Blender Parts Black And Decker Ottawa Canada

[Review] This beautiful melody

stories with happy endings are not like those we have been told. But should I know? Is it necessary to look at society so rude? We know it is, we know because we recognize in every line of that beautiful melody , Pedro Escudero, because this book we are not talking about our fears and our worries, we're only showing starkly reflects the more unpleasant society in which we live.

The nanorelato makes me feel uncomfortable, reduced the floor to a minimum, the message hits you, you shudder. Turn the pages, but in the following I do not feel at ease. It's too hard for me. I see a longer text, a page, I feel more at ease, the words wrap around me, the prose looks rather than the Nano, the message apparently is more diluted, but it reaches the end and shivers anyway.

I do not like black humor, I can not laugh when something is cruel, not like the terror when it hurts. I put a blindfold on and not see, dreaming that happy endings do exist, even lie. With that beautiful melody I can not.

H. Pylori Stomach Flu

As was done: "Mushrooms "

Sometimes you wonder where things go, how come the ideas, the truth is that it occurs equally in all accounts, but this may count as an example. The process of creating Mushrooms, the story I wrote for the Challenge X, was quite long and complicated, here you can see the lap that gave him a story that really is quite simple.

When I saw the X Challenge rules did not seem very complicated, just had to include in the story's themes of lust, gluttony and sloth, appeared much easier than the challenge of multiple end-IX. We had three months to write the story, it seemed long enough, but in the end things are not so simple.

I found it very difficult to get the three themes in the story, every idea I ever had was one that escaped me and there was no way into or, if he succeeded, he looked very forced. At first I thought to relate lust with greed, it seemed easier, but when trying to put the lazy in history and nothing adds up. I wanted to write something fancy, and I tried, I raised several stories that I have developed but I mention it in one of them was the germ of what became the Fifth. It would be a story of a group of thieves who came to steal in a palace where a banquet was being developed and greed would be personified by a quiet and innocent young teenager that he realized what was happening around him.

All stories raised within the fantasy always clashed against laziness. The characters were determined, did things they served, not jibe me lazy to put a character into any of the stories I could think of. I turned over two months, starting with stories that were in the middle, I thought about retiring Challenge and do not participate and then one day, I decided to make one last attempt before giving up. I put aside all attempts he had made and decided to turn around and start from scratch.

The problem with that clashed time and again was laziness, so I decided from there, the protagonist had to be lazy and laziness would prevent him from doing anything. It occurred to me a very boring story, I came to write about a girl lying on the lounge watching TV, I thought about going to a party where he lived greedy and lustful moments but I could not get off the couch. This story had stuck the three themes and more or less forced there were none but it was so boring! No I got to throw it away, I left it aside if I could not think otherwise. It was a good story but at least it was something, could participate.

I got the idea from time. Do not get to do something out of laziness. Scarlet O'Hara remembered sitting on the stairs, saying that "I would think about tomorrow." And I knew the ending I wanted to give the history and the phrase that wanted to close the account.

was the end, an end that I liked, so I went back to start again, with that final in mind and the issue of laziness. Now I had to find a development that would lead to that end, development that would allow me to put the greed and lust and it was interesting enough. I remembered a micro Manchi I had read about a woman who murders her husband Last night I dreamed I killed you , that seemed a good subject, and instead of slit her throat with a knife, was poisoned so he could get greed without any problem.

had the plot, a woman who wants to poison her husband but that fails to do so lazy. I liked the idea and he was spinning, I thought more people would try connecting it with the sweet gluttony, so we wanted to avoid that, I thought of meals y. .. remembered Agrippina poisoned Claudius with mushrooms. That's when the story took shape in my head, the Roman setting was perfect for what I wanted to tell, and I also knew that the story had to start with that word: Mushrooms.

At first I considered making a historical account with the same Claudius and Agrippina, but did not dare, just a few weeks remaining to the deadline, I had time to properly documented and, fearing to put Patones fat, I decided to invent a Roman family. I remembered the young man that first story that I started and it transformed into a Roman tribune, I called Fifth and Quintus Curtius, a writer I do not like anything and Marcio by the god Mars.

Sabina was the first name that popped into my head when I started writing about it. Sometimes I put temporary name while writing to avoid wasting time with that and then change, but Sabina loved me, he could not imagine her with another name so he stayed with the improvised. Sabina decided to come to Greece to give an oriental touch to make exotic no longer be Roman and that his attitude was seen by those around him as an alien feature.

meter was missing from lust, from the beginning had wanted to relate the lust for greed, but the scenario that had been raised, I do not block too. Sabina had to be distant, cold and that did not fit with someone who is passionate, lust could focus on Fifth, but would then just one character trait, not an important part of the story. Then I remembered an episode of Criminal Minds in which a psychopathic sexual pleasure obtained by not committing crimes, but seeing how others committed. Can I get sexual pleasure to see someone eat? Could be considered a kind of fetish, I suppose, but really do not know if something exists in reality. I also recalled an episode of Star Trek , where a race considered alien food and sex in the same way as a taboo that should be practiced in private. Why not relate if they were the same thing? And perfectly matched the character of Sabina and the idea that I had done it.

had

and themes, characters, and the hardest part for me was the end.

I decided to create a structure based on three points of view and Marcia was born there. Quinto did not suspect anything was happening around him, because it was the most noticeable feature of the character and the innocence intended the reader to sympathize with him and did not wish his death. Sabina could not say anything clearly, because if you lose too close to the reader that air Lango, and had managed to give away, needed a third person to help me move the reader's suspicions that the mark to distract and surprise that the final result . Maybe I was wrong to bring this third character was what I criticized in the comments of the Challenge, I think the story would not have worked well if they have been removed, the need, but to get three points of view in a very short story can problematic because there is insufficient space for all three are well developed and the changes can be very rough for the reader, puede sentirse confuso; de todas formas a posteriori he pensado en ello y no he encontrado otra forma mejor para expresar lo que quería.

Otro personaje que me criticaron mucho fue la inclusión de Emilio. Emilio era simplemente una escusa para que Sabina tuviera un motivo para matar a Quinto, el motivo tenía que estar centrado en la lujuria porque no quería que el tema tuviera menos importancia que los otros dos, si la lujuria no hubiera sido uno de los temas, es posible que hubiera buscado otro motivo distinto, pero quería que fuera parte importante de la trama. Debí haber desarrollado mejor esa parte de la trama, quizás mencionar a Emilio desde el principio, que no apareciera de pronto cerca ya del end of story.

The story is very simple, I do not have anything important, then I focused on the characters, the story is built around them, taking Sabina central axis, while the rest revolves around it. Also took care setting everything I could, the reader had to believe you're strolling through a Roman villa, I think that yes I did. Another point I scored a lot is that everything had to be very obvious, the reader had to know from the beginning that was the story of a crime, because it was the way to the final was surprised to see that this crime did not happen.

The ending was the part that rewrote, sometimes seemed too abrupt, sometimes too long. I think there is a very sharp change in viewpoint here, but even though I tried not got soften. The final sentence, as I said before, is a tribute to Gone With the Wind.

My Newborn Has Throat Mucus

[Story] Mushrooms

To Challenge X, we had to write a story in which they were present lust, sloth and gluttony. This was the result:

MUSHROOMS

Mushrooms.

Quinto Marcio The Tribune looked at the plate that the slave stood before him and then looked up at his wife lying on the couch at the other end of the table, which gave him a suggestive smile as he raised his glass of wine.

Mushrooms.

Fifth

was satisfied, the banquet had been as abundant as usual and will seemed that, much as he wished, and could not eat any more, even had thought to do without the candy that night, but that dish of mushrooms seemed to give his name in a soft whisper, begging him to eat it. The mushrooms were tender and juicy, garnished with herbs that filled his nostrils, had that silky smooth texture that I could not resist touching. He looked at his wife again and tried a sip of wine. Sabina seemed especially beautiful that night, inviting even, I kept looking at him with an intensity that Quintus long time no see. "I like to watch you eat," she had said once, that was really easy please her. The slave had been removed leaving the dish before him, would call it ugly again for you to retire.

Mushrooms.

were delicious.

* * *

Behind them was called "the Greek", but Sabina was as Roman as the Pantheon. The family lineage dating back to the first King Tarquinius and by all accounts, Quinto Marcio had a great marriage to marry the daughter of Gnaeus Sabino, Consul of Greece. Sabine had spent time in Rome, being very young, but had not returned to the city until he did so as the wife of the tribune Quinto Marcio.

thought his sister Marcia was one of those beautiful statues brought from Greece: quiet, calm, languid movements and haughty look. Interacted little with the other midwives with whom were friends and had left the whole weight of the house on the shoulders of Marcia. Sabina preferred to spend hours lying in the garden, watching plants believed, as if the best society of Rome were not enough for her.

Sometimes Marcia wondered what had brought her to marry his brother. Fifth was far from ideal man: coarse, and in years gone and gray, with little wit and clumsy ways. Marcia saw no signs of interest to him in his sister, went to him with a warm Fifth apathy seemed not to notice. There was only one moment that Sabina's eyes lit up when he looked at her husband at banquets.

Sabina just ate, entertained carelessly biting one of the dishes as she watched Fifth straight through the table. Sabina smiled. Marcia seemed obscene, saw his brother swallowing a dish after another while his wife did not take her eyes off him, smiling, even shiver, and at the end of the banquet, Sabina was dropped on the couch as if exhausted .

* * *

Sabina's body was perfect. Fifth could spend hours gazing before deciding to play it, she never said anything, trembling with excitement when she finally felt his hands husband traveled. Did not protest when he felt the weight of Fifth on it, but sometimes breathed a sigh. He did not move, he would remain silent, staring at the ceiling until he finished, even some of it away, as if they would like more contact with her husband's essential.

"I like to watch you eat," Quinto said she and covered his body with honey, candied cherries put on your nipples and bits of fruit around your navel. There seemed to please much, Sabina was distracted, staring at the ceiling while her husband ate, sighing with resignation when rose above it and, sometimes, when Quinto was panting with more intensity, looking at him with curiosity. Fifth wondered why he could not take the bed looks tempting to see in the table, those looks that excited him more than the coldness that was languishing in bed.

* * *

"I've since married the only man who runs around the house chasing the slaves.

Fifth running image was ridiculous, with his thin little legs that seemed at times not be able to hold the weight of your belly. Marcia looked at her sister, instead of with satisfaction and pride he felt that there was a complaint in his words might just be imagining it, because he did not like Sabina. Who knew what might be really thinking? Just talk, just show compliance with anything, let himself be led by Marcia in all matters concerning the house, never said no to a desire to fifth but what was she really? Marcia was sometimes tempted to ask. Sabina did not expect to tell the truth, did not trust her, but hoped to get something from the bottom of their lies, it would be better than that awkward silence.

- Are you all right, Sabina? had asked his sister had become suddenly more serious, a fine line in his mask of marble. Sabina looked at Marcia and shrugged.

"I'm tired," he said.

* * *

Fifth went to his room every night. At first you stand still, with the bed, watching her. That did not matter, made her feel beautiful and desired. She did not look as he undressed, a midwife must always show modest, blushing Sabina was adequate but could not get it even if you pinch his cheeks, had to resort to artificial color.

soon realized it did not matter too much, Fifth barely paid attention to detail, never noticed the small changes in their appearance. Sabina had ceased to apply color to your cheeks after the first week of marriage.

After

touched looking at her, Sabina felt his thick fingers following the curve of her neck, squeezing her nipples, sliding up her thighs, poking among them. In that time he turned his head and looked. Quinto looked at her with adoration, but did not seem to see it actually, he looked as though Sabina was a leg of lamb, ready to be devoured, even a trickle of saliva escaped from the corner of his lips. And then rose above it. Weighed. Came in and pushed and pushed again and again, seemed unable to finish, panting over her, drooling and pushing, until finally his whole body tensed and dropped. The first night he fell just above her, Sabina issued a plea to feel the huge body of her husband crushing, but even though I tried I could not move, until he noticed and pulled away from her. The rest of the night had tried to be dropped Fifth beside him, sweating profusely. Sabina tried to curl the end of the bed, reluctant to touch even if obliquely sticky body of her husband.

There was, however, good times. Fifth was a man who was really accommodating your every whim. He was rich and had a comfortable life. The slaves of washed, combed, dressed her and took her to the garden where she liked to sit in the shade on hot days summer, and were also lavish banquets I attended.

Sabina saw go in front of her dishes barely touched, never hungry. Fifth change was always hungry, the food disappeared into his mouth at an incredible speed, his hands were full of fat, we foresee his tongue, moist and pink, his saliva. At first he was staring, fascinated, then began to feel a tingling sensation that was going through her body, mounting him between the legs, Sabina could not stop looking at her husband as the pleasure was rising in intensity. Distance. There was always a table between them. His sister, Marcia, watched with disapproval, as if pretending in public admiration for her husband who did not show in private. That was not, Marcia could not understand.

Sabina did not know why her sister hated her. Never did anything to antagonize her, never really did anything if I could help. Sometimes think of helping at home, but he did not want and Marcia managed well alone. Sometimes thought to accompany her visits, but the tired out, was much more pleasant to sit in the garden.

There

discovered the mushrooms in the garden one morning. I knew they were poisonous, his mother had taught him to distinguish, her mother would be very heavy, kept repeating things over and over again until it stuck in his head and scolded her for always being distracted. Sabina now suddenly remembered things I did not know he knew, but never mentioned. This time did not say anything about the mushrooms, however there was no danger if no one picked up. Poisonous mushrooms were the most beautiful, which had a tasty appearance. Sabina recalled that the Fifth loved mushrooms.

* * *

was there, lying in the garden like a marble statue. Motionless. Marcia sometimes wondered if Sabina breathed, until an effort that would be too big for her as reach out and say hello. Sabina pretended he had not seen it, if it came close to it maybe a smile. Marcia did not want to come, this morning I had many things to do, the consul Marcus Aemilius came that afternoon and spend a week stay at his house. There were too many things to prepare.

Emilio

was an old friend of his father, who had spent years stationed in Gaul. Marcia had long not seen, found it so old and so thick that, at his side, his brother looked thin. Marcia could not help looking at Sabina, the eyes of his sister, curious, not deviating from the guest, who seemed delighted with the samples of interest.

That night, at a banquet held in honor of Emilio, the eyes of Sabina were only for his guest. Marcia realized that his sister's eyes sparkled more than usual, his face usually motionless, seemed transformed and full of color, her lips parted, her skin flushed showed. It even seemed that Sabina was suppressed, every morsel that Emilio is in his mouth, shrugged Sabina came to bite her lips as if to stifle a groan.

the end of the banquet Sabina was exhausted, sweaty, had been dropped on the couch trying to calm his breathing and kept looking to Emilio. Marcia went to her side and glared, but it seemed that his brother had not noticed anything.

Marcia could not wait that Emilio week end and leave again due to Gaul, only quiet breath away when she saw her coach, contrasted with the sadness of Sabine, her sister did not bother to hide it, but said nothing. Marcia watched, and after one day, the sadness began to subside and the face of Sabina returned to his usual stoicism.

None of those days Emilio asked, but I sensed it was Marcia who occupied his thoughts. He sat for hours, dreamy eyed, it really was not very different from what we did before, but thought he had changed Marcia, who sighed over. One day Sabina said something that surprised her:

"We could serve mushrooms tonight.

had never been concerned about the menu, and your suggestion made to her sister Marcia looked frowning, but Sabine said nothing and saw no reason to refuse his whim. I did not want to hear the cries of Fifth to deny a simple desire for his wife. Marcia gave precise orders to please her, but felt there was something odd about the suggestion and was nervous all night.

Sabina had insisted on serving the mushrooms at the end of the meal, after the hearty meal of mushroom dishes were rejected by most people. Sabina plate stood before her, not touching, the eye of his sister was pinned to his brother, who seemed to have no problem giving a good account of the mushrooms. Sabina seemed to smile as the Fifth jaws began to chew.

"They're delicious," said his brother, while he was eating until your plate empty.

* * *

Sabina had watched Marcia instructed slaves to last minute changes for dinner. She had chosen not to rise from his comfortable chair in the garden. The mushrooms were on their feet, so tempting. It would be difficult to bend down and pick them up one by one, without noticing Marcia. He knew how to do it, I knew how to go through the kitchen and leave them on hand for the cook, no one would notice. The poison was the largest and always served the best snacks Fifth, other guests will not be compromised and, if you ran ... well, sometimes in great battles die innocent. Would so easy, just had to bend down and pick mushrooms, would be free to pursue their dreams, to run into Gaul and reconnect with the consul Emilio.

Was not that what you wanted? How I dreamed since I was gone?

Yes, I wanted very much. Sabina joined. Just had to get up, squat, snatch the land the mushrooms, then flatten the ground so as not to notice ...

sighed.

Sabina sank back in his chair, there was no hurry. And would tomorrow.

And in a few days, "as did"

Boat Licence Ontario Age

Monsters, juries and insecurities

The previous post talked about an old story, this will rather speak of a very recent. "Homecoming" was born a few months ago, in a writing exercise automatically in the Multiverse. If the story of the previous post is my past, this is my present, if one was to thank some friends here I have to give it to others: a Bry and Knight, who inspired him, and nothing else read Manchi me said: "Send it to Monsters of Reason."

I think it looks great this story, I was happy with it, something I can not say everything I write and finally we did Manchi case and presented it to the monsters, thinking that would have a chance.

When you send a story to a contest two things can happen, a lot of gigs you a story and send it thinking that you have a chance, or send anything you have out there knowing that it will not add up but overall, if you send school. I usually happens when I think I have a chance do not get anything and when I think I sent a churro, it appears that these stories end up liking. Anyway, it does not matter in most contests send the story and forget until the day of the results, sometimes you're lucky, sometimes not.

The Monsters of Reason do not forget at any time.

In a contest in which the accounts are on public display and you can leave comments measuring the potential you can have yours, if the comments are positive you dare, if negative see that the story has not reached the people, but there is also a third option, that you have no comment. That's the most frustrating, because I do not know if people would look so bad on account of thing you discuss it or if it's indifference, which is also bad.

And then, much like your story, you start to spin, and see fewer and fewer possibilities. Reread and wonder what's going wrong, what is wrong, each passing day think it was a mistake to introduce, and give him round and round until you get discouraged completely. The competition organizers also had me on my nerves. Asked to vote when I hung up the stories, it was September, had plenty of time to read and comment, but a month had not yet been assigned a group to vote, reminded the forum a couple of times he had no group, there were other participants in my situation. Every time I had less time, saw that the deadline was put on top. Overwhelmed and discouraged at the same time, bad combination. A one week later they sent me the group finally had to vote, was one of the weeks was more overwhelmed with a lot of work and other projects with a deadline on it. I considered would be withdrawn and no vote. why? told me. I have no possibilities nor I have time. So Manchi again: "You vote to see if you have voted even if you comment and you're out" (not literally, my memory is not enough for both).

Again, I I ignored it. The last day, in extremis, without which I had time to comment, I read six stories pull and voted.

And the next day I see the list of results y. .. I'm not in it. Well, it was what I expected. I noticed that the first jury award finalist and the groups was the same story, but did not give much importance, then I saw that story had been removed twice from the list of public and had gone to the sixth shortlist crowd favorite story: mine. OO

That was the moment of rush, was the sixth in the list despite having no comment on the story. I was not expecting, I thought my story would be buried in the depths of the standings. It's something I see in myself and other fellow writers. We never thought we have been at hand, we have been among the last discarded, we always think that our story has not liked anything that was neither considered even that has been forgotten and alone in last place in the standings. Sometimes I wonder why we are so negative, why do not we trust a little more of ourselves. Everything influences when evaluating a story, not only that the story is good, we must also consider how the stories are tall are you, if that makes stories like yours does not stand out, or perhaps there are other stories that would better suit the contest or the likes of the jury happened to me when I voted there were two stories he had read before and, as I knew, I was called less attention to reading new stories. Everything influences.

In the end I was well on the Monsters of Reason, after having cast rebound in the list of finalists reached the final votes and there climbed to fourth in the voting public and I snuck in the vote tercerdo jury, much better result than I expected. What was the difference? Compete with other stories, different people voting who liked my story more than they voted for the first time. And yet, everything has been lucky, because if instead of removing the repeated story of the public vote would have removed from the jury's vote would have been another story which would have gone to the list of finalists and would never have known I had been there at the gates, and be depressed because one of my favorite stories of the past I have written that had come to like anyone.

And I say that from now on I will be positive and always think they can not succeed for a short ... but deep down I know that next time again to eat the head as now, the uncertainty is something that, however much they do not want, part of me. And many of you.

Small Aed Defibrillator Expedition Fred Easyport

Pumpkin old friends

I have been selected for the anthology Pumpkins in the trastrero: Death . Should be jumping for joy, happy, happy, not just that I have chosen not to be shared anthology with many writers I know, some people I have great affection, to admire others, but I feel a little sad, nostalgic, because the story with which I go is very special.

I wrote five years ago, when I had little time browsing the forums and could not imagine that one day see my name printed on paper. Visit forums at the time fantasy and role-playing, one of them came a discussion of whether a cleric of a god of the disease could be sons, William said no, I yes and I got the idea to do a story with that topic.

was something special at that time, when the ideas came from conversations, or taking the name of a city of the campaign was planning one of my friends. Not always wrote, but when he did was back in Klangor pushing me, encouraging me and challenging me, forcing me to always go one step further. Sometimes I said I should post and I laughed, not taking him seriously, and told him to show when he was editor. Klangor was my first reader, who first told me that my stories were good, the first attempt to convince that they were, when I did not trust myself.

I still do not trust at all, and often assaulted me doubts and insecurities. Never talk about those people behind you, supporting you, who you read, those who are interested in what you're doing, they ask you, encourage you when you're downturn. I wonder what writers have influenced you and sometimes that will affect those people are, because they are those who do not to throw in the towel and leave it all, do you feel that you do it for something. And now I've lost contact with most of the people I spoke then, and do not know, maybe it's silly, but when I read the result I could only think about writing a Klangor to tell who had made it into an anthology with a story which I wrote at the time, when every time I spoke with him via IM me saying write, write, write.

A William I still see it, you pass through here and I will read this and send me a hug. Klangor not read, real life and just absorb what happens in the virtual world, but I hope you get the mail that I sent.

So forgive me but I want to put bows devote this story, because I have it clear that without I would not be back writing this entry today, perhaps this story would never have written. At the time I put a small tribute in the name of the city I mentioned is a city in which he was mounting a campaign, a name I had to change to send to this call. It was the hardest thing when I checked the story, it was to remove the wink that made him the tribute. And it really deserves it.

So this story is dedicated to all those who read me five years ago: a Leydhen, Ciaran, Ariana, to Alhana, Astaroth, in Basalt, William ... all those who dreamed of dragons.

And especially to Klangor, which was the one who endured all my lows and whenever I was getting excited.

I leave the note with the selection

The team coach Library Fosca, after evaluating reports of 158 entries received for the call, decided to be included in the anthology in the Storage Pumpkins: Death following thirteen stories:

Caballito (Dario Vilas Couselo)

Demeter (by Juan Ángel Laguna Edroso)

plague the game (by Elena Montagud)

Narbog The wine (by Carmen del Pino [Raelana])

José Hernampérez - Days of fever (for Santiago Eximeno)

The rotten apple (by Manuel Osuna White)

The protection of trees ( Charly Gang)

FEVER SA (by Ignacio Cid Hermoso)

Ring-a-ring-a-roses (by Silvia González García)

Schnabel (by Jesus Cañadas)

His will, His glory (by Ricardo Montesinos)

subjective time (by Manuel Mije)

all started with that damn machine (by Silvia Barbeito)

Low Glacemic Breakfast Menue

C zine 5

After a shitload of effort and courage, just edit the Czine 5. Hope you can roll over the web. See who invited the beers!

goes, it's free, also does not hurt to read. Israel

What Cause Legs To Burn And Hurt

Nanowrimo

For those who do not know, NaNoWriMo is a challenge that is to write 50,000 words in a month. The idea is to have at the end of the month completed a novel which will have to polish and fix, but the first draft ready. You have to force you to follow, not to stand to arrange details, it rewrites the novel once it is complete.

This was the first time I have pointed out, though I did a similar exercise in May, when he did not know existed Nanowrimo, this novel was very clear in my head, I had my list of characters and a basic structure how they would go chapters. Wrote an average of 2000 words a day and because I had time for more, was a story that had to count and the result is to leave perfect, but at least it was usable.

Nanowrimo When I spoke of the challenge had begun, I took a week late and I considered doing what she could but did not get 50,000 words. I thought I could, because I had done before, and I did not stop to think too much (I never stop to think too much, ains).

Things were different, not only because I started late also this November have been very less free time, he came home very tired and had trouble concentrating, overwhelmed me. I admit that some days I put a message to see what was leaving, by inertia, without having very clear where he was going, and so has left the mess it has left.

had a basic idea, but the plot and characters were not well defined and that the problems started. The structure is in chaos, the novel lacks coherence everywhere. At first I thought, "Well, I'll fix it later", but finally I saw that it was going to be very difficult to fix because of consistent failures accumulate and accumulate until the end the plot is on very different paths those who had expected.

With the characters I've also had problems, some I lost half a story and yes, I knew that was left aside, but he saw that I did not square with what he was writing, I lost a Chapter three and not know what became of him is in the limbo of the forgotten. Another character I had planned to take more importance has become quite blurred and a secondary character who was to have taken center stage, a figure above that I do not like and I've finished slicing the head.

I have also had problems with gender, trying to make a romantic adventure novel, but right in the beginning that began to drift into fantasy. He wore half and had not gotten even a romantic scene, the action was terrible, do not go dragons (of course! Should have got a dragon!). In short, everything is extremely predictable and boring and completely integrated into any of the three genres.

the end I got the 30,141 words, which I will not be able to use much. Last week in particular was quite depressing, I thought I was wasting my time and it was better to leave and not go, not worth it. In the end I I encouraged her to write the ending, mostly to see how far, not to leave halfway though the novel is not going to serve me for nothing. Discouraged rather write something that you are liking.

is not all bad, taken it as an exercise you used to create you a rhythm of work, to force you to not leave things for tomorrow or distracted with other projects, the dispersion is the great enemy when I write long stories, but for who had actually served something would have taken a month earlier work, structure, plan and take the ropes tied tightly, not start writing like crazy without having a clear direction you go.


---------------- Picture Enrique Climent