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17
Jan16

an introduction

by M

I've been blogging for long enough (six years today, to be precise) to know that introductions are always awkward. In an attempt to avoid that, I'll try to be straightforward.

 

Over a year ago, somewhere in 2014, shortly after finishing my first and biggest fiction work, words simply started to vanish within me. What used to be an urgent need, a therapy, something that boiled inside of me and eventually burst in the form of text, was gone. It was like I exhausted my stock of words and things to write about in those 17 chapters I'd been writing for six months prior. While I was - and still am - thristy for more, craving the thrill of it and the joy of creativity outbursts, it felt - and still feels - like I can't do it anymore. Like the ability has been removed.

 

This blog is yet another part of the (as it seems) never-ending process of getting back together with words, flirting cautiously and trying not to rush anything (in case it exhausts again). I'm trying to get rid of all the things that are holding me back, one of them being my previous blog, which I kept since the age of 11 and didn't feel comfortable anymore. The other being my beloved mother-tongue, Portuguese, which just seems way to heavy and overcomplicated now that I've caught myself in this endless love affair with English. I also had my dad bought a new desk and chair in hopes that a fresh workplace will do the trick.

 

As to this blog itself - I'm still unsure, pretty much like everything in my life. I know I want it to be my creative outlet, and a place I can truly see and be myself in. That said, I'm also pretty unsure as to what "myself" consists of, so expect the content to be all over the place. I just hope this grows to be my online home, who knows, for the next six years.

 

I don't know what brought you here but I hope you enjoy it. Please bear with me as I enroll in this crazy journey of finding my truer self and in the way, hopefully, some words for you to read about it.

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3 comments

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J 31.03.2016

"Over a year ago, somewhere in 2014, shortly after finishing my first and biggest fiction work, words simply started to vanish within me. What used to be an urgent need, a therapy, something that boiled inside of me and eventually burst in the form of text, was gone. It was like I exhausted my stock of words and things to write about in those 17 chapters I'd been writing for six months prior. While I was - and still am - thristy for more, craving the thrill of it and the joy of creativity outbursts, it felt - and still feels - like I can't do it anymore. Like the ability has been removed."

Oh, this feels oddly familiar. In my case, not with fiction, but poetry, of the self-serving kind where you're pretty much just writing about yourself in a million different ways and sincerely hoping that all of the pretty words and analogies are enough to keep people from figuring you out. Eventually, I figured that before I could write more, I would have to live more. More experiences, more discoveries, more feelings. To watch other people live more, too. You seem to also have an idea of what might work for you, as the writing in your latest blog post ("wanderlust") suggests. The words (yours and mine) will find their way back; we don't need to rush them in.

An extra note: Portuguese is not heavy and overcomplicated in the right hands. It's a language that offers so many possibilities... Don't underestimate it.
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M 02.04.2016

I guess I can relate to that too: having to live more before I could write anything else. And yes, it's true that I understand what works for me... the point is that Portuguese wasn't working anymore. I'd never underestimate me, it just didn't "flow" in me anymore.

Does this even make sense ahah
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M 02.04.2016

*underestimate it

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