quarta-feira, 21 de novembro de 2007
segunda-feira, 12 de novembro de 2007
Get creative. #2
Creative Writing Task #3
Keywords:
* Title "A Lost Memory"
~or~
* "What do you think it happened before the painting...?"
~or~
* End with "And as I turned back I realised he had gone."
* End with "And as I turned back I realised he had gone."
~or~
* End with "As I left the room it dropped to the floor."
* End with "As I left the room it dropped to the floor."
Mafalda
A Lost Memory
Once upon a time, there was a precious little girl called Rose, the most beautiful little girl all over the Kingdom. Rose, for she was as beautiful and frail as one. Precious little Rose always played by herself and never left her Castle. Until one day, when our beloved little Princess had only turned 6 years old - she slowly started to wither, she became ill. He would come to visit her every night. Whisper in her ear. She fascinated him with such pureness and so he started to pluck her dreams, her petals, one by one. And as weeks passed by, our little rose would only appear to grow worse, paler, weaker. She didn’t know, she could never tell. He would only take away one dream at a time, leaving her sleep as colourless as her complexion… Until there were no petals left - he had plucked the purest flower in the Gardens of Eden. They had her painted that day. Always had waited she would feel better, blush a bit. Not anymore. And in her room would forever lie the painting, closed as she had always been, to lay her memory to rest. After that day, the name Rose was never to be spoken again in all Kingdom come. And the white rose with lips red as cherries would become but a lost memory.
Joana C.
A Rainy Day
Once my brother had said to me: “ (…) I save some money under my mattress, you know, for a rainy day (…)”. It was the “rainy day” part that really rang my bells I couldn’t understand why, “what is a rainy day after all?” I kept it in my mind for a while but I forgot it quickly. What I didn’t know was that I would find it out sooner that I could expect.
Our love was really strong, there was no doubt about it. It could have been my childhood fairy-tale dream and it seemed to be perfect, as it always seems and we were young, we were living a true cinematographic romance, an ardent love that had given us wings to fly and we flew with our hands together, we grew together.
As time went by we were still nourishing the need of being sure that that deep unconditional love was not diminishing, we questioned each other and ourselves about it every single day and it was; our strong passionate feeling was always there, we were blindly sure.
However something had been concerning me since the very beginning of this journey together, I had this idea, this sense of foreboding that something violent or tragic could cut our precious wings at any moment. “No way, he always said. There is nothing in this world that could end our crushing love, we will stay together, no matter what, he promised”. I was not so sure and that was something that had always terrified me, nothing should question the preciousness of our sacred love.
We were in the summer of 1943, and our life couldn’t be better. It was perfect, we were living in our beautiful peaceful cottage, with our loyal dog, our beautiful garden full of beautiful colourful flowers and with the most magnificent inspiring view across the ocean, life was simple, we were grateful.
He was finishing his third novel and how inspired he was! Beaming with joy while his literary creativity was flowing. I had my garden and my kitchen garden and I couldn’t be happier sowing and observing the nature giving me back all that love, it was like a religious ritual that had always fed me and kept me strong helping me understand life in a very particular way.
We had our own secret, perfect world but could anything shake it? Were we safe? My premonitions were keeping me more and more anxious, like I knew for sure that something bad would happen any moment.
The permanent anguish had already taken me many nights of sleep wondering if it would happen the next day, when one Tuesday afternoon I was in the kitchen cooking the dinner waiting for him to come from town like I did every Tuesday but for the first time in years I hadn’t heard Rufus, our dog, barking like he always did when his truck was approaching the house at 8 o’clock in the evening. He didn’t come into the kitchen with a big smile, I didn’t receive my tight heartening hug and I didn’t eat my tasty dinner with my beloved, instead I waited with my knees shaking and a lump in my throat and by the end of the night I knew that only rainy days would come next. I remembered my brother telling me about rainy days, but under my mattress there would be nothing.
I was wrong about my feeling, nothing violent or tragic had happened. He was wrong too. We didn’t stay together and there was no place for our love any more, than just an empty kitchen, an empty house and an empty soul. The world had just stopped, my life was frozen because nothing happened, and I couldn’t love somebody that had never arrived home. I couldn’t go on with my life, he was my life, he was just not there. I couldn’t cry because I didn’t know if he was dead, I couldn’t find him because he was nowhere, I couldn’t hate him because he didn’t cheat on me. I could just wait for him to come the food was getting cold.
Twenty years have now passed and I am still waiting, as I am not so sure that he ever existed. Like he said, nothing could end our love, and it was not our love that had ended but it can’t continue too, he vanished so, can love be adjourned? Is this real?
If there once was a deep love inside me now there is just a deep hole because “there is no sign of love behind the tears cried for no one, a love that should have lasted years” and ”he’s just a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land making all his nowhere plans for nobody”.
Our love was really strong, there was no doubt about it. It could have been my childhood fairy-tale dream and it seemed to be perfect, as it always seems and we were young, we were living a true cinematographic romance, an ardent love that had given us wings to fly and we flew with our hands together, we grew together.
As time went by we were still nourishing the need of being sure that that deep unconditional love was not diminishing, we questioned each other and ourselves about it every single day and it was; our strong passionate feeling was always there, we were blindly sure.
However something had been concerning me since the very beginning of this journey together, I had this idea, this sense of foreboding that something violent or tragic could cut our precious wings at any moment. “No way, he always said. There is nothing in this world that could end our crushing love, we will stay together, no matter what, he promised”. I was not so sure and that was something that had always terrified me, nothing should question the preciousness of our sacred love.
We were in the summer of 1943, and our life couldn’t be better. It was perfect, we were living in our beautiful peaceful cottage, with our loyal dog, our beautiful garden full of beautiful colourful flowers and with the most magnificent inspiring view across the ocean, life was simple, we were grateful.
He was finishing his third novel and how inspired he was! Beaming with joy while his literary creativity was flowing. I had my garden and my kitchen garden and I couldn’t be happier sowing and observing the nature giving me back all that love, it was like a religious ritual that had always fed me and kept me strong helping me understand life in a very particular way.
We had our own secret, perfect world but could anything shake it? Were we safe? My premonitions were keeping me more and more anxious, like I knew for sure that something bad would happen any moment.
The permanent anguish had already taken me many nights of sleep wondering if it would happen the next day, when one Tuesday afternoon I was in the kitchen cooking the dinner waiting for him to come from town like I did every Tuesday but for the first time in years I hadn’t heard Rufus, our dog, barking like he always did when his truck was approaching the house at 8 o’clock in the evening. He didn’t come into the kitchen with a big smile, I didn’t receive my tight heartening hug and I didn’t eat my tasty dinner with my beloved, instead I waited with my knees shaking and a lump in my throat and by the end of the night I knew that only rainy days would come next. I remembered my brother telling me about rainy days, but under my mattress there would be nothing.
I was wrong about my feeling, nothing violent or tragic had happened. He was wrong too. We didn’t stay together and there was no place for our love any more, than just an empty kitchen, an empty house and an empty soul. The world had just stopped, my life was frozen because nothing happened, and I couldn’t love somebody that had never arrived home. I couldn’t go on with my life, he was my life, he was just not there. I couldn’t cry because I didn’t know if he was dead, I couldn’t find him because he was nowhere, I couldn’t hate him because he didn’t cheat on me. I could just wait for him to come the food was getting cold.
Twenty years have now passed and I am still waiting, as I am not so sure that he ever existed. Like he said, nothing could end our love, and it was not our love that had ended but it can’t continue too, he vanished so, can love be adjourned? Is this real?
If there once was a deep love inside me now there is just a deep hole because “there is no sign of love behind the tears cried for no one, a love that should have lasted years” and ”he’s just a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land making all his nowhere plans for nobody”.
Miguel
“What do you think it happened before the painting…?”
He could not believe how beautiful she was. From all the women he had ever seen, she was different. Somehow, she had a stunning glow that could enlighten the darkest room of all. However, he didn’t understand why she was so careful about covering her hair. It’s almost as she was ashamed of it and didn’t want to show it to anyone.
One day, while painting her, she noticed something was different… The way he was looking at her. “Is something wrong”, she asked. He approached her. As he was about to touch her head, she stepped backwards and looked down. “I have to see it. It’s beyond me. It’s not that I want to, I just need to.” were the words he used to describe his obsession about her hair. “I’m sorry,” she cried “but I can’t sit here for hours while you paint me if I’m not feeling comfortable, don’t you agree”. “Perhaps. But to achieve perfection, I must see the whole you. I can’t satisfy with just a part of it.” he said. “If one’s beauty depends on how it looks on the outside, there can’t be any on it’s inside.”
She walked away.
On that night, while she was sleeping, he found his opportunity to take a look at her. Little did he knew that she always sleeps with a blanket covering her entire face. He slowly sneaked in her room, and carefully tried to move the blanket away. However, she woke up. “I have to see it. No matter what you show me will make me treat you any different.” She moved away the blanket, while crying.
She had no hair. That explained why she looks so concerned when he’s painting her.
“I’m sorry.” He smiled, “However, that doesn’t make you any less beautiful from what I’ve always pictured you”.
He walked away.
She cried again. Out of happiness, that is.
Sandra
Get creative. #1
Creative Writing Task #1
Keywords: Kiss, White Canvas, Criminal Charge
Mafalda
He loved her. She inspired him, with her never ending sorrow. Like a muse. He hadn’t done anything new in months. After the initial awe of his dark, melancholic art, he had been trapped in her world of pain himself, as if inside one of his paintings. She loved the paintings. The way they would bring her inside to life. But when he stopped painting, everything froze. She couldn’t make a connection to him anymore, he had withered himself. And in anguish they lived. He would look at the white canvas, day after day. He would stare, as he stared at her, as he stared at the world. Moveless, loveless, lifeless. Nothing here on the canvas… nothing inside either. And nothing was to come out of this magician’s top hat. Until one day, when she spoke. And said she, with a bleak smile; “I’ll help today, my love. And together we will make your final masterpiece.”, to what he mildly nodded. She sat by him and, with the most heartfelt kiss she had ever offered her lips to, in a caress, swayed the knife gently through his neck, as the blood poured into her pale body and the white canvas, leaving only the trace of a white figure, surrounded by the strangest and purest aura… His own blood. She didn’t resist them, when they came to take her away. She had finished his work… Criminal charge, they said. Murder, amongst all those ugly words. She had done nothing wrong. She knew so.
“What do you have to say for your defense, miss?”
“Sealed with a kiss.”
Joana C.
Yesterday, Thursday 14th, the famous oil painting “Kiss on a Blank Canvas” by the well-known Spanish artist Juan Pablo Juarez was stolen from a small gallery in south Spain. The magnificent work of art from the early 50’s that’s worth over £100 million and which had given to its author all his recognition was being repaired because of its bad condition.
The robbery took place at dawn when nobody was in the gallery, and the security cameras incredibly were not working. Luckily a neighbour that lives in the apartment above the gallery was arriving home at the time the thieves were leaving the place and called the police. When they arrived, the thieves had already gone. But with the witness’s precious help, who was able to identify one of the three robbers, lead the authorities to Felipe Herrero the gang’s head, a man with an impressive criminal record and wanted by the police for a long time. The thieves were arrested and all three are now facing criminal charges.
Keywords: Kiss, White Canvas, Criminal Charge
Mafalda
He loved her. She inspired him, with her never ending sorrow. Like a muse. He hadn’t done anything new in months. After the initial awe of his dark, melancholic art, he had been trapped in her world of pain himself, as if inside one of his paintings. She loved the paintings. The way they would bring her inside to life. But when he stopped painting, everything froze. She couldn’t make a connection to him anymore, he had withered himself. And in anguish they lived. He would look at the white canvas, day after day. He would stare, as he stared at her, as he stared at the world. Moveless, loveless, lifeless. Nothing here on the canvas… nothing inside either. And nothing was to come out of this magician’s top hat. Until one day, when she spoke. And said she, with a bleak smile; “I’ll help today, my love. And together we will make your final masterpiece.”, to what he mildly nodded. She sat by him and, with the most heartfelt kiss she had ever offered her lips to, in a caress, swayed the knife gently through his neck, as the blood poured into her pale body and the white canvas, leaving only the trace of a white figure, surrounded by the strangest and purest aura… His own blood. She didn’t resist them, when they came to take her away. She had finished his work… Criminal charge, they said. Murder, amongst all those ugly words. She had done nothing wrong. She knew so.
“What do you have to say for your defense, miss?”
“Sealed with a kiss.”
Joana C.
Yesterday, Thursday 14th, the famous oil painting “Kiss on a Blank Canvas” by the well-known Spanish artist Juan Pablo Juarez was stolen from a small gallery in south Spain. The magnificent work of art from the early 50’s that’s worth over £100 million and which had given to its author all his recognition was being repaired because of its bad condition.
The robbery took place at dawn when nobody was in the gallery, and the security cameras incredibly were not working. Luckily a neighbour that lives in the apartment above the gallery was arriving home at the time the thieves were leaving the place and called the police. When they arrived, the thieves had already gone. But with the witness’s precious help, who was able to identify one of the three robbers, lead the authorities to Felipe Herrero the gang’s head, a man with an impressive criminal record and wanted by the police for a long time. The thieves were arrested and all three are now facing criminal charges.
Sandra
Who were you again? (Biopics!)
Ladies and Gentlemen, here they are - The Biopics!
Mafalda
My life - Passion
“Who’s afraid of Virginia Wolfe?”
Since young I have fed a strange interest for drama and mystery, especially for the bizarre world of crime literature. At the age of 4 I’d already dress up as and play characters which existed only in the plots I developed my mind. Aged 12 going 20, I started reading crime novels and by the age of 14 I had read about 75 40’s-to-70’s crime novels. By this time would I bravely adventure and write my first crime play, which unfortunately never reached a stage, having I later adapted it to a tale and earned a 1st place at the school’s creative writing contest. My writing took a different path and I now am on a crossroads, knowing I want to write tales but not feeling they are enough. My love of authors such as Rex Stout, Patricia Highsmith, Erle Stanley Gardner, Agatha Christie and later on Dick Haskins, as well as directors like Alfred Hitchcock, assisted me in my search for the deeps of human nature, while growing up. Some might say it’s morbid to brood over killing ideas or crime scenarios but the first step is never the crime planning but the idea itself – emotion. Hurt, jealousy… greed. So call me morbid, I’ll continue to believe it’s just as sane as studying Sociology. In a way, these artists were experimenting themselves… The limits of human behavior. The real and even scarier Twilight Zone.
Joana C.
My Life - Family
To talk about my life I chose to introduce myself more personally and to talk about the present:
So, for me this is now a time of change I feel, or I hope that my life is now finally beginning and my biggest challenge is to put the past behind me, and start working on being happy. Only recently did I realize that I really have everything to be happy and that the problem is deep inside me, not in the rest of the world I have just been unable to deal with that. It was hard to find out that I was no longer recognizing myself I was and I still am, in some ways, someone that I don’t want to be. Thus, my greatest challenges are to be more positive and optimistic; to focus, to concentrate myself on objectives, on goals to achieve; to become an active person, not to be afraid of experimenting, of failing and specially, to accept things and people as they are. Now, about my life, I can’t identify or put myself into a community like a neighbourhood, association or project, but I certainly recognize my family and a small group of good friends as a community, a really strong one. My family, to be honest, is almost everything that I need to be happy, I am very proud and lucky, I believe, to have such a great big family we are almost like the mafia, pretty much like gypsies, in a good way. But, as I said, my family is almost everything that I need to be happy, so I have other passions too, which are music, cinema and photography.
I could say so much more about my life, like everybody else, I guess, but this is all for now…
Miguel
My Life - Music
I can honestly say that without music, I wouldn’t be the person that I am today. Music is, by far, the most artistic, creative way of the human being to express himself. There are no holds barred for what you can do with music. And that’s why there are so many different types of music. Including cheesy, weak, easy, industrial kind of music. I can’t spend more than half a day without listening to music (and when I say music, it’s not MTV music, it’s real music) otherwise, I might freak out. I think music is the purest of all drugs; it can get you high, away from reality or even helping you face it, it can make you fly, it can bring you down, it can make whatever you want of it. It can also be a friend, because it’s always there for you, when you need it.Unfortunately, nowadays, everyone looks at music as a quick and easy way to get rich and famous, which it’s quite easy, actually. You can sell your soul and play and do whatever your major record company wants you to. Just ask 4Taste, Fergie, Evanescence and all of those so called “musicians”. That goes against what I stand for, and I wish I could do something to prevent this “disease” from spreading around; it just corrupts the purity of music as an art.I do believe that what a person listens to can reveal part of its personality. And I do believe that music can change everything, just look at Band Aid, which were a group of famous musicians who made a super show in order to raise funds to charity.In the end, music it’s just like life. You can be a hard working artist or sell your soul and take the easy way by not caring about integrity and you just want quick money and fame.
Sandra
Mafalda
My life - Passion
“Who’s afraid of Virginia Wolfe?”
Since young I have fed a strange interest for drama and mystery, especially for the bizarre world of crime literature. At the age of 4 I’d already dress up as and play characters which existed only in the plots I developed my mind. Aged 12 going 20, I started reading crime novels and by the age of 14 I had read about 75 40’s-to-70’s crime novels. By this time would I bravely adventure and write my first crime play, which unfortunately never reached a stage, having I later adapted it to a tale and earned a 1st place at the school’s creative writing contest. My writing took a different path and I now am on a crossroads, knowing I want to write tales but not feeling they are enough. My love of authors such as Rex Stout, Patricia Highsmith, Erle Stanley Gardner, Agatha Christie and later on Dick Haskins, as well as directors like Alfred Hitchcock, assisted me in my search for the deeps of human nature, while growing up. Some might say it’s morbid to brood over killing ideas or crime scenarios but the first step is never the crime planning but the idea itself – emotion. Hurt, jealousy… greed. So call me morbid, I’ll continue to believe it’s just as sane as studying Sociology. In a way, these artists were experimenting themselves… The limits of human behavior. The real and even scarier Twilight Zone.
Joana C.
My Life - Family
To talk about my life I chose to introduce myself more personally and to talk about the present:
So, for me this is now a time of change I feel, or I hope that my life is now finally beginning and my biggest challenge is to put the past behind me, and start working on being happy. Only recently did I realize that I really have everything to be happy and that the problem is deep inside me, not in the rest of the world I have just been unable to deal with that. It was hard to find out that I was no longer recognizing myself I was and I still am, in some ways, someone that I don’t want to be. Thus, my greatest challenges are to be more positive and optimistic; to focus, to concentrate myself on objectives, on goals to achieve; to become an active person, not to be afraid of experimenting, of failing and specially, to accept things and people as they are. Now, about my life, I can’t identify or put myself into a community like a neighbourhood, association or project, but I certainly recognize my family and a small group of good friends as a community, a really strong one. My family, to be honest, is almost everything that I need to be happy, I am very proud and lucky, I believe, to have such a great big family we are almost like the mafia, pretty much like gypsies, in a good way. But, as I said, my family is almost everything that I need to be happy, so I have other passions too, which are music, cinema and photography.
I could say so much more about my life, like everybody else, I guess, but this is all for now…
Miguel
My Life - Music
I can honestly say that without music, I wouldn’t be the person that I am today. Music is, by far, the most artistic, creative way of the human being to express himself. There are no holds barred for what you can do with music. And that’s why there are so many different types of music. Including cheesy, weak, easy, industrial kind of music. I can’t spend more than half a day without listening to music (and when I say music, it’s not MTV music, it’s real music) otherwise, I might freak out. I think music is the purest of all drugs; it can get you high, away from reality or even helping you face it, it can make you fly, it can bring you down, it can make whatever you want of it. It can also be a friend, because it’s always there for you, when you need it.Unfortunately, nowadays, everyone looks at music as a quick and easy way to get rich and famous, which it’s quite easy, actually. You can sell your soul and play and do whatever your major record company wants you to. Just ask 4Taste, Fergie, Evanescence and all of those so called “musicians”. That goes against what I stand for, and I wish I could do something to prevent this “disease” from spreading around; it just corrupts the purity of music as an art.I do believe that what a person listens to can reveal part of its personality. And I do believe that music can change everything, just look at Band Aid, which were a group of famous musicians who made a super show in order to raise funds to charity.In the end, music it’s just like life. You can be a hard working artist or sell your soul and take the easy way by not caring about integrity and you just want quick money and fame.
Sandra
sexta-feira, 9 de novembro de 2007
Why London Calling.
Hi everyone!
As due introduction, we would like to start by saying why we chose this title and concept for the blog. The whole idea came out of Joana's link for the class: London Calling. The song, the album. The Clash. Mafalda had some spare time so she just took the idea and made the blog out of this name and its concept, as after all we are here because of this London Calling; London, England, English; they all felt like home to us.
So here comes... The Who!
Mafalda
Hello all! I'd say I'm a quite outgoing and sociable person, that loves listening to music (Led Zeppelin above all, with a lot of references like Black Sabbath, The Cure, She Wants Revenge, Jack Off Jill, Depeche Mode, Moonspell, My Dying Bride...) and to read (and at times write!) crime or fantasy novels/short stories in either Portuguese or English.
Joana C.
Hi, I'm 20 years old and I live in Lisbon/Costa da Caparica. This year I became part of the fabulous world of Linguistics and I'm not expecting to leave it so soon. So there's not a lot more to say about me, for the moment. We'll see in time.
Miguel
Hi. I'm pretty quiet and a calm person, but nice however. I'm pretty much into a great range of music, but mainly some oldies and a lot of Hard Rock. (Johnny Cash, Tom Waits, Tool, NIN, etc..) Other than that, I enjoy a good movie, spend hours online and... that's pretty much it. Just a regular guy.
Sandra
Hi everyone! My name is Sandra and I'm studying in the first year of Linguistics. I'm married, I have a son and I am a business woman too, so my life is very busy and I have a lot of reading and studying to do.
All been said, we thank you for stopping by and hope you enjoy our little works!
Mafalda - Editor
Miguel - Technician
Joana C - Photographer/Artist on Call
Sandra - Colaborator
As due introduction, we would like to start by saying why we chose this title and concept for the blog. The whole idea came out of Joana's link for the class: London Calling. The song, the album. The Clash. Mafalda had some spare time so she just took the idea and made the blog out of this name and its concept, as after all we are here because of this London Calling; London, England, English; they all felt like home to us.
So here comes... The Who!
Mafalda
Hello all! I'd say I'm a quite outgoing and sociable person, that loves listening to music (Led Zeppelin above all, with a lot of references like Black Sabbath, The Cure, She Wants Revenge, Jack Off Jill, Depeche Mode, Moonspell, My Dying Bride...) and to read (and at times write!) crime or fantasy novels/short stories in either Portuguese or English.
Joana C.
Hi, I'm 20 years old and I live in Lisbon/Costa da Caparica. This year I became part of the fabulous world of Linguistics and I'm not expecting to leave it so soon. So there's not a lot more to say about me, for the moment. We'll see in time.
Miguel
Hi. I'm pretty quiet and a calm person, but nice however. I'm pretty much into a great range of music, but mainly some oldies and a lot of Hard Rock. (Johnny Cash, Tom Waits, Tool, NIN, etc..) Other than that, I enjoy a good movie, spend hours online and... that's pretty much it. Just a regular guy.
Sandra
Hi everyone! My name is Sandra and I'm studying in the first year of Linguistics. I'm married, I have a son and I am a business woman too, so my life is very busy and I have a lot of reading and studying to do.
All been said, we thank you for stopping by and hope you enjoy our little works!
Mafalda - Editor
Miguel - Technician
Joana C - Photographer/Artist on Call
Sandra - Colaborator
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