All posts tagged: a writer’s blog

The Perfect Moment

  We sit on the patio, eager to grab some sunshine and warmth. My birthday is nearly upon me and, as is usual around this day, I have been feeling moody and grumpy — and, most of all, I have been wondering where time can possibly be going to, and seemingly always with such indecent haste. And… and is it still stepping on the accelerator…?!? More…?!? Honestly! What does it want? Light speed…? Hasn’t it got enough already…? And why can’t it for once be kind a bit, take its time a bit, give people a bit of a breather…? Oh, the things I come up with! The very concept of time taking its time… Imagine such a thing! Maybe time taking its time, or stopping for a bit of a breather, would be as preposterous as expecting… expecting what? Anything, really. I don’t honestly know. The absurdity of possibility and impossibility, of life and the preordained, and Fate and Destiny. Of compliance and deviation. I don’t know what I expect. But what would it …

camp’s over…

  Phew, have I been busy this month! I mean, it’s not as if I did not expect to be busy this April, even a bit, erm, well, somewhat busier than usual. After all, I did register for #CampNaNoWriMo and set myself a target of 25,000 of the frequently elusive little buggers we trade in. I thought it would be a perfectly attainable goal while still attending to all my other usual daily grind, and still keep up with reading and reviewing — and, most important of all, sleeping. In my bid to came to my decision more or less scientifically, I had looked at last November, earnestly, quizzically: it’s true that I had very little sleep, and that did next to nothing else, but I had managed to come up with over the required 50,000 words… So, can you follow my reasoning? Halve the goal, and the time you save will allow you to do half  of the everything-else you would otherwise neglect… plus sleep, and if you sleep then work will be, will come easier, be it with words …

method in my TBR madness… maybe

I received a Goodreads email notification today that made me stop and look twice. It came from someone with a name I did not immediately recognise, and mentioned a certain TV Celebrity Couple’s reading group. I hovered the cursor over it and read carefully. Once. Twice. Did I know anyone with that handle? Maybe. I would not pretend to know the names of all my social contacts. And then there was the TVCC thing. Mystery. OK, I thought to myself. Let’s see what this is. An invitation to join the reading club. Mmm. Well… Structured social interaction. Er… Heck. As a matter of fact, that might be exactly what I need right now. Why do I automatically interpose a battalion of questions…? Of reasons? Excuses? Why wouldn’t I join a reading group, and actually participate, instead of all that always-in-the-background, almost voyeuristic thing I end up doing because I do not have the — whatever it is I don’t have to actually engage with a group? Of course, it didn’t help all my usual excuses …

‘Always Expect The Unexpected’

In the midst of all the upheaval in my life lately, I’ve been thinking of my Nan Marquinhas and my Great-Aunt Alice, and their seemingly incongruous ways, more often than usual. They were a steadying presence in my early childhood, and as I grew up I found them always full of a philosophy of life that felt natural and intuitive, but which often seemed to jar with the world around us. At least, they seemed to jar with the world as I was being allowed to perceive and learn in the city, where everything was new, glittering, fast — and passing me by. Life was changing in the village too, and though there I was far less sheltered than in the city, things somehow seemed more linear, and Great-Aunt’s and Nan’s pronunciations didn’t seen so out of place somehow. Maybe it’s just that city life appeared so glamorous and safe, so new and benign… I wonder how I could be so drawn to the unknown: was it because it was the world my parents inhabited? “Always …

a lua

    Caminham lado a lado, a mulher e o rapazito. Por vezes ele saltita e rodopia, e ela olha-o e sorri como quem se lembra de outras coisas assim. Outros saltos e rodopios. Por vezes ele pára-a, diz-lhe, “olha ali! Olha, olha ali!“ – “É um elefante, estás a ver? Ali a tromba, e as orelhas…“ E ela olha. E vê. É uma cabeça de elefante, a tromba semi-encaracolada, o olho enorme e profundo como um espelho azul de céu, as orelhas enormes espraiadas lado a lado.