wonder I do not know that many of my time traveling the path of salmon in the world comparison. But all of that, I must add the fact of having the beautiful passion for writing.
I am one who believes that, although addressed, writing must be born from within, not induced (at least the few times I've tried, the results have been disastrous, frustrating and a lot of expense of paper) .
I have a timed write to me at any time and in the most unusual. A clear example is the latter days, in which I have dreams of the most imaginative, full of details, characters, stories and outcomes.
I am 200% creative stage, and I remember all to wake up.
People can not imagine how his words slip through my ears (even when just passing by her on the street) , and rooting, finding fertile soil in my synapses, forming a thousand and one vine that will not stop or but the sun the leaves.
And maddest of this is that I accept untimely. I know. We are old friends.
This period dangerous and imaginative products is the announcement that a new history is about to begin ... even when I'm busy with the things of the Institute.
all there, waiting to three laps on my bed to sleep and dream, to rearrange my subconscious while servile (im) patient all those blocks that make up my (thank goodness) imagination.
smile and know that little by little everything is prosecuting, that all fits, everything falls into its rightful place, and once the materials are ready, begin construction of the threshold at which lay a door that closes a cycle in my life.
My internal hourglass is anxious, I am.
The wrong time of the writer, is the breastplate that protects my heart, my sword and pen.
Now if, in bed ... but to sleep, my mate servile and eager to travel requires my dream, and begins to roll up their sleeves to begin work.
Á Angeles
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