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Forgetting: not just for old people anymore.

A few years ago I accompanied my grandma to one of her lunches with her friends. My grandma was 76 at the time and all the other ladies were either 85 or 86. They said my grandma was the baby of the group, since she was so young. The lunch was very long, with each of them taking their time to chew their food and still manage to tell stories, but it was a great time. Mainly because of the stories, I didn’t care much about the chewing.

One of them started complaining because her son wanted to hire a maid to help her out during the day. How dare he. She was incredibly upset about that. She said she told her son that was not an option, because if she didn’t have the work around the house to do, she wouldn’t have enough things to occupy her throughout the day. Then another one started talking about how she had a maid and she’d send the girl to wipe the leaves of her plants. She’d send the girl to the porch (apparently she had a lot of foliage there) and give the girl a tiny cloth to go wipe the plants. This way the girl wouldn’t bother her and she could cook as she pleased.

That lead to the cooking topic. They all shared how much they loved to cook. Then one of them started saying she liked to knit while she waited for the food to be ready, but it was hard but she’d go sit down to knit and forget about the food. So one of them said “You should do what I do. Put a chair in front of the stove. This way you won’t forget about it.”

I just remembered all of that because I was sitting on my couch and though “Something smells good,” and after a second I thought “My food!” and ran to the kitchen to rescue my lunch.

Maybe it’s time for me to start putting a chair in front of the stove.

 

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Are you willing?

Dying? Dying is easy. I welcome death. Death is nothing to be fearful of. Torture. Torture is what you should be afraid of.

Being marked. Scarred. Cut. Torn apart. Destroyed in every possible way. Day after day. Hour after hour. Minute after minute. Knowing the end will never come.

Are you willing? Are you willing to be tortured until the only thing left in you is pain?

From an idea stirring in my head. A new seed has been planted. Now we must let it grow and transform itself in what it’s supposed to become.

 

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It’s not always easy to translate our ideas into words

Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck. I can’t move forward, I can’t move back. I stare at the blank page in front of me and nothing. The words just get stuck in my head and refuse to pour down the paper from my fingertips. When that happens I usually google the internet for inspiration. I collect quotes upon quotes that can relate to my characters or the story itself. But after all the research, I feel even more lost.

I was talking to a friend about that and we decided to meet every Thursday, being that the only day we both could afford to do it, to discuss and share ideas. It certainly helps to have someone I trust listen to my ideas. Not only I get instant feedback, but it forces me to put my story into words. I feel my stories. I know them, I have them inside of me, but until they can be put into words that can reach someone else, it is as if they are just asleep. They need to be awaken to become alive.

It's not always easy to translate ideas into words.

Today my mind is full of ideas. They are buzzing inside my head. I hear them, but not clearly enough to allow my fingers to translate them into words. They fly all around, bumping into one another, trying to feed me the information, trying to make me understand, but I can’t.

If only today were Thursday…

 

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