Yeah, I admit it. I do play Sims. But hey, only during vacation.

So I decided to make Madison a little bit more real, just to prove my point. This is her picture:

Labels: characters, Madison Harrison, The Sims

How does one tell a tale? Do we just do it, without thinking? Yeah, I guess so. But when I'm writing a story I tend to melodramatize (if this word exists) and obsess about the way things are told. And I know, I shouldn't do that. Every writer advices writer-wannabes to not stop writing to review stuff before the story's actually ended. And I agree. But truth be told, I'm a perfection-maniac when it comes to writing... Well... *Sigh* Sorry, but it's true.

So now, instead of limiting myself to story creation, I decided to make up characters details before the actual beggining of the story. It's not working.

But I must say, I've found a creative way to get to know my characters. My first tecnique (a very old one) was to make an information sheet about them, with information such as birthday, favourite colour (yeah, like in those quizilla quizzes), favourite musics, books, appearance, favourite quote, whatever. Then, I found a new tecnique which consisted on writing a text of introduction made by the characters themselves. But hey, didn't work. Too bloody boring. It was almost a book all by itself.

And today I found a new way to do it, which is not genius, but at least gives me chance to have a good laugh. It's in the form of an interview made to some random guy/girl. I'll write an example below.

(imagine the interviewer is a guy and the interviewee is a girl)

Name: Madison Harrison
Date of Birthday: 12/6/1991

What's your opinion on mustard beef?
Well, I've never tried them, but you know, it must be good. As long as it is not too spicy. Why? Are you taking me to have dinner with you? *blinks her left eye, playfully* You know, I don't really like hot food, but I could use a hot man...

Thanks. I think. And no, I'm not taking you to dinner. It's just an interview. My job. So... What do you think about chemical products which damage the ozone layer?
Oh, down with them! Down with anything which harms the environment... *whispering* And that can cause any weird red stains in my perfect skin.

*humming* 'You can't keep me waiting forever, baby... Who's in perfect skin'...
Excuse me?

Uh, nothing. Just remembering that song... Perfect Skin, by The 69 Eyes. Don't you know it?
Sorry, I must have missed it in the radio. Was it on MTV?

I'm not sure, I don't watch MTV.
*eyes out of the orbits. Almost* What?! Are you a psycho???!

No, I most definitly am not a... psycho. Anyway, proceeding. Just pick one of the following ones. Coke or Pepsi?
Coke. I was told it has less carbs.

Nora Roberts or Virginia Woolf?
Nora, sure. Who's that Woolf lady anyway?

Scrabble or Uno?
Uno. Scrabble requires too much thinking.

Eminem or Britney Spears?
Whatever. They're both nuts. Why should you have them compared anyway?

It was just the first thing that popped into mind. Sorry. I'm having some trouble thinking things up.
Maybe that's because you still wanna take me out for mustard beef. Ok, I'll go with you. Just remember, you're the one paying.

But I didn't...
Yeah, I got it. I'll pay mine, then.

***
So this is an example of the kind of thing I decided to do now. I could go on forever, but for now, I'm much more accustomed to my character, Madison Harrison (poor girl, she has a name that rhymes) and feel like I really know her. Maybe this will help me (or whoever visits this blog and isn't nice enough to leave a comment... I know you're out there!). It's an idea. And it raises humour level.

Yeah, I content myself with the smallest things. On the other hand, I also get depressed for the smallest things. Like getting obsessed with a guy I know from nowhere, while being sure he doesn't even remember I exist, let alone my name. Yeah, I'm that kinda psycho. Madison would surely tell me 'Ya gotta be kidding. Like, you really do have a crush on a guy you've seen only twice and that doesn't know you're alive? God, find yourself a hobby. Maybe haiku or origami or some other japanese crap. Or, heish, I don't know. Maybe let him know you exist!?'.

Yeah, Madison's totally right. I'm a loser. And not even a great deal of fun.

Labels: characters, crush, fun, loser, Madison Harrison, stories, The 69 Eyes

So, the other day, I never really ended any poem. Bad day, I guess. Maybe today I'll try that again.

So, today's one of my best friends' birthday! Which means it is a greaaaat day! It has to be. Hey, birthdays must have that good ol' magic while we're still young, right? It's like a day when anything you want has a chance to come true (even if hardly). Birthdays are about hope. I always keep believing that on one of my birthdays something fabulous will happen. However, that always leads to dellusion when it's past midnight and the day is over. God, why can't one love surprises? Surprises are great. Not all of them, but still, intentions gotta mean something. Nothing great has ever happened on my birthday. No pleasant surprise, no big freaking party on which I actually had fun, no friends to keep me company even, except for the last three years.

But still, birthdays are about believing. About... Having fun. It's a day that, no matter what age you're turning into, always makes you feel a little bit relieved from obligations. At least for me, my birthday's on a holiday. It's not like I'll ever have an exam on my birthday. So, that's how I feel. But no one ever remembers my birthday. And I hate that because I really make an effort to try to memorize everybody's birthday.

But let's not make this about me. Catarina is having her birthday today. Seventeenth birthday. Yeah, that one, which hurts like hell, because we stop being sixteen, but we're not exactly turning eighteen. It's just plain... stupid, I guess. Such a plain number. You stop being that promiscuous teenager (not that I was EVER promiscuous or will EVER be) whom is in the flower of age (I'm not sure this expression exists in English), but you're not an adult yet. You're getting ready for adulthood. And that's just so bloody freaking annoyingly BORING. I mean, who cares? Let's just keep saying we're sixteen. Why not?

But let me make this clear: I don't hate this age now as much as I did when I actually turned seventeen. Back then I was like 'Oh no, now I'm losing the sweet sixteen thing forever, and I'm getting ugly, less smart, annoying and whatever'. Well, it hasn't stopped being true. But I've come to see that there are better things out there, in the place I'm heading to. Such as college, travelling, maybe even family. Because I'd like to have a family. Get married even. I'm just afraid no one will ever want to be part of my family and then, I'll be all alone till I age and die. Gosh, no one will pay for my funeral. And if that happens, it will be such a great disappointment that I prefer not having such expectations for now.

But I'm actually pretty excited about turning eighteen. I'm even thinking about getting a license during Christmas holidays so then I only have to have the exam (and pass it, of course).... Another thing I wanna do when I turn eighteen is commiting a crime. Don't tell anyone, especially because I don't know yet what I'll be doing. But I'll commit it, just so I can prove myself I'm still independent, no matter I should be responsible for what I do from now on. So, these aren't very straight-forward objectives, but at least, they make me feel less scared about aging. Too bad the elections are before my birthday. Voting is truly the highlight of me turning eighteen, somewhere in future. Always has.

Labels: believe, birthday, friends, future, license

Being alone at home is weird, after a whole week always with someone else. Yesterday, I went out because my city was supposed to be having a 'party'. When I got there I was like 'Dude, where's the party?'.

First of all there was no people. Second, the music sucked. Well, the music always sucks... But anyway, the few people in there were sitting. God, that must have been the lamest party EVER. I think I never wished to get out from here like now I do. Seriously, in here there's no fun. All the people are lame, boring, or whatever. Well, this sounds stupid, I know. But for the first time, this is how I feel.

I feel like meeting new people. I feel like going to young people meetings. I feel like having fun. I don't feel like being stuck in here for more one month. At least, September's likely to go by really fast because I'm gonna sign up for a science meeting. That's why I need to make a science project till Friday. Great, huh? But it's worth it. I went to a shorter version of that meeting a few months ago and it was really great. Too bad I won't have the time to recover till school starts, but I really don't mind.

Changing the subject, I just found out there's gonna be a movie of Alice in Wonderland with Johnny Depp. It sounds great. I'm already looking forward watching it.

Today I've been writing the beggining (another one) of a story. The problem is, I get bored. Like really bored to death. And I still have a single character, whom remains nameless. Great, huh? Sometimes I wonder if writing is my calling after all, and if not, what will ever be. Maybe I'm just destined to failure. Or maybe I'm just part of somebody's scenery. Sad.

Well, I'll write a small English poem to post here and to distract me from the text I started... Hope it turns out good enough.

So... Be right back.

Labels: Alice in Wonderland, Johnny Depp, p7, sadness, Writer's Block

So, finally, I'm back! Not that I wanted to be back, actually. In fact, if it was my call, I'd still be away!
It was one of those amazing weeks that go by almost without noticing because I had so much fun!! I met a bunch of new spectacular people, and I'm sure that I'll never forget most of them... I could be writing forever, and quoting everything that happened this week, but truth be told, there isn't much space for words...
I'm still in that weird mood that I get whenever I'm suddenly deprived from fun. Because it was just so great that now I can barely think about anything else. And there's this thing moving under my skin, begging me to think about everything that happened and do something (anything) to get it back, but hey, what am I supposed to do? I can't go and run to the train station and then get moving to every place my group came from... Like in our song, 'Do berço à capital', we all came from everywhere in Portugal... Even if I could, it wouldn't be the same... There wouldn't be the games, the debates, the rice-exclusive-and-extremely-yucky meals...
But the people, the people are the main thing. And that thing won't ever fade from here <3...

Labels: away, back, fun, heart, lame stuff, missing, p7

Today arrives to worldwide cinemas the sixth installment of HP series. No, I don't mean the printer, but Harry Potter, the Boy Who Survived, or as he has been called lately, the Chosen One.

I have to admit myself as a crazy former fan. I still enjoy it, but when I was in sixth grade I was totally addicted to his stories. I used to check the rumors every month, re-read all the books, and when I was done with all that I used to read tones and tones of fanfics. Back then, I didn't know much of English, so I had to read them in Brazilian Portuguese. Personally, I hate Brazilian Portuguese, and Brazilian translated a bunch of names that shouldn't have translation, such as Griffindor or Slytherin. I mean, what's the point? Create new names? If they want to, they should write themselves their own book.

Well, but I shouldn't complain. I used to read them. A lot. I remember the secret affairs between Snape and Lilly; the Hogwarts version of Big Brother; love triangules including Harry, Hermione and Draco... It was plenty of fan.

Nowadays I don't read fanfics. I really don't know why. Too much to read, perhaps? No matter what, fanfics played a major role on my love for HP books. I was first introduced to HP when the first movie came out. I loved it, and so I read all the four books already written. But there were still missing three. And while they weren't released I'd just entertain myself with more Potter adventures. Some of them were so good that were worth of being published. I wonder why all fanfics writers decided to write fanfics instead of writing books. Many fanfics are book-length.

But maybe I should go back to topic. I'm really excited about the release of the sixth movie, since this book was my favourite out of the last three books (my favourite out of the whole series was the third). Terrible enough, I'm not even sure I'm able to go to the theatre today. You see, the closest cinema here is like half an hour away and I'm still dependable on a ride.

The media is making the whole movie about teenage love and such stupidities. I hope the actual movie isn't just love scenes. I mean, Hermione/Ron parts must be funny, but they should make it more about the half-blood prince. After all, he is in the title.

Spoilers: And I can barely wait to watch Dumbledore being killed by Snape... Hey, I always liked Dumbledore, but it is one of the crucial moments of the series, and the most important of this sixth book, if you ask me.

It's been at least three years since I read the book, but I've read the beggining today and I'm already feeling the magic pulsing through my veins and arteries (cliché, but true)...

I only hope I'm gonna be able to watch it today. Because if it isn't today, I'm not going to be able to until the week after the next. Which remind me, I won't be posting anything during that time. And hey, I'm not crazy. Finally somebody knows this blog exists, alright, so I'm free to say I won't be posting here for quite a while. Somebody may visit...

Labels: fanfics, Harry Potter, Spoilers (how I love them)

So, after a few days without any news in here (hey, I have the right to, no one even knows this blog exists!) here I am, posting this.

First I'd like to say how happy I am that my Spanish exam was easy... There was no madre question, but hey, it was pretty much piece of cake. Anyone could do it. Even people who never attended Spanish classes.

Secondly, I'll go straight to the main topic of today's post. Writer's block. Yeah, that not-so-funny guy who thinks he's all that and that he should rule writer's lives in order to stop them from being happy or proud of themselves.

I don't like to think I have writer's block. 'Cause truth be told, I have the ideas. And I know I have the ability. I mean, it's just words. Just small words which I have to ordenate in order to create wonders. Other people have done it. Why wouldn't I? I don't consider myself extra-smart or talented or gifted. But writing doesn't require any of those qualities. Writing requires words. And that's it.

And concerning ideas, I have a plenty - I just don't know how to use them. I know how I wanna use them, but then I can't. I start writing and I just freak out. Because, no, that's not how I want it to sound. Or, no, I shouldn't start with this idea. It's so much easier to write endings than begginings, that's all I'm gonna say. Starting a story takes guts, and that's when great-all-mighty-published writers tell us, aspiring ones:

'Start writing, and don't worry if it sounds bad. Later, you may return and put it right.'

I have read this paraphrased sentence more times than I can count. Seriously, try to go to a webpage of a famous writer, and look up his/her advices to writers-wannabes. It's all over the place. But hey, I can't do it. I can try to move forward and just keep on writing, but then I'm so displeased with myself that I don't have the guts or the will to go on and just write.

And I never even considered myself perfect, or even a perfect-seeker.

That's why I prefer to write small thoughts, reflections, letters. I can write exactly as I wish to. But writing in a reflexive auto-corrective and beautiful manner doesn't work for stories. I wanna write fiction stories, but I can't. Because I start them and then... I never get to finish the first chapter. There were only four stories in my whole life that I could take longer than fifteen pages.

One of them sticked for the second chapter. Of the other three, two remain unfinished. One alone was finished and it has something like 32.000 words. I could only finish it because I received a lot of reviews and comments from other people while I was writing it. One of the two unfinished long stories had like 45.000 when I stopped writing it. And that's how far in a story I've ever been. I've never been able to cross that limit and write something that kept me happy for longer than 45.000 words. And that was... Five or more years ago.

I have ideas every day. I write some of my dreams, sometimes, just to have a backup if I run out of ideas. All of them are great stories, that I personally would like to read. I love reading my own stories' begginings. Just because I don't like writing the stories anymore, it doesn't mean I don't enjoy the stories themselves. I like my ideas, but I don't have the mood for writing. Like, writing this post, I'm writing it. I'm bearing it. But I'll eventually grow bored of it.

Sometimes, I'm afraid I'll stop loving writing. Because it's my thing, you know. The thing I do that I see myself doing forever or, at least, until I die or go blind. But even if I go blind I'll still have the stories stuck in my head. The words, sometimes urging to be written, and other times glued to a place I can't reach.

But when I have the urge to write, the words in my fingertips, flowing, reading themselves, yelling at me, it's the most rewarding indescribable feeling ever. And I'll never stop loving that.

So, basically, writer's block is evil. But evil is the start to every story, if it wasn't for it, there would be no story. So writer's block just has to make us miserable enough for us to find something to write about. Maybe we don't find right away how to write it. But eventually, we may come back to beat the beast. It's the only thing and only conclusion I can give you. Me, myself defeated, until now, by the same beast I claim we all should win. But hey, at least it makes me real.

In conclusion, all I can say is: go and find your beast. Step over it, progress even when it threats to smash your brain and (for the time being) sane mind. Do all you can to move on and see the wonders your idea has. And someday, when you're done with your story, go back and find the beast. And then, kill it.

Labels: beast, cliché advices, Spanish, Writer's Block

So, as you may have noticed (or not, because I seriously doubt there is anyone checking this blog - hey cool, I have a ghost-blog!!!) I decided to put a chatbox in here, as I could not fix the comments' problem. I'm not a great tech genious, so... Whatever. It serves for the same thing.

Now I'm addicted to my playlist's songs. I have them on my computer (at least most of them), but it has a different taste when played here, as background a blog which happens to be mine... I know, I have serious issues. And well, so much for last.fm, it won't be scrobbling my plays for a while, but I'll just be listening to what I usually do.

I'm having my Spanish exam on Monday, but I'm not really preocuppied. The previous Spanish exam asked names of family members. Yes, you read right, things as simple as madre, padre, hijo, hija, hermano, hermana... You got the ideia. And we're even allowed to take a DICTIONARY with us! Yeah, education's tottally flipping here in Portugal. But hey, good for me.

Besides, it's not like we're the only ones. I mean, just check what this girls said (found it right now):

Question: If you could live forever, would you and why?

Answer: 'I would not live forever, because we should not live forever, because if we were supposed to live forever, then we would live forever, but we cannot live forever, which is why I would not live forever,'

Labels: Chatbox, education, fun facts, Last.fm, playlist, Spanish

Just a small poem before bed. Ironically appropriated.
Sorry if it doesn't make any sense. It was written during difficult times. I was still studying for my Physics/Chemistry exam. Harsh. That has to leave marks on someone as fragile as me...

---
But there’s a woe in my voided mindless self-caress
As I force myself to tie myself to the rope I’m falling from
Vampires breathe for blood and I breathe for sap
Thus I am a lust hater, brain faker; old me
I see: that the clouds don’t drift (for peace) away
Jeopardize my tries, for cries; get to bed, go to die

Chemistry is evil; as for Physics I’d rather find
Death dressed in a black late-evening gown
Than to try, to fight; shall you divide in two my heart?
O’ Physics never mine! O’ knowledge long denied
Where’d you be? In a year, where’d you be, I mean,
Did the gracious never-ending love take the best of me?
But when feelings won’t be real, fades to black the night
Jeopardize my fights, for sighs; get to bed, go to die

This water won’t be purified by seven distillations;
This water won’t be blessed by Lord if deionised;
And there isn’t anything left to try: so, if you allow me
I’d rather find my way out from life! O’ life,
Why did you disappoint my eagerness? You just
Jeopardize my lies, for might; get to bed, go to die!

You, life, get to bed, go to die!...

---
So, that´s it, pretty much. I'm crazy, I know. Good thing I'm proud of it. Madness's completely healthy, and it promotes creativity. That's the theory, anyway.

Anyway. I've spent the past few hours trying to make this blog look like something. I've even found a way to put my playlist here! :) Hope y'all like it.
Still, I don't know what happened to the damn comments' button. It disappeared during the new skin process. Guess I should try to find that out tomorrow. Or whatever. I wasn't going to have comments anyway.
Still, it's always good to know that if anyone visited this new address, there was a way for me to know it.

Guess I'll just go to sleep with that question in my head. I just hope I don't have to splash it (or anything else) on the wall tonight.

Labels: Chemistry, Get to bed, irony, Physics, playlist, skin, sleep

Well, first of all I'd like to say: no, I don't think anyone will read it. But what the hell. Finally I'll get the chance to write whatever I want without caring much. And now I know where to post my poems and such which are in English. Hey, it doesn't mean I'll stop posting English stuff in my other blog (http://vampinthecloset.blogspot.com/), but this one will be exclusively for English writing.

Great, I just found out my hands smell like onion. Hell.

Besides, I'm guessing that the comments will be less than zero por a really long time (or probably EVER) but hey, at least I have something to keep me occupied. And it brushes my English, which is really good.


Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy the title. I know I do. I came up with it the day before yesterday when registering for http://www.poemhunter.com/. I just found that site that day. Lousy me, huh? It's a great site. If anyone's reading, you should totally check it out. Found it when looking for a Sylvia Plath poem. This one:

Mad Girl's Love Song


I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)


The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.


I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

---
Wonderful, I'd say. Wish one day I could write remotely like that.

Now I'm listening to WT's cover of Running up that Hill, originally by Kate Bush. Another great woman, I decided that as soon as I learned she had written a song about Wuthering Heights. You know, that book, which happens to be the best book ever in the history of mankind. And it was written by a woman. Too bad Emily died so young.


So let's pour a glass of lemonade or something just as tasty to celebrate the opening of this new silly-crazed-titled blog. And let's throw every nightmare and regret into the solid brick wall in front of you (if you don't have one, it might as well be the wallpaper of the desktop, I guess).


And now, let's get it started.

Labels: Emilie Brontë, English, Kate Bush, Mad Girl's Love Song, onion, Sylvia Plath, Within Temptation, Wuthering Heights