sábado, 31 de maio de 2014

The cut

Jeremy just wished to be alone and invisible. But no matter how much he tried, people still stared at him. The black clothes and the weird shapeless haircut were useless; he was just too big for his age. As he waited by her car, he could only think about it. At age thirteen he was the tallest boy in his class. Tall, thin, clumsy. He drew attention wherever he went. This is what made him especially concerned with this biology assignment. He didn’t mean to make such a good work. He tried, as usual, to be average. But he dissected that frog in such a perfect way, that she chose him to represent the school in the regional competition that weekend. “You really have a talent, young man! You did an amazing job,” she told him. He knew that already. He always liked cutting things.
It was not his fault if his colleagues were dumb. He should have guessed that no one would do a decent job and he would outstand everyone. Now the only way out of this was going to be hard. People often think it is something good to be different. That everyone should try to stand out and show the world what makes them unique. Jeremy knew that what makes us unique isn’t always something good. Sometimes he wanted to be like Marie. She was the girl who sat on the back and used to cut her left arm. He could understand her. He also felt like cutting the problems away. If he could, he would make a dissection on himself and, after opening his own body, separate among the skin, veins and blood, whatever he felt unnecessary. Marie still had scars on her arm, so she always wore long sleeves, even in hot days.
As he thought about all this, his teacher was finally approaching her car. She smiled to him and he smiled back. The world was filled with freaks, he thought. But they all could act normal and pretend to fit the model. Hide whatever they wanted to hide. That was not possible to him. He realized people observed him during gym class or whenever he walked with his classmates and it made him feel uncomfortable. He hated feeling the looks on him. He was quite sad she didn’t accept his excuses. She was really forcing him to go on and present his project in front of all these people. He decided that from now on he would be more careful with his actions. There was no need for any more suffering. He put his hand in his pocket and felt it, the cold metal, as she finally got to the car.
- How are you, Jeremy? Excited about tomorrow?
- I really don’t want to go, Mrs. Shields.
- That’s nonsense, dear! We talked about that and you are going. I am in a bit of a hurry, would you pleas… Ah! – she reached her throat trying to block the blood. She couldn’t believe what just happened. She looked at him in horror and tried to speak, but the words couldn't leave her mouth anymore. Jeremy just stood there, looking at her. Indeed, he always liked cutting things.

Versão em português

Start Writting Fiction Week 3 #FLfiction14

sexta-feira, 16 de maio de 2014

Future Learn Exercise - Description using normal words in a innovative way

She had a calm beauty. As calm as only those things which are secure enough of their own existence can be. As calm as if it didn't have to convince anyone of anything. It simply was. Her curly dark hair fell on her shoulders like a gentle flow of water on the soil, her brown soft skin. And there, in this fertile place, one could find it. Just like fruits, that come to existence on its own, right, time, there it was: her beautiful smile.

quinta-feira, 8 de maio de 2014

About Guilt

Dear friends,

I am proud to announce I now have my very own zine! If you have no idea of what I am talking about, read more about it here. If you already know what a zine is, please, talk to me and we will figure it out how you can get one! The idea behind zines is that it is non-commercial. That does not mean there is no price on it. I am happy to sell my hardwork-zine for 2 euros! Or I will be even happier to trade it with you for another zine or artwork you have. I want to see how many new things I can get to know from this experience... 
The illustrations are from the amazing catalán artist Rubén MY. And I am amazed by how he could capture all the emotions Marcus Butner felt! You will be impressed by his work.
Lastly, I ask you: you don't have to be worried with me... This is a work of fiction and I am a very happy, healthy and social person.
Now, let me give you guys a piece of "About Guilt". I hope you enjoy it!

“What do you claim in your defense?” a strange old man asked him.
Marcus Butner looked around and he couldn't believe it. He wasn’t at home anymore. This weird place didn’t look like anything familiar. It was so quiet and cold… And despite those two guards standing in front of him, he didn’t have any clue of what was going on... Had he heard it right? Was he being accused of something? No… That couldn’t be true… It was just a dream, he knew. Maybe one of the most vivid dreams he ever had. But still, only a dream.

terça-feira, 6 de maio de 2014


Hey y'all

I haven't spoken here, but I am taking an online writing course. It is really good, from the Open University. I will be posting here the homework assignments I have...
This week I had to write about a character descriptively. I had to do it in 200 words only. And just telling you, this is a work of fiction... So I decided to be a teenager talking about the "Old-crazy-cat-lady"...
I would love to receive any feedback from you! Tell me if there is anything I can improve, if you feel I am using wrong words, or even grammar mistakes. It would mean a lot to me.



I just hate rainy days! Everything is fucked up! I mean, just look at my bus! It’s always empty! And I can always sit! But not that Tuesday, no! It had to be completely crowded! And the worst part is that no one had any space, like, nothing! I had to stand next to this old lady with her walker. She was literally occupying the space of three people! I mean, we have to respect the elderly and all that shit, but come on! She was using lots and lots of public space… And the worse part is that she didn’t even care! I tried to make some room for myself, but more people walked into the bus and I had to move even closer to her. That was gross! I mean, I hate old people... And I almost had to sit in the corner of her walker, for God's sake! I tried to say sorry, don't get me wrong, but she didn't seem to care too much. She kept looking away. So I gave her a closer look. She was the typical eighty year-old, with this white helmet-like hair, you know? Those granny-looking haircuts? She had one of those. And she also had some white fur in her black sweater. I guess she was one of those old ladies that lives alone with eight cats. Old-crazy-cat-lady. Hell yeah! That's what she was!