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
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)
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