Unpile those building blocks! Ask yourself: am I really writing to make a difference?

Hello, you!

I was MIA for some time, I know — but there’s a reason behind that. I was, and still am, struggling between what I think is best for me and what I think is best for my so-called “Future” (taking care of Mom and Dad included). As a result, everything feels a whole lot more oppressive and scary than they should… And although it all makes me wanna hide, I won’t anymore.

OK! So — I’ll start by saying ‘thank you’. If you’re still here with me after all this time, it’s because you wanted to check my work and/or how I’m doing and that makes me feel honored. But let’s get this party started because I do have some news!

Prepare yourself for a new Short Story! (That WILL actually be published)

At some point in the past few months, I’ve decided to join a writing forum, focusing mainly on improving my craft.  What I couldn’t expect to find were new, fantastic writer friends, among whom I met Fabis — with whom I’m now working on a side project we entitled “The Steampunk Detectives”.

In other words: Am I really writing to make the world a better place?

The setting is Imperial Brazil, with a mix of Fantasy, sci-fi and a Steampunk visual theme. And even in the XIXth century, the idea is still to work with diverse characters who are free to be whoever and whatever they want to be. But while discussing this with my co-writer, I noticed something we should all question ourselves:

Am I really trying to smash every piece of constructed prejudice inside me? Are my choices, as a writer, really leading me to improve the place I’m in or am I simply duplicating old customs and terrible ideas?

In other words: Am I really writing to make the world a better place?

This question is precisely what led me to write this article today.

LitBite: A class of Tai-chi-chuan.

‘Lit Bite’ is a collection of nano-texts that may or may not have an ending. For me, it represents a reflexive moment, a time to think about Writing and about my life in the city, with all the great and terrible feelings it brings me. They are short, small scenes with memories or imagined situations. What do you think? Wanna join me in this adventure?

Morning classes are definitely not my thing.

They never were, not even when I was alive. I step outside the bus with large purple shades and heels higher than the Mirante do Vale – yes, the tallest building in São Paulo. My Daffodile bash the street like a soldier’s heavy duty boots (and with just as much confidence), all the way to the small dojo Downtown. When

When I push the wooden doors, ignoring the dirty looks from the barefoot people inside, the class is already started. I wave to Mr Chengfu, slowly walking around the large group he’s teaching.

“8:20 in the morning and she’s already smoking, look at that,” I hear someone say. “And inside the dojo.”

“It’s not as if it was going to kill me, is it?” I answer, loud enough for the old couple in the back of the room to hear me. In fact, loud enough for every single one of them to hear. I walk out of the building, flick my cigarette and wait for him to arrive. When he does, I narrow my eyes, push my back from the wall and place a daring hand on my waist – nobody told me he would be this handsome. I clear my throat.

Evolve 2, Diversity in Media & TheWattys2016.

Ok, let’s start this the right way: With massive, monstrous, gigaaaantic Dinosaurs!

Evolve Stage 2 is a PC game that only recently started to make some real success among PC players. The reason involves marketing, the right mechanic, the right timing and, more than anything else, the right decision. And there’s A LOT to learn and even more yet to see in the Evolve Stage 2 saga to Eternal Success, but what I want to dwell on are the characters.

Brain: Please stop living in the future!

‘I want results. I should be already successful. I’m not sure I’m on the right track.’

Do you recognise yourself in any of the previous sentences? Well… I do. In all of them, in fact. And it’s hard, I know it very well: It’s not an easy task to control anxiety. To live in the future. Mainly when TODAY you have bills to pay, impatient family members to answer to and social norms to follow.

And my mind was filled with that type of questions until a very short while ago. It was torturing me so much that I’d have to repeat several times to myself how much bravery one needs to do what I did: To throw oneself in the unknown with hope, a plan and a great will to succeed.

But – Will I?

 Shit, (I answered) how should I know?

And this may sound stupid, but that sentence set me free. With this new answer in mind, I searched for a resolution that could help me achieve what I want. And this new resolution was simple:

A different POV: Not another Wednesday night.

♥ Have you ever wondered how much a scene can change if seen through another character’s eyes? Have you ever thought the different meaning a single conversation can have? Maybe something that means absolutely nothing for one character can mean the world for another – and the way they react show much more of their inner self than any amount of spreadsheets and lists.

This is a GREAT exercise to get to know your character better and also to understand his/hers motivations! Today I want to show you one of my favourite scenes from “‘My Sharona’ your ass!” as seen by another character. I hope you enjoy it!

Before reading: There are not spoilers in this text – but if you’ve read chapter “Please, Please, Please” on Wattpad already, the experience might be slightly different. If want to reread it, you can do it on this link! ♥

If I had to describe her as anything at all; if I had nothing but one word to do it… I don’t know. Maybe I’d use ‘green’. After all, green is my favourite colour. And she is one of my favourite people in this city.

Country.

Continent.

The door opens and her smile opens too – just as easily. It’s wide as if seeing me was a great pleasure. As if that smile wasn’t only some sort of charming greeting. Which probably is. Perhaps I’m smiling as well, but I’m not sure. I’m too busy to notice.

Instead, I notice something else: in the way she moves, I can see her will to hug me; in the way the muscles on her arms and legs tense, I can see she stops herself.

I wish she hadn’t.

Lit Bite: An impression about Urban life

‘Lit Bite’ is a collection of nano-texts that may or may not have an ending. For me, it represents a reflexive moment, a time to think about Writing and about my life in the city, with all the great and terrible feelings it brings me. They are short, small scenes with memories or imagined situations. What do you think? Wanna join me in this adventure?

The Rock Gallery in São Paulo lies in the very heart of the city; the centre, noisy and full. Or – ‘usually noisy and full’, since that day it was the complete opposite. Perhaps the ever-falling temperature of Winter (or the sticky sadness in the air) left the streets empty. The sky, cold and grey, hid between tall buildings, was cut by pointy concrete apartments and signal towers.

Inside one of those buildings, a small shop was still opened, a small neon sign hanging behind a dimmed glass display window. The ‘Tattoo Club’ was not at all crowded during that Wednesday afternoon; the two women sat on the wooden bench near the door, while Death Metal beamed through hidden sound boxes. The guttural love song mixed with all the solitude around the place. On the reception, a single old man (his hair sprinkled with grey hair strands) headbanged the rhythm, his glasses’ thick lenses somewhat dirty.

My first book changed my life. Here’s why…

Work. Work. Work. Money. Work.

Money. Work. Work. Work.

Money.

Work.

And this was my entire vocabulary throughout any conversation, one year and three months ago, locked in a big office in São Paulo, Brazil, dealing with major clients, millions of users every day and one demanding boss.

“Love, do you want anything for Valentine’s day?”

“Work. Work work, money?”

“How was your weekend, Ligia?”

“Work money, work?”

(ok, I might have exaggerated here a bit. But you got the idea!)

I’m not really sure when I started to feel it – what I do know is: somewhere along the way, I lost track of what I wanted. My days, then, became all the same. A routine of waking up, working my ass off, not being recognised properly, drowning my sorrows in beer, coffee and cheese flavoured Fandangos (a Brand of Brazilian snacks). What matters is: I wasn’t happy… I really wasn’t.

And more than any of it, I wrote. With all my just found passion, with all my reborn heart, with everything I had.

I felt as if, day after day, my soul was getting dry. My heart slowly dying – and with it, my dreams. I didn’t think about what I wanted anymore. I just thought about surviving.

Because of it and several other events (both good and terrible), I quit my job, then entered a plane to spend 6 months with my aunt in England. There, I travelled alone to cities I can’t even name, saw and met people I don’t remember anymore – did things I’d never do -, lived and felt like never before.

And more than any of it, I wrote. With all my just found passion, with all my reborn heart, with everything I had. First, to improve my English. To come back to Brazil with a killer cv (a killer resumé) that would put my career back on track.

You see, I always enjoyed to write. For some time I even entertained the idea of becoming a writer – ‘But that was long ago,’ I thought. ‘When I could be anything else. Now I’m too old, right?’ I had even started a book once, two years before! And in two years, I wrote nothing but 16 chapters.

But something happened to me in England. I’m not sure why, but everything changed before my eyes. When I started to write about Sharona, giving her and her friends (all of them) a little piece of myself, I didn’t notice how much I, too, was learning with her and with my readers.

As I wrote, I posted chapter after chapter on Wattpad (here’s the link for my account there if you want to add me) without even thinking about revision or editing. The answer I received was fantastic. The comments, the interaction… And when someone told me how much reading it helped them… Jesus Christ, I cried. Oh, if I cried!

I knew this was what I wanted to do. I knew the path would be difficult. I knew I’d need luck, courage, stamina, hope and a whole lot of patience to face this change of careers… But still I accepted it. And I embraced how shitty my life would seem to be from then on – and  until I reach my goals.

Oh, please highlight ‘seem to be’, since never before I felt as good as now, living completely broke, freelancing to pay the bills and writing/editing most of my time. Although I didn’t buy any new pair of high heels in the past 6 months (and that a promotion in the office is out of question), I know I did the right thing.

x Ligia Nunes