la llamada que esperaba. Él continuo hablando, y le dije en voz alta “¡Shhh, me van a cantar Las Mañanitas!”

Entonces, su voz maternal canto la canción que siempre me levanta todos los días de mi Cumpleaños. Fue glorioso, pues ella vive en Orlando y yo en Puerto Rico y ya no la tengo cerca. Así que su voz hizo mi día, uno que comenzaba, y pensando en la hora de diferencia (allá es una hora más tarde que acá, y me llamó a las 6:50 am, que para ella eran las 5:50 am), fue incalculable. Pero lo mejor ocurrió luego que me levanté y me dio con verificar mi correo electrónico que usualmente no hago tan temprano. Allí había uno de ella, no solo se levantó temprano para levantarme, sino también para escribirme una nota. ¡Amor de Madre!

Luego de esa amorosa experiencia, estaba lista para mi café y salir corriendo de la casa para llevar a mi hija a la escuela, cuando encontré cerca de la cafetera un regalo muy curioso. Dentro de una bolsa de papel negra y blanca ceñida con un lazo verde estaba la caja de mi celular nuevo que me dieron como un regalo temprano. Asomándose hacia afuera, una tarjeta. La tomé con un ‘Ahhh!’ Al abrirla vi que era mi otra broma del día, las palabras no pueden expresar mejor que la tarjeta misma así que da un vistazo al slieshow (la parte de adentro dice en Español “Mami sé que estás vieja pero está bien. Te prometo que te conseguiré ‘life alert’ Feliz Cumpleaños, Versaly”.

El día se paso en relajarme en mi casa mientras le pedía a mi hijo que me cantara Feliz Cumpleaños, él se negó; contestando llamadas y los mensajes de Facebook (de los que soy muy agradecida), cuando mi segundo regalo llegó. Una mujer me esperaba afuera de mi casa cargando un arreglo comible de fresas cubiertas en chocolate, ¡rico! Lo tomé,  y luego vi que decía “Feliz Aniversario”. Sonreí pensando que se habían equivocado, pero no dije nada. Cuando abrí la tarjeta me di cuenta que lo de feliz aniversario era la tercera broma del día. Qué puedo decir, amo el sentido de humor de mi Honey, él hizo de mi día uno mejor. Oh! La tarjeta la puedes ver en el slideshow también.

Como era martes y una tormentita de lluvia tornó el día en noche, decidí que era mejor quedarnos en casa, salir a cenar otro día y comer adentro-¡no iba a cocinar en este día glorioso! Pizza de mi sitio favorito hizo la noche, una película del canal de on demand y … Bueno, el resto es historia y una para mi honey y yo. Gracias a todos sus buenos deseos y que Dios los bendiga.

The post Sharing what was my Bday / Compartiendo lo que fue mi Cumpleaños appeared first on .

I have lots to be thankful for: loving husband and kids, a great supporting family full of craziness which makes my life more interesting and not dull, my writing, the blessings God has given me, a great bunch of friends whom I call ‘my support to reality system’.

Ahh! Yes, you want to know. I know you do, and I’m not scared to say it for being here has made me who I am and all that has come with it have given me the wisdom to pass it on to my children and love ones. It! What is It Well, the time that has come, that which we categorized with numbers, my three decades and three years in this fascinating world that I still need to know more about and explore its wonders.

Mink is part of this still on my way journey of life until God permits. I’m greatful for Mink, from it many e-friendships have sprung out of the cyberworld, connections that have become a support in this “reality” we live in every day of our lives. Thank you all, for being there.

Well, this is a short note only for I’m off to celebrate and indulge in what life has in store for me today. My three year old is here with me pulling my hair and singing to himself happy bday (he think is his bday, but I’ll share the day with him). The phone is ringing (one of many), so I live you for now and I’ll share with you some of the things I did today in the form of images tomorrow, for they say more than words. Love you all and have a great sunny beautiful full of grace day. Have a cup of coffee in my name, will ya?

¡Es mi cumpleaños!

Tengo mucho por lo que tengo que dar gracias: un amoroso esposo e hijos; una familia maravillosa llena de loqueras que hace de mi vida una más interesante y no aburrida, y que me da su apoyo incondicional; mi escritura; las bendiciones que Dios me a dado; un puñado de amigos a quienes llamo “mi sistema de soporte a la realidad”.

Ahhh! Sí, deseas saber. Lo sé, y no tengo miedo en decirlo, pues el estar aquí me ha hecho quien soy y todo lo que ha venido con eso me ha dado la sabiduría necesaria para pasarla a mis hijos y seres queridos. ¡Eso! ¿Qué es eso Bueno, el tiempo que llega, eso que es categorizado con números, mis tres décadas y tres años en este mundo fascinante que aún necesito conocer y explorar sus maravillas.

Mink ha sido parte de esta aventura de la vida hasta que Dios lo permita. Soy agradecida por Mink, por él he encontrado amigos cibernéticos que han nacido de este mundo cibernético, conexiones que se han convertido en un soporte en esa “realidad” en la que vivimos cada día de nuestras vidas. Gracias a todos por estar ahí.

Bueno, esta es una corta nota solamente porque me voy a celebrar y satisfacer en lo que la vida tiene para mí hoy. Mi niño está aquí halándome los pelos y cantándose cumpleaños (él cree que es el suyo, pero yo puedo compartir el día con él). El teléfono suena (uno de muchos), así que les dejo por ahora y estaré compartiendo algunas de las cosas que hice hoy en formas de imágenes mañana, ya que las imágenes dicen más que las palabras. Les amo a todos y que tengan un gran día soleado y lleno de gracia. Tómense un café en mi nombre, ¿lo harás?

The post It’s my Bday! / ¡Es mi cumpleaños! appeared first on .

They say that age is all in your mind. The trick is keeping it from creeping down into your body. ~Author Unknown

A diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman’s birthday but never remembers her age. ~Robert Frost

Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time. ~Jean Paul Richter

You’re not 40, you’re eighteen with 22 years experience. ~Author Unknown

Time may be a great healer, but it’s a lousy beautician. ~Author Unknown

Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened. ~Jennifer Yane

Wisdom doesn’t necessarily come with age. Sometimes age just shows up all by itself. ~Tom Wilson

Dicen que la edad es algo que está en tu cabeza. El truco está en no dejar que salga a tu cuerop. ~Autor desconocido

Un diplomático es un hombre que siempre recuerda el cumpleaños de una mujer, pero nunca recuerda su edad. ~Robert Frost

Nuestros cumpleaños son plumas en la brisa del tiempo. ~Jean Paul Richter

No tienes 40 años, tienes diesiocho con la experiencia de 22 años. ~Autor desconocido.

Dentro de cualquier persona adulta hay una joven preguntandose qué pasó. ~Autor desconocido

La Sabiduría no necesariamente llega con la edad. A veces la edad llega por sí sola. ~Tom Wilson

The post My Bday is tomorrow lets read some Bday quotes / Mi cumpleaños es mañana, leamos unas citas de cumpleaños appeared first on .

Suave y sedosa, bañada en sombras
hechas por los cocoteros que de
tus entrañas nacen. Te alargas en
una simple línea costanera.
Penetras el regazo líquido
que te acaricia con su blancura,
toque dactilar espumoso que es
en sí un recuerdo de su posesión.

Espectros de luz dorada tibian
tu frío ser, te despiertan a la
melancolía de unos ojos que
se enamoran de ti en cada alba, un
alma que bendice tu existencia,
te graba en letras que no te hacen
justicia. Mi belleza decadente,
terrenal, eternamente tuya.

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