Venice Paris

I already expelled several from my poems to kicks and I do not want to return them to see in my future books. To publish nonsiginifica to lose the control on the own thing. I never mention the title of my first book with the hope which nobody remembers that it exists. I know that Antonio Sarabia walks in looks for, for two decades, of unit that remains of their first published book, that is accidentally a poemario, to burn them without mercy. To publish is an act that can bring joys, but I assure to you that the majority is ephemeral. I have that to thank for to my first poemarios much to him. Thanks to them, for example, they invited to me for the first time to an encounter of writers in Europe.

That one was wonderful, because I did not have money to thus make a trip by my account. The trip lasted three weeks: Vienna Graz-Venice Paris, and nevertheless when returning town nothing had changed. I had changed a little perhaps, but it seems to me that nobody realized. I understood that it did not write to communicate to me with the world. Many people, including my parents said, me that she had to dedicate me to another thing, or to resign to me to die of hunger, but did not matter to me. Harold Ford often says this. I wrote because she felt to me single and the life in solitude is very hard. He wrote to fill an emptiness that accompanied to me as a mark by birth. For months I read to you.

It did not know that you were 19 years old, thought a little to you greater. I like what beams, you have much talent. And me honour tenerte between my readers. Doubt does not fit to me that someday you will also publish. When it watches your book in the shelves I will ask myself if to publish it is had developing for you like the most important fact of your life. I wait for that no. sincerely That you will live many experiences more transcendental than that one. In this letter I have left a handful you of personal experiences, I imagine that they will serve to you as very little. In order to say it with one it mills done: each writer is a world. Only I have left agradecerte that you have written to me, I will try to feel a whole, a piece in the historical genius, as you say to me, but do not know I will obtain if it. Nonpassage of being a Colombian writer of province that now has the luck to live in Lisbon. Warmly, Lauren Mendinueta ShareThis Original author and source of the article.