The due day has come and gone...

First I would like to congratulate all the winners of the Birdport prize.
Neither my short nor my flash story made it to the shortlist :-( .
When the silence spreed beyond the due date I knew the prize wouldn't be mine, but I didn't really expect to win. Being in the shortlist however would have been already great. Better days will come. Life is not supposed to be easy.

the nothing in all

Once upon a time,

when the wilderness was tamed by humankind

and the world was a very, very big place...

There was a girl,

who knew not what to do, not for the lack of skill

she was blessed with plenty of it...

Unsettled at heart,

she tried different things, while school gave her

one straight way and one end...

As she finished,

she had drawn fair paintings, danced all sorts,

even written a few verses...

But undecided,

she pursued the stable way, providing her

the hobbies of all else...

She was smart,

she felt no end to her way, she found no dream

until she met her limit....

Because her mind wondered, she never reached

and now she found the total hopeless emptiness...  of lacking.

Who would live evermore?

I dost fear death not, I mock ye neither,
rather dread the waist in unfulfilling.
Single breath forces ease departure,
yet, forgetting the hearts left beating...

Were I to gather the winds grace,
granting them a brace'd be too eager,
I hope only to leave bliss in few,
yet ambition weights in my measure.

Thus of me the prime ye conjure,
forgive my human in nature,
take on the loud laugh and light dance.

Bring it to thy weddings and funerals,
to thy sons sons births, baptisms and sermons,
bring me memory of deep warmth for thee.

Short and tiny story contest

This week I bit my pride and sent a short and a flash stories to an international contest.

This Christmas as I lay in bed, waiting for my husband to wake while thinking of the good fortune I meat, I decided that I should thank my mother, for the spirit she bred in me. Thus I wrote a short story revealing my resilience to tragedy. To my fascination two pages were enough to watter my father's eyes.

Thereafter, when the news meat me that the publisher I applied my book for was a vanity-publisher, I realised that I should sell myself before my book. No serious agent or publisher will give a proper chance to my book if I am no one anyone ever heard of.

I found the perfect contest though it might be way out of my league, but since the aim is also to recognise my league I filled myself of virtual courage and put myself out there. The contest had three categories, one that fitted my short story perfectly and another that sounded like an amazing challenge, the flash story. They consider for this contest purpose that a flash story is bellow 500 words.

-"Challenge accepted!" - I had to free myself from description, for it extends the action beyond the limits, and I discovered that focusing on the story gave it such an extraordinary power.

So now I am not hoping for one story to make the best thirteen of the world, but also a second to make the best five. My nerves won't last and I will try focusing elsewhere, on my second book. I don't know when the results will be revealed, but the prize is awarded in October. I shall prevail non the less!

Cross your fingers for me. If you know of any contest for new writers let me know. :-)

vanity-publishing no!

Hello again,
It is decided. It seems this is not the natural path of a writer.
It is called vanity-publishing (to pay to publish) and it bounds my book to oblivious.
Therefore I decided to let it take a more natural and longer course.
I will apply to some contests, to see if I catch the eye of an agent.
And in one year from now if I haven't, I will publish it myself (self-publishing) on Amazon.
In the mean time, as promised, the book won't die without a brother and the second one is now on its 3rd chapter.
I will keep in touch.
Greetings to all.

Damn limbo

Once again I write with no purpose but heavy heart.
Uncertain whether mine is the fault of dissatisfaction
or if legit is my concern in this unsustained measure.
Lacking the feedback regarding my extensive words.

I did however engage on this treacherous venture
with the purpose to carry on for five more life tails
of fantasy, honest disclosure and moral instigation.

I will focus then in that which lifts me straight
and continue part two independent of the one's fate.

I wish you all the best and thanks for any attention

Accepted

Several times in life the good news are tainted by the bad ones.
I should be celebrating and singing and dancing... the editor accepted my book.
However they require that 250 copies, form the edition of 550, of 12€ each should be bought by me and possibly sold in the book release in Portugal. So I can only conclude they find this is a risky business, considering their timid investment.
So tell me, should I fly or should I cry?

The first novel was sent to the editor with the title "Dark Hair Night"

After finishing the last page I thought the worst was past. Was I naive or what?
I asked help from a friend to review the English which I use fluidly with a little help from my dyslexia.
The process took months of painful beautifying, correcting and defending, but the end product was worth it.
I have now a presentable version of my dream, and I want to share it with the world.
So this Wednesday (12-04-2012) I sent it to the editor, hoping for the best and opening my heart to an even more excruciating phase... What will they think of my novel? Is what I wrote worth printing? Will anyone enjoy reading it? And above all how will I survive if they don't? How do you survive when they look at your perfect baby and say... hum, I'm not impressed!?

1+1=3

Told tails of your youth
encourage my birth thirst,
the idea of a new newbie
a tummy growing growth.

I love you for all you are,
but you are much more than
today or the day before,
future you can have me bare!

In this world of nonsense,
uncertainties and change,
doubt's lost in name of nature.

We hold the power to create
so much more than art.
Indeed, as far as life itself!

Saudade is fado

Saudade is Fado, fado is saudade!
to listen to the deep soul cry
of the fearful smiling fiancé
waving their embroidered wet wiper...

to feel the pain left in place
of the familiar wanting presence,
that left in love for love alone
to bring the means to build a home.

to taste the slow time distance
between her heart and her mind,
cried in words thrown to the sea.

to share a tear for this sorrow rime,
is to know fado and its muse saudade,
and with it, this sailing people of mine.