My dream
was always to be a writer. In my school I used to fantasize with the idea. The
dream was a fuzzy thrilled mess I’d created out of books. Thanks to a Spanish
author called Josep Pla, I became interested in writing. Back then, writing was
no more real than any idea, an abstract place in a glowing future where I’d
have adventures, relationships and passion, lots of it.
In fact the
idea was to put my thoughts into the paper, the different views expressed on
the controversy of my life. I was a poor writer then, but even though I won my
first award as a poet. It was so embarrassing to read that pathetic little piece
of my poem in front of my classmates that I was determined not to write anything
else in one hundred years. But look now, I got published 2 books and I still
feel that fire inside of my soul every single time I sit in front of that white
page. I am not pretty sure whether to regard the glass as half empty or half
full. Anyway, I made it. It’s not a dream anymore but reality.
The secret
of all good writing is sound judgement. A process to get the facts in clear
perspective and the words will follow naturally. One of my Italian friends told
me once that ogni storia racconta una storia giá raccontata. In another words;
the secret of good writing is to say and old thing in a new way because
everything has been told already. Who knows? The only thing I can add to the
subject is simple; I always write the things I would to read as a reader. Perhaps
one day I can write good stuff in an old way and be successful.
It took me
a while to find my own way and, of course, my way is to write for myself. Maybe
someone in a very remote corner of the world find my stories amusing. Anyway,
it’s something I can’t control. I wander around the city, looking out at the
big boats crossing Malaga
bay. The big castle in an attempt to find characters, stories but to tell you
the truth, everything is on my heart. If the great secret of writing well is to
know thoroughly what one writes about, and not be affected, then I am not a
good writer because I am always affected from it.
Those
nights sitting by the fire; I was reading, dreaming, writing while the wind was
blowing outside in the garden. I did not think then to strip sentence to its
cleanest components. I just wanted to experience things in order to put it into
words. My imagination flew to unknown places; I have always been a dreamer and
in dreams the details are weak like a memory from a long hell time ago.
I walk
through the streets; everything is obscured by a heavy mist. I look at all the people
and there is no one I know. It’s late and it’s dark. Let’s hope that my dream
can’t become a nightmare. To be a completely unknown is not that bad after all.
Sergio Calle Llorens
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