Write ...
.
I always said to love to write. And I still think
.
But this dream is coming more to become something concrete I fear most.
do not know whether to blame for what I wrote or just mine.
Perhaps it would be easier if I had confidence in myself when sitting.
And to say that I have struggled just to make it, and I did a lot of small steps forward.
This story begins long, long time ago, around 1995.
I was 6 years old, and I was in first grade. And for the first time I lifted my head and uttered the phrase that would become the leitmotif of my life:
"Now I make are small and basic, but grow up, will the means, then I'll go to grammar school , take a degree in words and become a writer. " There was a fold
eh?
still did not know that some dreams do not need a degree to find a reason to exist and, perhaps, to come true.
Let's jump a few years, years spent in writing on each piece of paper scripts, "poems, fables and stories.
arrive when, finished school, I attend high school part, we get to September 26, 2005.
I'm 16 years and 5 months.
are in high school social psycho educational, not classic, but I love it.
And I love Harry Potter. And 'he that helps me to raise my head as I do most years, is I feel him close to 3 ½ years. I almost had him only for a time, my only true friend, until a few years earlier, in which, thanks to him, I found some new friends, Marty and Sofy, classmates, fans like me. Great friends.
E 'September 26, 2005, I said, when the case leads me to Acciofanfiction.
I look around: an amazing site.
There are people who write Harry Potter stories, like mine, much more beautiful than I write but I like.
Perhaps I could also try me ... maybe yes, why not ...
Fear and shyness stopped me.
At the end I decided that inscribes mark in life and do it.
But I have a long history on the computer ready and then send it.
Nothing happens. Some of the law, and for me it is already a miracle. Nobody complains, nobody says that it sucks.
Ok, maybe it's not only nice to me ... maybe ...
This spurs me to write again, and I find my thing.
feel emotions, love and excited I plunge into the emotions of "my" characters. Them feel part of me, I feel their whispers, their feelings. And
transcribe the PC.
My first real story was born, and then send it to the site on October 5.
arrives the same day my first review: it is the webmistress, Chad.
E 'positive, so it's much more. Certainly it is much more to me. Like
.
love it.
That story became the beginning of a series.
"I Shall Believe," the first episode of "Feelings."
At that follows a story, then another, another.
I cry almost every new interpretation, for every positive review, messages full of praise.
Nobody reads those stories if Marty, my best friend, and users of Accio.
The compliments continue, but do not try make me happy.
With age comes Feelings between favorite series, scale and the other is in the lead.
I do not know what to say.
The comments are more personal, more related to me that only the story just read.
"You have talent."
"Never stop writing"
And someone who, pleasingly, suggests: Why not write a book?
Yeah, why not write a book?
I think about how to do a life and while I savor the joy of being there, being the VeryHermy of Accio.
A small slice of the world is reading me, and like me, and I write, and I'm happy.
Someone even tries to chat because thanks to them on the site are not enough. So I know Martina
Mariarita, which also show their two best friends, though (at least for a period) only through msn.
I continue to write and publish online.
E 'in January 2008 when the Harry Potter series is over, and I sink. Accio
I'm still writing up, not so often, but whenever I can is a joy.
Despite this, after almost a year of writing a little thing, are on top of favorite authors.
And the comments are enriched with phrases that grips my heart
"You see you're a sensitive person, put this feeling into everything you write. "
" Congratulations and write again soon, because your absence has been felt. "
And me? Yes, rest again without words, and sometimes I go back to writing.
In the meantime, something else marks my world "scrittevole.
Let's take a step back.
E 'in September 2004 when an event occurs which, like all the important ones, go unnoticed.
Marty and I put hand to the keyboard and play a bit 'with the characters we love in a kind of script-story 4 hands completely improvised.
time we read until the fourth book in the series. The fifth
late, and there's plenty of time to know the characters, which in our case are already adults.
The past is not told, with all its empty (actually, I'd say pits) is filled with new events, memories, thoughts, growth and development. Just
relatively short time because those characters become detached from their molds, from which they had come to life, to become autonomous, with a new past and a new life. Unable to recognize them, but we do not care. We continue to play with them.
's our job.
A work that grows in every single bends, sometimes intertwined with the small absurdities, exaggerations and simplicity of the typical television drama serials and game.
But the plot becomes more and more careful, elaborate. It touches on a conscientious subjects such as love, death, personal frailty, fear of failure, the self-confidence, courage, selflessness and more, all their bad luck as a word whispered in my ears , a lesson that I learn as if they were committed by my fingers across the keyboard.
A job that becomes part of me and creeps into my skin.
begin to create stories about my world.
E 'in August of 2008, Late at night, but I did not sleep.
I like writing.
I let my characters out of the drawer and propose them to create a story together.
I write a little 'that night. We know now, we love, the female protagonist in particular is one with my head.
That night some are born, innocent pages.
They say I'm an angel.
Each angel has a devil behind.
My imp is named Marty. Marty
devouring its pages as it has devoured my stories online, and anything else I've written as long as I know. At the end
looks at me with that expression that I know what that means.
"Do not is over it? "
I said, 'Well, no, I think, can not end so soon."
And she, like every time (or perhaps now with more heat?) "Oh Continual please. "
I'm curious what you and I also want to please her. Two birds with one stone.
"Okay." Grow
pages, entry points, each time, a little 'as in real life, I seem to be close to putting the point of view but the situation takes a turn her, something that must be considered, and then consider it.
Thought after thought, done after the fact, emotion after emotion, a year passes.
E 'in September 2009.
That thing has become something of a few pages.
Marty calls him the Book.
has more than 500 pages and I love him.
I feel my son but I also hear of a team.
In there I'm there, no Marty, there are those people who were born alone, then we have, then now, perhaps, become a bit 'more of mine, at least for this situation told and written.
E 'as if there was truth in there.
has not been tried, was born this way, as a gift for which I feel only partially creative. Marty and
Only a handful of other trusted people have read it. Only Marty Uncut, page after page, reflection after reflection, you still with me, help me, correct me and give me strength.
It 's always in September when I show my mother.
I wish she were there when it was not a book but only a small pile of words.
Patience.
Now I know that is my dream. Maybe I can not carry on alone, but it is mine, and he needs me, I have need to walk tall, to believe in him and carry it forward. The
a lot, probably too much, humility forces me to read it again and again, not only correcting and smoothing like any good sense requires, but also creating a ballet of thoughts that say everything and its opposite.
This part is very beautiful, I love it. Maybe it's a bit 'heavy. Perhaps it is granted. Maybe it's not as nice as it seemed. I do not like. Oh yes I like it, much.
I trust him but not myself, and having written myself this makes me doubt.
I know that Marty is in there with me, I know she loves me.
But I know that is not forgiving. E 'sincere, anyway.
The Book (she continues to call it that) is nice. Very nice. When I die
two copies for personal use in printing, one is for you. He does
out that night, 547 pages from cover to cover and if the free ride with her one night, despite having already read step by step with me in time.
And I still do not know what to say.
I say thanks, but I know who wrote that book.
I know that maybe I can trust.
Without overdoing it, just a little '. The idea of Accio
did not convince me, after all, remember?
Today has been almost a year, a year of other (many) commitments, it is true.
But even a year with my book.
a book that is yet been corrected, revised.
A book for which I started looking for a house, indeed, a publishing house to help me bring it to light.
I'm afraid.
I know this is a start, but the plot is just a story in the history of care for many years when I did not know that the Book would be born.
I know that the real beginning has another story that I have not really written.
But I write, I hope to do it soon.
I love my story.
Maybe also because I love the feel of having invented it, I feel that it is built around me step by step, I feel what made me grow up and what made me a bit 'different and feel free to myself. Thanks, much to those who stood by me.
I wish my book had a hope.
Now it seems that the merits.
Maybe in a minute do not think more, and in another minute back, yes.
There are not many things I can do, but at least I believe in and focus on those with all of myself, especially if it's just me but many other people to tell me, who have seen a wide variety of topics written by me ( those subjects, who rhymes, those stories, who the "Work", who the "Book") in various contexts.
So feel the love. So
absorb emotions, real lives and savor them under my skin, making them come to the fingers to press the keys like a piano and turn them into words. So
to question.
I can be sensitive to my thoughts and feelings of those who love you, and my characters.
I can write.
Yes, I think I can do it.
So why not do it.
My dream, my feelings are mine, not a publishing house to beat me.
I am proud of what I feel, I live and savor.
I am proud of how I write, not because I do it in a lofty but because it makes me feel a happiness difficult to match anything else with very few exceptions.
But the publication would be a confirmation in more.
I'm too used to being told things by others before I believe it myself.
This time my people ask me a little more courage: I have to believe in what I wrote even if no other, or almost does. Although almost no one else or told me that's worth believing.
That "almost" once again named Marty, and has many other names of many small children, older people who were near me in life even before writing.
Yet I hear all this difference: the writing is part of me, I'm writing, writing releases for myself.
improve and enhance my writing and my way of being are as one, two twisted, separated in the essence but in fact inextricably united. It 's always been like that.
For this reason I feel a connection so intense between what I do and what they are.
I could not write things, "Belle" if I were not a "good" person.
"For you, writing is a breath."
Yes, Marty, you're right.
I want to breathe.
I want the Book breaths.
And though scary, you have to try.
In beginning to write this long post, I felt hopeless.
work to do to post is so long and difficult, and it tells one that still has not sent out the manuscript. The selection is tough, it's hard not to be fooled, not surrender even when you do not have it is. Without stopping, among other things, to believe it.
Well, who said that it would be easy?
It 's my dream, I want to live.
Our dream.
are at the beginning and the road is uphill.
But I'm experiencing.
I feel as if my life had led me here, along a path that is a perfect line.
This is me, this is the person that I like to be, even with my faults, now I love being me.
The road is steep, but I expect, this is what I always wanted and I'm not alone.
So ...
walk ...
PS
In almost five years, has accepted 61 Accio my stories never refuse any of them.
In my period of inactivity, two stories were chosen as "Featured" archive.
After almost five years, and a year passed since the last published story, are the second favorite among the authors of the site, dropped a place after a few months past the first.
"Feelings", 5 years after his birth and 4 years in first place among the favorite series, yet now boasts a proud third place.
At the end of last month, Mariarita was a guest at my house, and I at his home in May.
Friendship chatting with her and Martina lasts continuously for more than three years.
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