Rebecca Carvalho

Being brave: telling your crush you love him

2012-02-16T15:20:00.000-06:00

Hey guys,

I guess Valentine's Day inspired me to start writing a lot more on love. Here's what happened to me when I decided to tell my first crush I loved him. Hopefully, he won't read this. Hopefully, my memory is intact. If it isn't all true, we could just call it creative nonfiction, right?

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My First Crush

By Me?

When I was ten, I had a crush on a boy I knew since we were seven. We were friends, though not close friends, not the type of friends who tell things to one another. We happened to be classmates every year since we first met, and to some extent he was always there for me. That’s probably why / how this crush started. Also, we shared the same birthday.

He was a very good-looking boy. Tall and scrawny like a boy who unexpectedly grows up too fast during summer, with brown hair and brown eyes that lit up when he talked with his friends. Whenever I looked at him, I’d always find him smiling. Always in a good mood. He was someone that made you feel comfortable and happy just to be around.

Even though I had best friends I trusted, I hid my crush from them. I wasn’t ashamed of having a crush on him, I just didn’t know how to bring up the subject. I also didn’t know how to explain the way I felt. One day, though, when we were waiting in line after recess, they were talking about what they thought of the boys in our classroom, and I let slip that I was interested in someone.

Oh, how dreadful it is to see your friends won’t let you alone until you let them know all your secrets. They tortured me until they took away what they needed. And, as I stood there with a sinking heart, watching their excitement, my world turned upside-down when I noticed my crush had just arrived and stood behind me.

Luckily, he had not heard our conversation. At least I don’t think he did. But, instead of dropping the topic, his presence left my friends even more excited. I don’t know why, but they decided I simply had to let him know how I felt. Expressing my feelings, of course, was out of question. No way. No, thank you very much.

One of my friends grabbed me by my shoulders and started shaking me when she noticed he was walking away.

“He’s leaving. He’s leaving! Go. Go now! Go tell him!” She yelled in a high-pitched voice. She had never yelled at me.

Startled, my brain functioned to stop infuriating the creature that subjugated me -- er. . . to be nice to my friend. My heart was beating fast, but I had to be brave. She might be right, I thought.Maybe this is the time to tell him that I like him.

I spun on my heels and ran up to him. He looked a little surprised when I approached him, but was still friendly.

“I -- Um -- I have to tell you something,” I stammered, losing that first courageous impulse.

His eyes told me he knew precisely what was coming his way, and it was a little disheartening to notice he didn't think that was a good surprise. Since I had started all that, I felt I had to finish it.

“I like you,” I told him. And with my heart racing, added: “And I wish you were my boyfriend. Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Now that I think of it, I probably gave him a heart attack. I was too abrupt. Even if he had feelings for me, my question came so out of nowhere that he'd still have said 'no.'

He didn't say no, though. He, UM, actually ran away. Literally. He spun on his heels and ran away from me as fast as he could. He was good at soccer, so he ran pretty fast.

I looked back at my friends for support.

“Go after him!” They yelled, and their cheering cries got my legs moving quickly.

It seriously was like the running scene in “My Best Friend's Wedding.” I went after him, running like the crazy girl I never thought I'd be, asking for him to be my boyfriend. There were so many other kids coming back from recess, and they probably heard me, but now I don't want to think about how I embarrassed myself.

He was too fast for me to continue chasing him. When I finally realized what I was doing, I stopped going after him. Later that day, I told my friends to stop thinking about that. It was over. I think being rejected took away the magic that surrounded that first crush. All I wanted was to forget him. And that's what I did. I didn't even look at him anymore. I didn't acknowledge his presence when he was around.

A year later, during a dull mathematics class, someone tapped on my shoulder. It was him. The awkwardness between us had already vanished, so I looked back. In fact, I was too busy that year studying for Military School's entrance examinations to pay attention to my old feelings.

“Do you remember what you asked me a year ago?” He asked me, and looked really nervous.

“No,” I lied. I was starting to feel nervous myself.

“Well, you asked me if I wanted to be your boyfriend. The – the answer is yes.”

“What?”

He caught me completely off guard.

“The answer is yes,” he repeated, this time confidently.

I don't know what got into me, but I was suddenly feeling hurt. My pride spoke louder, and I caught myself saying “I was too crazy back then. Things are different now.” Those were really harsh words, but I didn't mean to be rude. I really just saw him as a friend. Although today I blame myself for being rude, it makes me happy to think he actually tried fighting for something he had lost.

Unfortunately, our time had already passed. He was disappointed, but he didn't give up. He continued doing his best to show we should be together, but I wasn't interested in him the way I had been a year ago. When you're ten, eleven years old, relationships are like butterflies. They're beautiful, but too delicate in a time when we're still figuring out who we are and what we want from life.

We at least became friends. One day he told me that when I was chasing him the day I expressed my feelings for him, he tripped and fell, and hurt his knee because of that. I didn't see him falling, and it makes me feel bad to think I caused all that. But I can't help thinking that maybe there's a scar left there on his knee. A scar that says he was once desperately chased by a girl who loved him.

A little bit of Daphne. . . and Ben

2012-02-16T15:02:00.000-06:00

I've decided to show you an excerpt from my latest novel, Daphne's Book. I was hoping you could get a sense of what the friendship between two of my main characters is like. Daphne and Ben are both shy and awkward around one another, though not just because of the attraction between them. Do you know someone from the time you were in kindergarten, and felt you could say something about that person, but the two of you never really talked. Now imagine having to interact with that person years later, when you both end up going to the same college. He / she is the only person around who knows you, but at the same time. . . not really. Well, that's the case between Daphne and Ben.

Here's a scene from when they're looking for Andre Molina, a boy who disappeared in the woods. I hope you'll enjoy it. Feel free to leave comments.

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“If it was an animal, it would have attacked us by now,” Ben finally said.

A sudden, distant cry made them jump in fear. They held their breath and concentrated on listening, but there were no other noises.

“The boy?” Ben murmured and his suspicion was enough to get both of them running as fast as they could toward the source of the crying.

Daphne felt that her feet were very uncoordinated on that uneven ground. Although she expected to trip and fall on her face at any moment, she ran as fast as she could, paying attention to moonlight that went through the tree tops and lit the path here and there.

The terrain gradually became steep. At first, Daphne and Ben tried to go down on their own, but the ground was so muddy that Ben slipped and lost his balance. Daphne quickly grabbed his hand before he could have fallen and held onto a tree trunk to keep them firm.

“Are you all right?” She asked him.

“Yeah, I am. Thanks,” he said. Daphne, though, could feel that he was trembling, but forbore mentioning it.

Still holding hands, they continued running down the slope. Although Daphne was scared and anxious to find Andre, it wasn't her fear what kept her heart pounding. She felt strange holding a boy's hand.

The crying restarted and this time it was more audible. There were, also, splashing noises. A rush of adrenaline went through Daphne's body.

“The boy is drowning!” She shouted.

Feeling that every inch of her was ready to save the boy, Daphne ran faster than she had ever ran in her life, closely followed by Ben. They ran until they reached the border of a clearing in the woods, where a pearly lake could be seen reflecting the moon. She squinted her eyes to understand what was in the water, and was about to shout Andre's name when Ben released her hand and immediately covered her mouth.

Daphne instinctively struggled, all her nerves emitting alert signals and confused thoughts invading her mind. Daphne could not understand why Ben wouldn't let her go save Andre's life.

She grabbed his wrist and tried to pull his hand away from her face, but Ben proved to be stronger than her. In an aggressive attempt to release herself, she tried kicking him, but he pulled her closer to him and whispered “it's not the boy.” His words made her stop struggling, and he finally let go of her.

“I'm really sorry,” he whispered in a mortified manner. “Listen – It's not the boy. Look over there. They are swimming.”

She took a few steps forward and stood behind a tree. What had sounded like crying noises was, in reality, laughter. Daphne noticed two figures swimming in the lake side by side. She could hardly understand their silhouettes, but she was certain those were a man and a woman. Their bodies glistened in the moonlight and made them look like mythological figures, water elementals celebrating the full moon and enchanting Daphne's eyes. They laughed in their embrace, and their laughter offended her.

Daphne's face and neck burned with shame. Feeling increasingly disgusted, she abruptly stepped back, accidentally bumping into Ben. That unexpected physical contact made Daphne push him away, repulsed. She could not see him well, but the faint moon glow was enough to let her notice that his expression was very surprised.

Querying

2012-02-16T14:15:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I was talking with two people on Twitter about those "what I think I do, how my friends see me, etc" sort of posters. We're eager to see writer and literary agent themed ones. Strangely, there's practically nothing out there on the topic. If you've come across anything like that, please let me know.

This post, however, isn't about those posters. I didn't know the people I was talking with, so out of curiosity I checked out one of their blogs. One of them is an agent, and the other is an author. The author's blog had an interesting suggestion for writers who are going through the querying process: organize your list of lit. agents with QueryTracker.net. I signed up for free, and in a few minutes was able to (1) search the names of all agencies I had already contacted, (2) write down whether my attempt had been successful or not, (3) read comments from other writers who had also contacted the same agents.

I know now, for instance, that I've contacted 21 agencies and already got 9 negative responses. Although those are disheartening numbers, I feel like it's way better than just feeling like all you get are rejections. I also can literally see I have many unanswered queries, which leaves space to daydreaming, more wishing and an attempt at soothing my poor nerves.

So, if you're querying, sign up at QueryTracker.net!

Have a great Thursday, bonitos.

Creepy February and Inappropriate Analogies

2012-02-08T05:36:00.000-06:00

It is 5:13 AM of a cold, miserable Wednesday morning. Oh, don't worry, my mood isn't miserable. I'm just tired. I should be in bed, I know. I am in bed, actually; although not asleep, I'm sitting here under the blankets, using a laptop to work on some writing that I should have written months ago. I forbore listening to certain ideas, and now they've found me. They chased me all the way to now. Well, all the way to a week ago, precisely. But they're still here like half lovely, half annoying guests who can't realize that they should be leaving soon.

Editing certainly is a strange activity. I keep reading and reading, and I can't help feeling surprised now and then as the story progresses. It's almost as if, though not entirely, I had not written Daphne's adventures at all! One extraordinary thing is how clearly I see the characters now. Well, Daphne was always as concrete as yours truly, but some other folks were still a mystery to me. Now, finally, I think – though am probably wrong – I understand them, their decisions and the meaning behind unspoken words.

My life still is upside down. My friends' lives are upside down as well. And February turned out to be Creepy February, but at least we're still alive. The good thing is that I'm starting to see beauty from staring at the world from this angle. And that probably sounded naughty, but I don't care. It's late, and I'm tired, and I'm going to sleep in a second. By the time I wake up later today, this blog entry shall be already erased from my mind, along with the shame of making a sexual pun.

I wish you guys all the best!

Packing - Unpacking Blues

2012-02-02T17:36:00.000-06:00

Hi!

As I mentioned in my last blog entry, we've moved into a new place. It's a house not too far from where we lived. Cleaning the apartment was really hard and moving out was exhausting, but Michael's dad made it easier. He helped us a lot, and even gave us a ride now and then, and provided snacks.

Our room is still a mess, but today we were finally able to arrange the furniture the way we wanted and to set up our work corners. My writing area faces a window. I like it. Although it is distracting at time, it also feeds my imagination. I see flocks of birds quickly flying by St. Mary's Hospital, which is a tall red building with many white windows. I also see a few naked, scary trees. And a factory, too. I don't know what it is for, but this morning its chimney was releasing a stinky smoke. Michael has a theory on what they could be burning, but I don't think anyone could stomach reading about it. There's a frozen lake nearby, where I constantly see people ice fishing when I go outside, but I can't see them from my window.

I think I'm a little melancholy. I hate moving out. Packing and unpacking are annoying, and I keep feeling we have too many things. My goal is to every week get rid of stuff we don't use anymore, so we're ready to travel to Brazil when time comes. I'm also a little melancholy because I couldn't get literary agents interested in Daphne's Book so far, but I'll keep trying. If that fails, then I guess I'll just publish it online for free.

Well, that's all for now. I hope you guys are doing fine and getting ready for Carnival! I miss Galo da Madrugada, even though I was never the type of kid who liked partying.

My warmest wishes, even though I'm having trouble staying warm myself.
-- Becca

Quick Note

2012-01-30T12:55:00.000-06:00

We've moved to our new place in Madison. We now live in a house with four other people. Our room is a complete mess with boxes and suitcases that need to be unpacked. So far we couldn't do our work, because we are still cleaning the other place.

I don't like moving into new places. I don't like changing my routine. But I'll be glad to narrate my frustrations and victories here once I get real time to sit down and write (right now I'm actually supposed to be getting ready to go clean).

Ah, before I leave, if you want to hear something amazing: We've reached our goal! Leebre.org is 100% funded. Actually, 111%!

Michael just now got here. I should go now. Bye!

Writing and Publishing, A Writer's Quest

2012-01-25T19:28:00.002-06:00

Hello!

How are you, bonitos?

First of all, thank you everyone for helping us out with Leebre.org. We're currently 79% funded, with 5 days left to continue fund-raising. It's a little nerve-wracking that we still haven't reached our goal, but we have faith in the project and in all of you. I'm personally impressed with all these messages on Twitter and Facebook, with people's willingness to continue spreading the word about us, and with all these awesome articles that people are publishing to help us out. Here are some of them:

Leebre Bringing Social Publishing to Indie Novelists, by TechZwn.com

Leebre: la piattaforma social per scrittori indipendenti, by Libriebit.com

Guest Post: Leebre.org -- Liberate fiction with free social publishing, by Rebecca Carvalho, published by Simplistik.org

Thank you! Michael is working really hard to make Leebre.org happen and he is really thankful that you guys are so supportive. Let's continue, though, posting more tweets, blog entries and whatnot about our Kickstarter page, because the deadline is approaching fast (*nervous sigh*)!

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Secondly, I must tell you the most recent news about my publishing quest: Cupid's Literary Connection's Love Triangle writing contest. And, no, it isn't a writing contest about love triangles. If it was, though, I could always find inspiration in Machado de Assis' Dom Casmurro. I doubt, however, any writer will ever be able to compete with Assis.

Cupid's Literary Connection is a blog interested in "matching up" writers with agents, and this month they are hosting a contest to expose 25 YA novels to two literary agents. My latest novel, Daphne's Book, was selected to be one of entries. Here's my query and the first 250 words:

Title: Daphne's Book

Genre: Bildungsroman within the YA genre

Word Count: 100,000

Query:

Daphne's Book is the story of Daphne Chase, a melancholy 18-year-old girl obsessed with writing her first novel. Against her father's will, she moves to the town of Middleton to study creative writing at McAdams College. Abelard Chase, an established author of Byronic nature, doesn't believe that studying writing will help his gifted daughter become the writer she wants to be. Although leaving her house means stepping out of her comfort zone and exposing herself to others, she decides to fight her social anxiety in order to find a writing environment away from her father's alcoholism and stubbornness. Adjusting to life in Middleton and managing to develop the plot of her book, however, proves to be harder than she had expected. Daphne drifts from innocent reverie to dangerous delusion as she stumbles upon a series of misfortunes that range from being ostracized by those who mock her social awkwardness to the death of someone dear to her.

An introvert suffocated by a world that demanded from her an open, vibrant behavior, Daphne finds herself clashing with other students and her neighbors at the Franks' Inn, where she lives. On an attempt to survive and find inspiration, she is gradually more inclined to long walks in the woods where Esther, The Witch, hides. Her only friend and companion is the Masked Man, a mysterious young man who silently follows her wherever she goes.

As life becomes more difficult after disappointments and one frustrated attempt at falling in love, Daphne fully withdraws from society and immerses herself in writing. She is constantly visited by her characters and other creatures that inhabit her imagination. Daphne soon realizes, then, that a complete downfall to madness seems to be the only way she could ever be able to finish her novel. But, letting her mind wander away to accomplish her only ambition in life also meant risking losing herself forever.

My name is Rebecca Carvalho and I'm a 23-year-old Brazilian author with work published both in Brazil and in the U.S. I have a B.A in English from Lawrence University, and I currently live in Madison, WI, where I work as a freelance journalist and writer. My most recent published piece was a contribution to the war memory anthology Operation Legacy, edited by the NGO Old Glory Honor Flight, and currently available on Amazon.com. My work often covers the boundaries -- or, rather, lack of boundaries -- of creativity and what happens when one can't separate delusion and reality. I'm also devoted to everything that has to do with what I'd call "the voice of youth." I keep a blog where I regularly discuss writing, and where I also interview teenagers and young adults about their frustrations with today's society, their goals and ideas on how to be more active in the present.

First 250:

A man was standing behind the oak tree on the other side of the river. He had been doing that for nearly a year now, tirelessly watching the Chase family's house, without food or water, without rest.

He was no more than a vulture -- His face anonymous, his intentions hidden. But Daphne knew he wasn't someone to be feared. At least not yet. Being the daughter of Abelard Chase had taught her that even shadows, when properly tamed, could be helpful and surprisingly friendly.

Daphne craned her neck from behind a curtain and peeked at him like she did every morning right after getting up. She sighed. It was almost comforting to find him there every day guarding their grounds.

He always stood straight like a good soldier, but this time he leaned on the tree trunk. Daphne instinctively knew there was something wrong with him, and wondered whether he knew she was leaving later that day. Was it possible he knew she planned on never coming back home?

She walked away from the window and stood by her desk, where her notebook still laid open from her previous attempt at writing. She lazily stretched and tried to adjust her thoughts before breakfast. That was an important day for her, and she was nervous. It was still very early, and she thought of meditating. But, instead of hearing the ticking noise of her alarm clock, she heard music. Her heart skipped a beat. It was Heitor Villa-Lobos' Fifth Bachiana.

I am really excited that I'm getting a chance to expose my work. Unfortunately, so far any of the agents showed interest in reading more chapters. I was glad to see, though, support from people who believe in my writing. Maybe one day I'll make them proud of me.

Daphne is a dear character, and she's taught me a lot. Since the first day I had the idea for her story, I knew she was special. In fact, she feels very concrete. She's like a real person, a real friend. She's part of me -- though not like a daughter. She's my conscience. I'll continue fighting to see her published.

Thank you, and continue enjoying the first month of 2012!

Leebre.org -- Liberate fiction with free, social publishing

2012-01-22T18:36:00.000-06:00

Hi. I posted about Leebre.org some time ago, but I thought I should work on another blog entry about it, since we got our Kickstarter project going.

You guys know how writing is my life. If you follow this blog, you also know about my quest to get published. I often befriend aspiring authors on Twitter, and all of us always whine about querying, about our own insecurities, about not getting agents, publishers and whatnot. For people who are seriously willing to live by their pen, the wait to get someone interested in your work is endless. The publishing industry is a very competitive business, and while some agents are very open to new authors, some not even bother reading our queries.

I’ve often wondered why writers and other artists are often depicted in movies as depressed, melancholy people. But, guess what. . . the many rejections we get are more than enough to turn us into a bitter crowd.

I was very happy to find out, though, that there are many other writers out there who opt to publish their work independently. If you’re a writer, you should be able to show your work to people once it is done, right? Why keep it anonymous while desperately trying to impress literary agencies and publishing houses? Some of us just go and say “no, I’ll get this published whatever the means are, because nothing stops me from being a writer.”

The way I see these independent writers is as if they were explorers looking for new lands. They are brave, and confident enough to go about sailing, trusting that they are going to reach their goal -- a place they only see in their dreams. And once they reach it, they have to explore it without maps, because there aren’t maps describing the world of independent publishing. At least not yet.

What if, though, these pioneer writers didn’t have to go on adventures on their own? What if they didn’t have to fight occasional sea monsters alone? What if there was something that supported them, some place where they got advice from other pioneer writers just like they are, some place where they didn’t meet hostility, where they didn’t have to wait, where they could be just as prepared like other authors under the guidance of publishing houses? This place could be Leebre.org.

I humbly believe that Leebre.org is an innovative platform in the sense that it offers tools and a free, safe gathering place for independent authors who might be feeling lost and lonely in this vast publishing world. Up until now, some of its features were only made available for authors working directly with publishing houses. For instance, Leebre.org will allow authors to format their work with beautiful, professional looking typesetting -- and, guess what, if they know nothing of design techniques, they don’t have to worry about it, because the website will do this for you.

Everything about Leebre.org is to make publishing, formatting, engaging with audiences as easy as possible. The website is being designed to be completely community-oriented, and to allow an easy exchange of ideas between authors and readers. Yes, because Leebre.org is also aiming at empowering readers with a more complete library of books they can easily download, discuss about, and even help edit (if that was the author’s wish).

Another special feature Leebre.org will offer is the donation button for authors. Once they publish their work with Leebre, a donation button will be made available for readers to support their favorite authors’ works. In a way, it’s like arts patronage back again. There is also the option to associate your work with an NGO or some other cause, which means that everything that people donate will serve philanthropic causes of your interest. We’re hoping that this feature will attract already established authors as well, in case they’d like to support a cause.

Everything published with Leebre.org will go under a Creative Commons license (authors, of course, will be able to pick which aspects of the CC license best suits their interests). But why? Because we want these authors’ works to be immortal. It is absolutely ridiculous to think that many works out there can’t be released anymore due to expired copyrights that don’t interest publishers anymore. The CC license also functions for educational purposes, in the sense that more readers will be able to improve their libraries and have access to more thinkers.

Please, check out the Creative Commons website for more information about their licenses.

Finally, Leebre.org is also thinking about international communities. We’re hoping to translate it first into Portuguese, and then into other languages. Other features will make it easier for graphic novels and picture books to get published with us, and we’re planning on starting a creative writing forum that should allow writers and readers hone their skills.

We really need your support to make Leebre.org happen. We’ve launched our Kickstarter project and it is now 58% funded, but we only have 9 days left to fund-raise. You can help us with pledges on our Kickstarter page, spreading the word about it on Twitter and Facebook, and telling your friends to check out our Kickstarter as well. If you have a blog, why not write a quick entry about us? We’re also open to interviews, in case something is still unclear for you.

Join us on our quest to liberate fiction!
-- Becca, on Behalf of the Leebre Team.

Wintry Writing

2012-01-13T21:55:00.000-06:00

It's finally snowing a lot in Madison. Tonight, as we went on our crazy mission to get energy drinks, we were able to greet those beautiful snow flakes properly. It is really cold -- miserable, really. . . -- outside, but I can't help feeling happy and comforted to be in this winter wonderland again. I'll be going back to Brazil soon, and only God knows when I'll be able to see snow again. I want to have it around as long as possible, so I could say goodbye to this side of nature I won't find at home.

Here's a video of what I saw this afternoon. That's the view from our current place in Madison:

The forces of nature up here always felt too aggressive compared to what I was used to in Brazil. At the same time, though, they are also so soothing. When I walk outside, I feel my face is burning, every single vein and artery start stinging. . . My soul becomes restless, it doesn't let me breathe. It stabs my lungs, my muscles, ripping them from within to find freedom and run back to some place where there is warmth. After agitation, comes numbness. Completely numb, then, I can appreciate beauty in these cold winters.

I open my window at night and fill my lungs with freezing air. They fill up quickly with ice particles, and I start to cough convulsively. It hurts, but it tells me I'm alive. The air feels fresh, and it is even more refreshing after hours indoors, after hours in a stuffy room. I look up, and my upturned face contemplates an orange moon. This week, there was even a blue shooting star. It was startling, and beautiful. . . A blue fireball crossing the sky.

We look at the stars and point at them wondering whether they are planets. Is that Venus? Could that be Mars? Oh, look, it's moving! I guess it's just an airplane. . . And then I write. And daydream an awful lot too. My stories become cold. My characters are cold. They are freezing. Snow flakes burn their skin, just like mine. But they don't mind it. They are alive. . . we're alive together.

The White Wolf

2012-01-03T03:44:00.000-06:00

This week, I had a strange dream. I dreamed that Michael and I were observing mountains. We were standing behind what looked like debris of what probably had been a house on the outskirts of a city. Behind those debris, the city. Ahead of them, nature. Wild nature, in fact.

As we watched the mountains, I noticed a white wolf. The mountains were white too; the whole region was covered in snow. The wolf looked at me. It looked at me from the mountain, and although it was far away, it scared me. I was terribly frightened. I knew it would come for me. That wolf was faster than all other wolves, and I knew it would reach me soon.

Let the YAs'11 Meet Again

2011-12-22T14:15:00.000-06:00

One of the greatest things about going on exchange programs to other countries is the possibility of making lifelong friends. People bond easily when traveling, they rely on each other as if they were family. They, in fact, become family. That is the case with the Youth Ambassadors kids.

Every year, the U.S. Embassy sponsors a diplomatic trip to the U.S. to a group of Brazilian high school students interested in strengthening the foreign relations between the Americas. These kids, who come from all over Brazil, spend three weeks together, cooperating in discussions and activities to improve their understanding of their own and the American cultures. During these days together, they develop strong friendships and the certainty they can always count on each other.

Usually on April, the U.S. Embassy hosts a trip to Sao Paulo, Brazil, to allow Youth Ambassadors of that year to meet again and share their new experiences and new endeavours since their return to Brazil. This year, unfortunately, the Youth Ambassadors 2011 didn’t have their reunion. They were the first group in the history of the Youth Ambassadors Program that couldn’t see one another again.

That -- and I am speaking as a former Youth Ambassador -- is the most frustrating thing. Youth Ambassadors come from humble backgrounds, and flying to other cities to meet their friends is absolutely out of question. Youth Ambassadors count the days til reunion, and are very anxious to be reunited once again. Although we understand the reasons why the U.S. Embassy, which is always so supportive of all of us, couldn’t sponsor their reunion, we’re not going to give their meeting up.

I mentioned the Lumix Panasonic contest before, but I am going to remind you once again, because today is the last day to vote for their photo. The Youth Ambassadors still need your vote to help them go on an all-expense-paid trip to Sao Paulo, sponsored and hosted by Panasonic and MTv. So, vote, vote, and vote. Here’s the link:

http://apps.facebook.com/lumixapp/photo.php?p=bZllv

And, please, spread the news. There’s Twitter, Facebook, and so many other social networks where you could ask people to vote for the Youth Ambassadors 11’s photo. It means a lot, and you have no idea the good you’re doing.

Thanks! Happy Holidays!

The Voice of Youth Series -- Danielle Santiago, The Geologist

2011-12-21T20:01:00.001-06:00

Danielle Santiago.
Photo taken by Risalat Khan at Bryce Canyon National Park, Utah

Danielle Santiago went to Military School of Recife, joined the U.S. Embassy’s Youth Ambassadors Program and is currently in her junior year at Amherst College, Massachusetts, where she is majoring in geology and mathematics. Feel free to contact her at dsantiagoramos13@amherst.edu.

#1) How would you describe your personality? Were you always this way? Have you changed? (Why? Why not?)
I am extremely perfectionist and very emotional. I try to pretend I am strong and that people don’t have the power to hurt me, but that is all fake. I’ve always been like that, but now I am more aware of it. I am also very friendly but really like some time by myself.
Living in America has changed me in so many ways. I became more independent, open minded and learned to respect people’s life choices much more than I used to. But it’s not all good. I feel like I’ve became less idealistic. I usually say that my college is a bubble. We live here without knowing much of what is going on in the “outside world,” so I haven’t been exposed to poverty, violence or injustice as much as I used to back home. It just gives us the illusory feeling that everything is alright and we can live our lives without caring too much about those who struggle. I have to constantly fight against that prospect.

#2) What was the most significant moment you've lived? Do you think it contributed to shaping who you are today?
I don’t think I’ve been shaped by any one significant moment. It was a series of struggles I’ve been through with my mother and my brother that have contributed tremendously to shaping my personality. There is not even one moment when I feel sorry for that, though. I think everything happens for a reason.

#3) How would you describe your life as an international student? Was it difficult to move to a different country?
It was difficult to leave home and it has been difficult to live away from home too. I usually say I am a true international student/person. I don’t fit in very well. I still don’t understand some aspects of the “American way of life,” but it doesn’t prevent me from being happy nor is it an obstacle to my success in here. On the bright side, I still encounter people who get excited when I say I am from Brazil and that always makes my day!

#4) How would you describe the community you come from and the one where you now live? What are the differences and similarities between them?
The idea of a community makes much more sense to me in here than it does back home. Jaboatao dos Guararapes is a huge municipality. You know some of your neighbors and that is about it. The living pace is much more frenetic, there is a lot more to worry about. Amherst is a very small and safe town. College and public places blend in nicely. It feels cozy, I like it a lot. The commoners get together and celebrate holidays, festivities, Independence Day, they care about the public property too, so you don’t see trash everywhere, graffiti on the buses, and all that. Although I love my hometown, it is much nicer to live in a smaller city. The thing I miss the most, though, is seeing people’s smiley faces everywhere you go back home.

#5) Do you feel there are things both communities could teach each other? Do you feel you are a mediator of this knowledge?
Most definitely. I strongly believe we have a lot to learn from the American experience, the same way we could help them with some ideas to liven things up too The thing that impress me the most about the place I currently live in, though, is people’s politeness and respect towards one another and the public space. It is an old dream of mine that my people would learn to act the same way, but it can only be conquered with a better education and honest politicians.

#6) Have you had a chance to attend college in Brazil? If so, have you noticed any differences / similarities between the Brazilian and the American “college” way of life?
Yes, I have and they constitute totally different realities. The public universities in Brazil are definitely not even close to be as organized as the American ones. Here, professors will not miss a class; they also don’t act like they have all the power in their hands and thus can do whatever they want. Furthermore, the infrastructure is better and there is a lot more money being invested in the students’ education. However, it feels like we are competing for our lives most of the time. Being in a small, elitist school can drive you crazy. It is definitely not as healthy of an environment as the one I used to live in back in the University of Pernambuco. It was easier to make friends, competition was not so obvious and there was much more collaboration amongst peers.

#7) Why have you picked the career path you now envision? Was it always your dream to do so? What made you more secure about your career plans?
Coming to Amherst has changed my professional career too. I’ve never thought I would want to be a geologist in my life. I always thought I would be a History teacher. I took my first Geology class here and fell in love. I then realized I was back into sciences and, honestly, it felt good Now I want to pursue a career in Geology (not sure which branch of it yet) and am very, very glad I had the chance to get to know the field. Now I feel much more secured about my career plans because there are more opportunities in the area and because I just fell in love with it!

#8) How do you plan to contribute to improving society? In fact, what are the aspects that – in your opinion – need improvement?
That question bugs me every day of my life since I came here. I don’t want to become the selfish person one can turn into by being in such small, secluded and perfectly set place. Although I want to go into the sciences, I want to figure out a way of keeping myself involved with issues like education and environment protection. There is just SO much my country can improve by investing in educating its people. And, in times of such economic progress, people should also keep an eye on the environment. Hopefully, I will have the chance to contribute in both fields.

#9) How would you describe the participation of youth in today's society?
Youth is so powerful. As cliché as it may sound, I do believe we are “the future.” I get very excited when I see friends and young people all over the world fighting for all sorts of things, getting more interested in politics, protesting against corruption, helping those who struggle. We need to get even more educated, eliminate our own prejudices and work on becoming the honest people our country (and the world) needs in order to change. A society is the reflection of its people and their actions. As happy, cheerful and welcoming as we are, there is just no chance of real progress and change if the same vicious people keep in charge of the important decisions in our country. Overall, I guess we are on the right track, but I would like to see more action than plain idealism.

#10) Do you feel the Brazilian youth could teach something to the rest of the world? If you had a chance, then, to speak for them, what message would you leave to the world?
Yes! Somehow I feel that we grow up a lot faster. And we do so for safety reasons. We have to protect ourselves against the odds of living in a society hunted by such high social inequality. There is no certain future if we don’t work hard to reach it. As the strong people that we are, I do believe we have a lot to teach. So, if I had the chance, I would tell the world how hard we are trying to improve as individuals with a common goal: living in a more fair society. I would say how much we struggle to show that Brazil is not only the “Country of Soccer,” but a place where people are lively, caring, and eager to improve. I believe that, that being true, we would become the best place in the world. And only then could we be an inspiration for all of the other nations on Earth.

The [Most] Perfect Gift Ever

2011-12-20T23:20:00.000-06:00

Hello!

I’m back in Madison, after a few days in Mount Horeb at Michael’s parents’ house. Remember that a few days ago I was talking about how I wish I had a calligraphy set and parchment paper? Well, I got none of that, but here’s what’s surprising: I got a journal for Christmas.

I’ll try to better explain: I have a wish list on Amazon, and that list has the many little things I wish I had, including a few Italian leather journals I’ve been courting for about a year. You know -- that is, if you know me well -- that I’m a journal and pen geek. I love journals, I have 23 finished journals and am these days working on my 24th; also, I love pens. I absolutely love and adore pens, particularly fountain pens. But really nice journals and pens aren’t cheap; and, unfortunately, cheap things are the only ones I can afford.

Michael’s brother and sister-in-law didn’t know me well. In fact, they didn’t know me at all. In the past, they probably heard a thing or two about me, but other than that I am a complete stranger. Imagine, then, how surprised I looked when I unwrapped the Christmas gift they gave to me on Saturday. It was an Italian leather journal, and a box of chocolate. Guess what. . . I love chocolate, too!

Surprisingly, also, Michael’s brother said he was actually planning on adding a calligraphy set, or just a quill, to my gift. Yes, I’d have died if I had seen this awesome combo. So, just on the verge of dying, I managed to ask how they came up with the idea of giving me a journal.

“You’re a writer,” Waz said. Waz is Michael’s sister-in-law, and she is particularly good -- actually, she is pretty awesome -- at playing Apples to Apples. My theory, in fact, is that she knows how to read people’s minds with the precision of an expert on soul reading.

I kept thinking: Am I that predictable? Are all writers out there absolutely crazy about journals and pens?

They didn’t know about my attraction to writing supplies, so predictability has to be the answer. They were, though, as surprised as yours truly when I unwrapped my gift. They, of course, hoped I would really like it, but they didn’t know I’d actually worship it. It truly felt as if they’d known me for 23 years. . . Well, whatever system they used, or whatever spell or magic dance they applied to coming up with the most perfect gift ever, I shouldn’t care. It was the most perfect gift, and that’s all that matters. Thank you, John and Waz.

Youth Ambassadors -- A Series of Memories -- #1) When They Called Me

2011-12-13T18:15:00.000-06:00

Hello, guys. I hope you're having a great week. I'm still complaining about the lack of sunlight in my life, but today I'll dedicate this blog entry to other topics. Or, rather, to a (singular) different topic: The Youth Ambassadors program. In January, the new YAs will be coming to the U.S. and I often see how nervous they are getting on Facebook, how excited and anxious to know more and more about what awaits them next year.

I decided, then, to write a series of articles dedicated to my Youth Ambassadors memories. I don't know how helpful they are, but I just thought that reading what a former YA went through might help them get a tiny idea of how wonderful this opportunity will be in their lives. Of course, every person experiences this program from their own perspective, but in general all of us seem to be on the same boat when it comes to feeling overwhelmed by the world of possibilities the U.S. Embassy offers.

I hope you'll enjoy my articles, and feel free to contact me if you have any questions, general doubts, comments, words of wisdom, etc. If you don't know me, I'm Rebecca Carvalho, YA '07, from Recife - PE, Brazil. I currently live in Madison, Wisconsin, and last summer I graduated with a B.A in English from Lawrence University. Nice to meet you, and congrats if you're a new YA. If you aren't, I encourage you to apply again next year. If you can't apply due to whatever reasons you might have, there are so many other opportunities -- some of them even offered by the U.S. Embassy -- that I highly recommend you should try. Never give up!

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When They Called Me

By Rebecca Carvalho

Youth Ambassador '07, Recife - PE, Brazil

I couldn’t believe the U.S. Embassy was calling me to say I had been chosen to be a Youth Ambassador. I started crying on the phone. I think I momentarily forgot everything I knew about good manners, and simply started sobbing. My mom, poor thing, didn’t know what was going on. She thought I had received awful news, and took the cell phone from me to hear them as well.

There’s a good chance I scared Edvaldo, too, who was calling me in behalf of the embassy. He still jokes about it. He said he didn’t know what to do, and was afraid that my mom could have thought he was upsetting me.

It’s just that he caught me off guard. That day my head was filled with different worries. I ddn’t know whether Federal University of Pernambuco would accept me into their journalism program. I was afraid I wouldn’t be going to college. I was overwhelmed -- Yes, entirely overwhelmed by my future and the possibility of failure. That year, 2006, had been the strangest in my life.

Most of my friends at Military School had been investing on private afternoon lessons. They were avid learners and competitive classmates. Some of them wanted to go to military academies, and the competition to get into one of those schools is even stronger. At very young ages, they were already ruthless mathematicians, they knew literary history by heart, and physics was as easy as if they had been the writers of those laws.

My family, however, didn’t have the means to pay for extra classes. I had never been good at math, and that year I was particularly afraid that what my knowledge wouldn’t be enough to get me into a federal university -- the only place where we could afford, since it is free.

“You don’t need private lessons to succeed,” my mom told me, “you can do this on your own. Your brain is healthy and you’re a determined girl. Fight with what you have.”

I, then, followed her advice. That piece of wisdom is what kept me studying non-stop for an entire year. I dedicated my afternoons to mathematics, chemistry and physics, and read Brazilian and Portuguese literature to relax. Although humanities had always been dear subjects, I knew I couldn’t simply ignore them. I spent Saturdays and Sundays with world and Brazilian history, reading and learning everything my instinct told me was necessary to know.

My routine that year was very strict. I got home from school at 1:00 p.m. and from 2:00 to 5:00 I studied locked in my room. Since I didn’t have a computer, there was nothing that could distract me. It was just me, with an occasional cat sleeping surrounded by piles and more piles of books, and learning. At 5:00, I took a break to eat dinner and spend some time with my family and watch TV. If I didn’t have anything that required more studying -- like an exam, or a presentation -- I simply stayed in the living room watching TV, writing and reading. If I had something that required more preparation, I’d just take an hour break at 5:00 and go back to studying until midnight.

On Fridays, the day I took time to sleep, I’d go straight to my room after lunch, and often slept from 1:00 p.m. non-stop until around 5:00 a.m. the next day. I don’t know what made me sleep so deeply, but perhaps my body was in constant need of recovery. My dreams were often populated by teachers I had never met in real life, who told me what I had to study, who advised me and explained problems I had trouble solving. They were always, always right. One day a teacher in my dream told me: “You need to study modern Brazilian literature more. Focus on that.” I did what he told me. Surprisingly, ‘vestibular’ that year was all about modern literary history. I almost got 100% of my exam right, and to this day I trust the advice of these friends we only know in the world of dreams. And then, on the weekends, I studied from 7:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., stopping only to eat.

So, in 2006, although I was very excited about the possibility of becoming a youth ambassador, there was very little space in my mind to worry about it. When Edvaldo called me that day, I was so distracted I had even forgotten the date the embassy would be announcing the list of new youth ambassadors. I knew, of course, the date was getting closer and closer, because Globo TV and Jornal do Commercio had interviewed me to check how anxious I felt, but I didn’t remember precisely when it would be.
When Edvaldo called me, I could hardly believe they had chosen me.

“This is Edvaldo Amorim, calling from Sao Paulo in behalf of the U.S. Embassy,” he said, and his voice was happy and confident, “have you heard the good news?”

“No, I haven’t,” I said, and was a little bit clueless. My brain, in fact, went blank that day. I could barely make the connection between the U.S. Embassy and the Youth Ambassadors program.

“On, then, let me tell you you’re a youth ambassador.”

And I cried, and cried, and cried a bit more than you think I did. I had focused so much in studying to go to college, that I had barely realized how the Youth Ambassadors program was building up this invisible tension in my head, and the whole thing exploded like fireworks when I got that phone call. It was enchanting.

It was the greatest moment, the happiest moment in my life. I felt so relieved, so free. It was like the universe was telling me my work was worthwhile. It wasn’t just about the Youth Ambassadors; it was about everything in my life. It was about giving my best to accomplish my goals, and trusting that I would be rewarded if I really deserved it. It taught me to be less nervous about vestibular, as well, like I had been when I applied for the second time to be a Youth Ambassador. There was still so much to get done: Vestibular, arrangements for the trip, the trip itself; but, that afternoon, I felt re-energized and more confident that no matter how difficult to achieve them, dreams do come true when you’re ready.

Land of Perpetual Night

2011-12-12T18:49:00.000-06:00

Where’s the sun? With the sun setting every day around 4:30 p.m., I feel like I’m living in the land of perpetual night. Have you ever imagined what a world without sunlight would be like? It doesn’t need to be scientifically defined, though. It could be, in fact, a magical world where people live in constant darkness.

I believe candle makers would be the richest people, and candle wax would be the most sought out good in the black market. People with private stocks of candles would burn them in hidden rooms at home, carefully trying to conceal the delicate smell of candle burning inside. In this land where the sun doesn’t touch, people would be very melancholy, and a little grumpy too. Well, we can’t blame them -- feeling cold and constantly exposed to animals and other creatures of the night, indeed, turns the nicest person into the most easily annoyed one.

And they would try to compensate the lack of sunlight with clothing that sparkles even more than cabaret outfits. And “you’re my sunshine,” would certainly be the highest praise someone could hear.

Merry (Early) Christmas And Night Elves

2011-12-07T17:28:00.002-06:00

Hi! It's December..! I always freak out when I notice that time is flying. I remember, though, that when I was a kid I used to love this time of the year. My uncles, aunts and cousins would visit us -- I lived with my grandparents, by the way -- and it was always fantastic to see everyone. I'm an only child, so getting to be with my cousins was one of the few opportunities I had as a child, other than hanging out with classmates, to socialize with other kids. Sadly, I haven't seen my family since 2008. I'm looking forward to moving back to Brazil next year, though!

Christmas this year will be early. In fact, it will be next week, since it was the only time available to get everyone together. I'll be staying at Michael's parents' house, and I'll get to meet his siblings. I wish my family got a chance to meet them, too. Michael, though, will meet my folks next year! Carvalho-land is very excited to welcome him to our Brazilianess.

Other than getting ready for Christmas and to move out, there isn't anything extraordinary going on in my life. I'm still getting rejections from literary agents, still writing my stories and publishing articles, and hoping to get a few projects done before 2011 ends. Next year is very promising, I must say, but let's just focus on doing our best in the present.

I'll leave you with some more flash fiction. This is for young children and adults young at heart. Merry (early) Christmas!

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Night Elves

By Rebecca Carvalho

Raphael didn't like when the night came and the moon shone bright behind thin clouds, because when everyone went to bed and the lights were off, and the neighbor's dogs were not barking anymore, Raphael's house went alive with all sorts of little scary noises that kept him paralyzed.

The night when this story starts, Raphael had a nightmare. He dreamed of little elves coming from the woods, sneaking into the house and singing: "We'll catch you soon!" He was almost asleep again when heard a thump in the living room. Raphael curled into a ball as he heard a lion roaring down the corridor. He felt more relieved when he realized it had been just his father snoring and occasionally mumbling in his sleep.

Raphael remembered what his parents had told him when he started learning how to ride his first bicycle:

"Braveness is when you face your fears even though you are scared."

He left his room, and walked to the living room. A little noise by his dad's armchair made Raphael jump back. He looked down, ready to scream, and a pair of bright green eyes stared back at him. He thought: The elves are ready to attack me!

Raphael rushed to turn the lights on. The living room was bright again, and Raphael searched for the source of his bad dreams. But then he laughed. The pair of green eyes were still there, but all this time it had just been the family's cat, its eyes reflecting the moonlight like little flashlights to help it see in the dark.

Mookychick Blogging Competition (Flash Fiction): Pink Shoe Laces

2011-11-29T18:44:00.000-06:00

Mookychick Blogging Competition

Flash Fiction – Pink Shoe Laces

By Rebecca Carvalho

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For all ladies out there who just want a chance to be themselves, despite what feminist trends say they should or should not be or do. The following is a sad parody of what happens when we get lost in piles and more piles of theory.

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She sat staring at her shoes. They had pink laces.

There was a young man sitting nearby. She knew he was just pretending to be reading his newspaper. Who could read a newspaper in a day like that?

She quickly rummaged in her backpack and found a copy of “A Vindication of the Rights of Women.” She knew that Wollstonecraft would back her up.

But then, from the corner of her eye, she noticed he had peered at her.

She looked at him. He was back pretending to read. She looked at her pink laces again. He had stared at them. She was certain of it! What was he thinking just then? She felt terrible. That same morning, prior to going to the park, she noticed her white laces were not white anymore. They were gray with dirt. The pink ones were the only at hand.

Ah, how she hated pink. Pink was the most anti-feminist color, she thought. Pink was men's idea to segregate women. They had given them a color – just that color – and told them they were allowed to use only that. Only pink. Poor Grandma had not known she hated it. Those pink laces had been a gift, along with new shoes, of course.

She rummaged in her backpack again. Woolf waved at her. She grabbed “A Room of One's Own” and started reading it too. Wollstonecraft in her right hand. Woolf in her left hand. That would do just fine.

But her pink laces were still there. She knew he simply had to be looking at them. Who wouldn't look at such bright color? Pink was the sort of stuff that wouldn't pass unnoticed.

She needed more support. She needed to ascertain herself. She had a trump card and would use it gladly. That's when she pulled out her reputable copy of feminist literary theory. She placed it on her lap, and read it. And continued reading Wollstonecraft. And Woolf too. A paragraph here, another there, and a third one there.

Literary theory, though, was simply too boring. She thought of that vampire series in her bag, and wanted to read them, but couldn't. People said they were anti-feminist; just like her pink shoe laces were. She sighed.

The young man looked at her and smiled. Ah, oppressor! She had to fight back. So, trying to balance everything, she rummaged in her backpack one last time, and found Austen. Austen was sharp. Austen's wit would defeat anyone trying to enslave her thoughts. She held “Pride and Prejudice” along with “A Vindication” in her right hand, and “Emma” and “A Room of One's Own” in her left hand.

But, with her hands busy, she simply couldn't turn the page of anything she was reading. She leaned forward, and tried to turn pages using her nose. At first, it was difficult. But, when she was starting to get the hang of it, she noticed that her pink laces were actually sparkling sun beams. She didn't know they had glitter. Tiny bits of pink glitter!

She looked at the young man. He smiled again. She gasped. She knew he had noticed her shoe laces had started to sparkle.

That was enough. Nasty, nasty color! She started shaking her legs to get rid of her shoes. In her furious fit, she lost her balance and all books fell. She desperately jumped forward to pick them up. And, as she grabbed them back, she noticed that the young man had just approached her.

She stood up, and was ready to throw at him her best swear words. She wouldn't be intimidated.

“I was wondering if you know what the time is,” he asked her in a faltering voice.

“Um. . . four o'clock,” she said, after checking her wristwatch.

“Nice bright salmon shoe laces,” he said before leaving.

She stared at her shoes. “Salmon?” She murmured to herself. And stood staring at them for an hour. After that, she put her books back in her bag and sat back on the bench, this time with her vampire series. There was no one around. And her shoe laces were not pink. They were salmon. And they didn't sparkle. They were bright. She finally felt at peace.

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This is an entry for the Mookychick blogging competition, FEMINIST FLASH FICTION 2011. Enter now.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-23T17:50:00.000-06:00

Hello! Happy (almost) Thanksgiving!

We're having a strange, though interesting Wednesday. Our apartment smells like chicken, and that's not bad. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and we're (yours truly very proudly is. . .) making salpicão, which is a Brazilian type of cold chicken salad. It's a wonderful, magnificent (though, very simple!) dish I've never made before, but I've seen my mom preparing it many times. Our family is quite fond of it, and of her recipe in particular. Every Christmas, my family requests my mom to bring it to our dinner. Hopefully, my salpicão will turn out just as good as hers, because we'll be taking some to Michael's parents' house tomorrow.

Strangely, since I moved to the U.S. this is the first time I haven't seen snow on Thanksgiving. If I remember correctly, the two times I was invited to the Kozaks' house on Thanksgiving, Casey Kozak joked that I had brought snow with me. The corn fields would be entirely white. Deb Kozak would be afraid of driving. This year, though, there's no sign of it. I wonder what's up with the weather. . . Global warming, I suppose?

That's all I have to say for now. There's still cooking to do. And writing to work on later. With or without snow. . . happy Thanksgiving!

Another Blog Entry On Writing. And Neil Gaiman.

2011-11-20T18:03:00.000-06:00

It's Sunday. Not a lazy one. Though not as busy as it should be. Michael is working at home, too. But, when he takes breaks from programming, he takes photos of me. Here's one. I'm happily (. . .I'm sorry if you can't really tell) working on the last chapters of my latest novel.

I'm glad this project is almost over, but I know I'll miss it. I'll miss my characters, the cities I've created, and the dreams I had at night because of my writing before going to bed. The idea is a year and five months old. There was a lot of writing, planning, thinking, worrying and celebrating.

I'll try to publish it. You know that already. Wish me luck.

Perhaps, later tonight I'll watch The Simpsons. I want to see a yellow, Simpson version of Neil Gaiman. The episode is called “The Book Job.” That might be interesting. I recommend it. He mentioned that the next step is to become a talking head in Futurama.

First Time in the Countryside

2011-11-19T01:35:00.000-06:00

I wrote First Time in the Countryside today. I'm not sure, but it is either a chronicle or a short story. Either way, it is a personal narrative, and I hope you'll like it.

-- Rebecca Carvalho

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First Time in the Countryside

The year was 2002. I was fourteen, and I had never been to the countryside.

I was born and raised in a big city in the northeastern part of Brazil. I come from a family of police officers and soldiers, so they over-protected me, sheltered me, and kept me indoors as much as possible. It was like I was one of the inmates they had to watch, except that I could watch TV, and the food was exceptionally better.

So, at the age of fourteen, I had not gone too far.

My mom, on the contrary, at that point had visited the countryside many times. She had friends there. She had even been to those rural towns where rain is scarce. It is so rare that people celebrate when it rains. One day, when my mother was visiting a town in particular, it started raining. She saw people dancing on the streets, dancing in the rain. She said it was beautiful. They thought she had brought rain with her, and so she was invited to many houses, where they fed her their best treats, and regarded her presence as good omen. She was like a goddess. A goddess of rain bringing fertility to their land. Those were her best days.

It was Easter. The entire country closed so people could spend that holiday at home. Kids didn’t have to go to school, adults didn’t have to go to work. It was perfect, except that I had tons to study. After Easter, our exams would start. The first one would be our Portuguese test.

My mom was invited to go to a farm in the countryside. She insisted I should go. She said I’d be able to study there. So, we packed our bags, leaped in the car, and left.

We arrived later that same day. My mom’s friends were there. The house was spacious, and they showed us our room. Everything was perfect, except that I felt lost.

Up until then, I had spent my entire life in a big metropolitan area, which means that our garden was just a narrow strip of dirt on the left side of our garage, behind a bench. One day, when I was five, I decided I wanted to plant a cashew tree. My grandfather had to break a hole in the cemented area in front of our house, by my window. In that tiny hole I planted my tree. The poor tree died earlier than you think, but the hole is still there.

So, I didn’t know what to do.

I tried to remember everything I had heard people say about going to the countryside. People talked about reading, so I decided I would do that too. I didn’t have fiction with me, so I got my Portuguese grammar book and sat in a hammock outside.

It was a sunny afternoon, and the view was pretty, and my book was boring. I stayed in the hammock, swinging back and forth, until I realized there was no way I could read there. For no particular reason, I looked back, and caught my mom staring at me from a nearby window. I think she was waiting to see how long it would take for me to give up on reading.

I went back inside, a little disappointed, and tried to think of something else to do. I leaned on a windowsill and pondered that if visiting the countryside meant taking time to admire nature, I would do that too.

So, I stood there looking at the horizon, and day dreaming was something that actually came to me quite naturally, when I finally looked down at a pile of logs, and my heart almost jumped out of my chest.

There was a spider there. The biggest, hairiest, nastiest spider I’d ever seen in my fourteen years of sheltered life. It looked as if it had been observing me all this time from that pile of logs, because it stepped back when I made eye contact.

I tried my best not to scream. I didn’t want to be the stupid city girl who goes to the countryside and squeaks in horror after the biggest-hairiest-nastiest spider ever seen appears on a log. So, I stiffly walked to a man who worked there taking care of the grounds, and told him I had found the biggest. . . just a spider below the window.

Of course, he paraded the animal as if it were a kitten. Of course, people there looked at it as if it were a kitten. And, of course, I had to pretend that spider was a kitten, because that was what they did there. There in the countryside.

But, when the spider was gone, I had nothing else to do.

I tried to think of other things people did in the countryside, and remembered that people liked to go out for walks. My idea, in fact, was praised by my mom, who is addicted to sightseeing. She used to go sightseeing even back where we lived, and took photographs of trees and doors like tourists so often do, and pretended to be from Spain, even though she doesn’t speak Spanish.

The farm’s owner suggested we should go see a waterfall he had in his property. My mom was very excited, my mom’s friends where very excited too, and I. . . well, I was there. The same man who had previously taken the spider received very specific instructions on which path to take that would lead us to the waterfall.

He seemed a little confused, but in the end he nodded, and condescended. Those were his boss’ orders, after all. I was the only one, though, who saw he looked confused. Now that I think of it, I should have asked him why he looked confused. I don’t know. I could have told my mother, right? Whispered something about it, if I were feeling particularly shy. But I didn’t. Regretfully, I didn’t say a word.

And so we left, wearing our swimsuits underneath our clothes. And at first, we took photos of flowers and rocks, and grass and more grass, and then we took photos of us pointing at more flowers, rocks and grass. We walked, walked and walked, and that afternoon seemed endless, as the sun refused to go down. And it was still very bright, although it was already late.

I would have been drinking coffee & milk, as I watched my favorite evening soap operas. . . if I were at home.

But I wasn’t. I was in the countryside, crossing what soon looked like a jungle, and eating sour berries that we picked along the paths we took. The only way to comfort our hungry stomachs.

After what to me felt like an endless amount of time walking, we heard water. We took a left, jumped over a handful of bushes, and we ran overjoyed to our precious waterfall.

But it turned out to be something else.

There was a pipe up in a rock, and water streamed from it down in what looked like a man-made lake bed. A woman was sitting there, washing her dishes and her kid.

Disappointment crept into our faces as we watched dirty bubbles floating on the water. There would be no swimming that afternoon. So, we went back, and going back was as fast as a quick turn up the closest path. And that’s what we did.

When he saw us, the farm’s owner burst into laughter. He hysterically pointed out he had made us go down the longer path to find. . . nothing close to what we had envisioned. And pointed at our hurting feet. And pointed at my face, which was deeply red, as it always gets when I’m exposed to sunlight. Or when I’m embarrassed.

Our guide scratched his head. “Oh, now I see why he told me to go the other way. I thought to myself there was a shorter one,” he said with a sheepish smile.

His life was spared due to his naivete.

…

After dinner, I still didn’t know what to do. But then I thought: Some people go to the countryside to write! There were many authors -- William Wordsworth, for instance -- who appreciated the idea of writing surrounded by nature.

I’ve always liked to write. And, at the young age of fourteen, I already knew I was a writer. There was nothing else I was good at. I horribly failed at sports, I had no sense of mathematical logic, and my drawings were as good as they had been when I was four; the difference was that when I was four, they said I was a child prodigy. When I grew up, it seems the world had grown tired of my art.

They had a covered area with a table at the back of the house. Lighting there was also good enough, so I grabbed my notebook and sat down to write.

Despite a few jokes I heard earlier that day about keeping journals, I felt very proud to be writing down my thoughts. I was also very proud I had finally found a thing to do in the countryside.

My happiness, however, was short-lived; and so was my writing.

The back of the house was pitch-black, but soon I noticed an army of geese had just entered the pool of light where I was working. I say “army” because that is precisely what they looked like. They were in formation, side by side, and very synchronized as they flapped their wings and turned to me. I felt like a general saluted by a troop.

But there were at least twenty of them there, and geese are always so intimidating. The truth is that they can be very vicious creatures. I asked them what they wanted, and they continued coming closer and closer. So I ran back into the house, scared. I had been cornered by them, by the army of countryside geese.

The next day, we packed our bags and got in the car to leave. Someone gave me an apple; and I played with it, throwing it up and catching it back. And I did that a few times as we drove away. I felt happy. I had not known what to do when I arrived for the first time in the countryside, but I found out I had learned important lessons to keep in mind when visiting it again: (1) Always bring a novel in your bag, (2) spiders are to be regarded as kittens, but shouldn’t necessarily be petted, (3) never trust your guide, nor your guide’s boss, even if the latter is a friend, (4) and geese can form very strong armies, so they must be avoided at all costs.

Sickness, Possible Christmas Gifts (?), Sphinx's Queen, And Youth Ambassadors!

2011-11-18T17:58:00.001-06:00

I spent the afternoon feeling sick, and that is always very, very frustrating. I don't know precisely what's the matter with me, but I think this time my anemia and this crazy sleeping habit are taking revenge for the way I neglect my body.

It doesn't help that I forget to take my iron pills. And, also, the fact that I barely eat during the day, always distracted with my writing, or job hunting. On top of that, I can't avoid staying up all night to write. From midnight to 5ish in the morning, my best ideas are at their peak. My words flow smoothly, and I feel I can better see my story when the rest of the world is asleep. But, going to bed so late is killing me slowly.

Do you also sometimes put work before your own health?

This afternoon, then, I'm paying the price for being reckless. A few hours ago, I felt so tired and weak, almost as if my body was begging to shut down. I thought I'd end up falling asleep, but I did my best to keep my eyes open, and tried reading a book. I did some reading, and then decided to watch a documentary. It was a BBC one. It was on Egypt.

When I felt stronger, I got paper and used markers to write down a few ideas for the short story I am working on for a literary magazine. So, I wrote as I watched the documentary. I felt like a scribe, inspired by Ancient Egypt.

Something I've always, always wanted to have was a calligraphy set, and parchment paper. Like these, for example:

It is very upsetting, though, to feel like the way I'm conducting my work is now starting to affect it. Physical and emotional pain, though at least today the latter is nonexistent in my case, are obstacles to writing. How can I concentrate, for instance, on describing happiness, when my body feels like it is falling apart? I remember earlier this year I was reading George Eliot's journals (or, perhaps, it was Frances Burney's!) and she complained that she couldn't do any writing that day because of a pestering migraine. One of those two writers complained about other migraines that didn't let them work.

I'm feeling much better now, yes, but I'm still a bit queasy and drowsy. I shouldn't be glued to the computer again, but I can't help it. I suppose I should try going to bed early tonight, but that will probably be difficult after so many days of my undisciplined routine.

…

On a different subject, I'm almost done reading Esther Friesner's Sphinx Queen. The book is great, the reading goes easily and fast, and I'd recommend it if you're interested in Ancient Egypt. At least when I'm interested in the life of an iconic figure, I can't help picturing what their lives really were like. What were their likes and dislikes? What thoughts did they have when facing such and such event?

In general, it's the sort of stuff no historian would be able to address, because they not always have access to such information. Unless there's a journal or some other type of personal documentation, it's almost impossible to know what worlds people like Nefertiti brought within their heads. So, in this case, historical fiction plays an interesting role. Although it takes many liberties with history, which might annoy a few people profoundly, it also allows us a chance to continue building up our fascination for ancient cultures and historical actors, as we pretend we know what they were thinking, how things really went, and what mannerisms they had.

Here's the link to Sphinx's Queen on Random Buzzers:

http://www.randombuzzers.com/books/sphinxs-queen/

…

Finally, I'd like to ask you a favor. The Youth Ambassadors '11 were not able to go to their reunion, because I guess the U.S. Embassy couldn't afford to fly everyone to Sao Paulo this year. They decided to participate, then, in a photography contest. The winner will be able to take 50 friends on an all-expense-paid trip to Sao Paulo to attend a party hosted by MTV. That would be their best shot at getting everyone together.

This is very important because these kids haven't seen each other since January. They live in different Brazilian cities, and it's very unlikely they'd have a chance to see each other again. And we're talking about a group of teenagers who only spent two weeks together, working as diplomats in Washington, D.C.; but, despite this short amount of time, developed really strong, dear friendships. The great majority of them come from financially unstable families, so traveling is a luxury they can't afford on their own.

The contest is Panasonic's “Lumix: A Vida Como Voce Nunca Viu” (Life As You've Never Seen), and to help them you only need to 'like' (curtir, in Portuguese) their photo on Facebook. Here's the link:

http://apps.facebook.com/lumixapp/photo.php?p=bZllv

Many thanks, and feel free to comment.

Happy Friday!

Living Dreams

2011-11-16T15:07:00.000-06:00

Hello,

Last night (or, rather, this morning) I had the greatest dream I've had in a while. Well, I stayed up writing until way past 6:00 a.m. and I only went to bed because it was already very late, but I could have stayed writing. My mind was still buzzing with ideas, and I didn't feel as tired as I was supposed to be. But I went to bed, anyway, and fell asleep with a strange feeling that I had just arrived from a meeting with friends.

And then I dreamed. . .

I dreamed that I had been published. I had published fiction, perhaps my latest, I'm not sure. But I had been published, and it felt extraordinary to have a story in print.

Well, I remember when I got two copies of Operation Legacy. Professor Barrett mailed them to me, because I couldn't attend the signing. I opened it and went to the cafe upstairs to get coffee or just something to eat, I don't remember precisely; but I opened that anthology, and read my story (or, the story of the veteran I interviewed) as if it were written by someone else. I remember an acquaintance asked me what I was reading, and I proudly showed it to her. “It's my story. I got published,” I said and the feeling was extraordinary, it was amazing.

But, strangely, the way I felt in my dream was different. The way I felt when I got Operation Legacy was accomplished, proud that I finally saw one of my things in print. But, in my dream, I felt complete. This probably will be a very unfair remark about contributing to Operation Legacy, but when I read my piece of non-fiction one of the first thoughts I had was “I hope one day I'll be able to publish my stories.” And then, in my dream, the feeling I had was that I felt I had just fulfilled my biggest ambition. You know that old expression people say, something like “oh, if I die today, I'll die a happy person.” That's precisely how I felt in my dream last nigh. . . this morning.

And in my dream I believe my publisher, which happened to be Random House (..!), told me I would be going to Tokyo, I guess, on a tour. And I was very excited. I believe Michael and my mother would be coming along. And there was some other place I'd go to, but now I can't remember where.

This afternoon, I am feeling quite good about myself, which is strange. Strange, though, in a good way. I could still be either living my dream and thinking it to be real, which is a little alarming – or, and this second idea pleases me the most, somewhere in the world of dreams I am writer publishing fiction. So, if everything goes wrong in this concrete world, I could always say that in some other dimension I am what I've always wanted to be.

Lions Roar At Four

2011-11-13T04:05:00.000-06:00

I was hoping I would get some writing done tonight, but it didn't go as well as I thought. I'm tired, and my sleeping habit this week is the worst possible, which affects my brain a little. On top of that, my anemia has been killing me, literally. I spent the day feeling weak and more tired than ever.

When I write, I have the strange tendency to tune in my characters' feelings. For instance, if I am writing about sad moments, I often feel a little down the 10 minutes or so after I'm done writing. If I describe a party or some other interesting social event, I feel just as excited and overwhelmed as I would have felt in real life. And, oddly enough, my mood also deeply interferes in my story. Happy days will trigger happy moments in my characters' lives, and sad days will bring disgrace upon them, poor things. We're all interconnected for better and for worse.

In general, I consider this literary-emotional engagement a blessing. It is good to be able to feel my characters' feelings, which allows me to describe emotions more accurately. At least I think it is, as long as I don't develop schizophrenic signs, right? The only problem, however, is when I am tired. Feeling exhausted brings nothing inspiring, unless I am writing about a character who's complaining about his work load. At this point in my book, I should be shaping up a few characters' tense meetings and then describe the most bizarre Halloween party. (And I might be hallucinating, but I just now heard a lion roaring outside. I sure hope it was just a neighbor yawning, otherwise I'm going to have to watch my remarks from now on on this blog). Anyway, at this point in my novel my writing needs to be more focused and engaging, and it must not reflect a tired, burned out mind.

It's almost 4:00 a.m. and I should be going to bed soon. I hope this Sunday will be more productive and lionless. But, despite my existential talk about my writing habits, I am getting more and more happy about my career choice. It is hard to be a writer, and my writing might be trash (or... rubbish), but I simply can't give it up. I'm already too involved to deny what I am. And, if you're wondering.. I'm a writer!

Little Rat

2011-11-11T22:03:00.002-06:00

This is a series I created, by the way. My cousin's daughter, Anita, is a big inspiration.

Here I am posting on this blog again, as I said I would. I haven't been outside tonight, but Weather.com told me this would be a clear night, and I believe it. Weather.com never lies! And, as I take a break from writing, I can't help thinking that UW-Madison party people and their visitors will have a lovely Friday of walking down State Street, happily dragging themselves from bar to bar. I almost wish I could join them, but Michael promised me we would go on a date tomorrow. He wants us to enjoy time together, after we had to put up with a stressful week of his urgent school assignments and my unfruitful job hunting.

It is very quiet, and I think my neighbors went out. I sort of miss listening to the unintelligible noise of their TV and loud talking, and I miss talking with Michael, too. By now, he might be done with his test. But he said he would be hanging out with a childhood friend, and I'm here with Little Rat, who's been our friend-son-roommate for more than a year. I guess I've never said anything about Little Rat, so here's a good opportunity to make this post meaningful: He is, basically, a Christmas mouse plush toy. I can't remember when Michael gave him to me, but Little Rat has been a constant presence in our lives since he joined us. In fact, he went with us to Palo Alto last summer. He followed us to Las Vegas, too, when we spent a night at the Luxor hotel.

What makes him special is that when he is around it is impossibles to avoid being sassy. We call him Little Rat because he can't stand being called a mouse, and can be quite rude when upset, too. He's a fearless little thing that inspires us to step out of our comfort zone, which might entail pushing us to be up to no good at times. For instance, if you're caught being mischievous, in our world you'd be called a “little rat.” And, that said, if you're doing something mean or trying to playfully trick someone, we would point our your “little ratiness.” I know this might sound silly, but stop being a little rat and quit laughing at me!

Have a great Friday.

11-11-11

2011-11-11T16:24:00.001-06:00

Hello!

How are you feeling today? Yes, how are you feeling precisely today, on the 11^th day of the 11^th month of 2011? 11-11-11 should be a special day, correct? Facebook is crowded with people reminding each other to make wishes at 11:11. News agencies have already interviewed astrologers eager to let the world know that our planet is entering a new cycle. YouTube is filled with inspirational videos; and, of course, I've already watched one.

This morning, I watched part of a documentary about a man who forgot his entire past. He forgot his sense of personal and collective identity, he forgot about historical events and a few other details that we learn every day about our society and the world we live in. I was surprised to think, strangely, that forgetting everything and everyone was an awesome opportunity. I suppose that was just my weird instinct and necessity to live in oblivion, since facing a few problems recently seems to be embittering my days a little. I, then, saw his mom crying when talking about him, and I realized that my first thoughts had been too selfish. Michael protested: “What about me?” And I, then, quickly reminded myself that we're so interconnected that whatever happens to each of us will inevitably affect our family and friends, and I wouldn't want people to suffer for me, I wouldn't want to forget people who are so dear to me, as well. I naively thought that having no memories meant getting a new opportunity to start a new life, start a new cycle. But who would guarantee that in this new life I wouldn't make mistakes I made in the past? Now that I think about it, this new life would be even more complicated, since there would be no 'lessons learned' data in my brain I could go to before making new decisions.

I know today you'll probably hear many people telling you to make wishes at 11:11 p.m., which I think probably is your last opportunity to tune in this whole 11-11-11 celebration. I must ask you, instead, to simply stop for a while and meditate about your past. There's so much there, so much in our memories that could probably help us in the present and the future. Even if the past is a painful place to explore, if you carefully approach it, it will certainly give you one or two advices about how to live a better life from now on.

Well, enough with the sad talk, right? I'll leave you with Neil Gaiman's Blueberry Girl instead of my typical melancholy. He's an extraordinary writer and I dare say he's one of my favorite authors. I believe I shall write another post later today, since I'll be alone for most part of this Friday, and I like to think I have you to go to when I need someone to talk to. Michael is taking his GRE this afternoon, and he'll be done only at 9:00ish. It's an awfully long test, so let us send him positive thoughts!

Happy 11-11-11!

Random House, Random Buzzers

2011-11-10T15:49:00.000-06:00

Hi! It's Thursday!

I thought I should start this post by reminding you that it's almost Friday, after I saw a few friends on Facebook complaining about how school (and life in general?) is killing them this week. In my case, since I've been working from home, it feels like Mondays and Fridays have no real difference; but I know how important Fridays are for the rest of the world. This reminds me that my mother and aunt were talking with me online last night, and they asked whether Madison was a calm place. My reply, of course, was “from Monday to Thursday,” though I'm not sure they understood the joke.

As I promised a few days ago, I'm going to tell you about my most recent work-thing-activity. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure what I should call it, but the best way to describe it is that the glorious publishing house Random House picked me (along with a few other book lovers) to join their fall “Ambuzzadors” program. I don't know how many people applied, but for the sake of my ego (after a second “I'm sorry, no,” from another literary agent, I sure need more reason in my life to feel special...) I like to think that it was very competitive.

Random House has a website dedicated to teen books with a strong community of people (mostly teenagers and young adults) interested in discussing their favorite books. The best part about Random Buzzers (that's the website) is that awesome Random House authors every week are available to answer questions and discuss about their latests publications. How cool is that? I believe what always attracted me the most about books was getting to know more about the writers behind these stories. I love to hear about their writing habits, about what inspired them to write, etc. So, Random Buzzers definitely was a place for me, and now I am pretty happy to be helping promote it. By the way, if you're considering joining the community, make sure you talk with me... because I might have a little something to welcome you.

I believe that's it for today. And, about that literary agent, don't worry. I've heard so many people saying how difficult it is to get an agent, and I shall never give up. I feel like I'm getting closer and closer to that old dream of one day becoming a full-time author, and I outstretch my arms as far as they go in a desperate attempt to reach my destiny – or this vague idea of the future I envision to myself. It's so frustrating to know I still am swimming in the dark, but I shall not drown.

Welcome, Snow!

2011-11-09T13:04:00.002-06:00

It is finally snowing in Madison, dear friends. I see many snow flakes falling from the sky and swirling around naked branches. I can't help wondering where the poor crows that so often cried during the morning went. I hope they don't get cold.

From my window, I can see that many rooftops are already white, covered in these tiny ice grains. I'm sure the ground soon will have a few inches of snow accumulation, too. I'm worried, because Michael and the other UW-Madison students are still used to desperately biking to class. Although I've never done it, I can imagine how slippery it must be to bike on wet streets.

Other than my general concerns about our routine from now on – now that winter finally has reached us – I am fine, and excited to see snow again. When it started to dance in front of our living room window, I greeted it and asked for protection. Snow will be a present friend for the next five months, and I asked it to envelope us with good news, the same way it embraces the whole town. It is silly, I know; but I suppose I am that strange.

Life in Madison -- New Neighbors, New Stories?

2011-11-08T15:55:00.001-06:00

Michael and I, and the Capitol back there.

I heard from a few friends recently, even though some of them aren't official “followers” of my blog, that they often read my posts. In all honesty, I felt a little surprised. I mean I very rarely get comments here, so it's hard for me to believe that there are people visiting this website. I like to think, then, that my visitors are ghosts. They come see what's up with me without making a fuss about their presence, impregnate the environment with their positive vibe, and then leave. In this case, my analogy refers more to guardian angels. Ghosts or angels, they are still here – although invisible – and to thank them I promise I will try my best to make this a daily journal.

The problem, however, is that I don't think I have that many adventures to narrate, now that I'm not at school anymore. At Lawrence, there was always a lot going on, even if it wasn't stuff going on in my life. I could always describe what my neighbors, classmates, friends and other acquaintances were doing. I could always talk about the silly jokes I heard when on duty (because, if you forgot, I was an RA), or about the food served at the cafeteria. Now that I live in Madison, there aren't that many stories, other than the regular dream job hunting that my life turned into in these last few months. For instance, I barely know our floor neighbors here. But, for the sake of this post, I will do my best to give you at least a brief account of how life feels like in this building.

We live on a very large building a few blocks away from the Capitol. It is, I believe, divided into three sections, though, and every section perhaps belongs to a different housing company. Once, we went exploring the west-side of the building, and surprisingly it looks a lot more polished than our side, which is the eastern part. I have no idea what the middle section looks like, but at times I hear noises coming from there at night. Yes, because I think the noise (music, footsteps and whatnot) reverberates on the ceiling and travels to our side.

I don't know our neighbors well, but I've talked with at least two of them. One is a professional snowboarder, I think. He is tall and skinny, and smiles a lot when he talks. Another neighbor is a girl who lives in the apartment opposite to ours, and she is now using our Wi-Fi connection, because it is always a good idea to split expenses with others. Other neighbor is a tall, beefy guy, and his face is always covered by his hoodie. And, finally, the other neighbor I can think of lives right down the hall and on Sunday Michael helped him bring a very heavy desk upstairs. He offered us soda to reciprocate the help, but we politely refused it. We had had a ton of soda during lunch that same afternoon.

Well, I guess this is all for now. Next post, I should probably tell you about my link to Random House now, because – guess what – they picked me to be one of their “Ambuzzadors.” It is, basically, a program during which I'll be helping them promote their books and recruiting more members to Random Buzzers. Yes, I'm very excited! Today I got a package from them with a free copy of Esther Friesner's Sphinx's Queen. That is the book I'll be promoting this trimester and I'm really looking forward to reading it.

Have a great week. Leave comments and love.

Lazy Sunday

2011-11-07T23:36:00.000-06:00

Hello!

First of all, I should say thank you again to everyone who took Michael's study survey today. It means a lot to both of us. At moments like that I actually miss the craziness of school, even though most of the times I felt really stressed out, and how I liked doing my homework assignments and struggling with strict deadlines. (And I have no idea where that second remark came from...). That said, I'm pretty sure I'll be going to grad school as soon as possible.

I guess I'm just in a strange mood tonight – not in a bad way, though. Yesterday, I had the laziest Sunday ever: I got up at 10ish a.m., prepared brunch, read my emails (looking for my awaited “You Won a Pullitzer, Girl!” sort of email; but, no, it wasn't there... YET!), pestered Michael as he worked on his projects... and then we ate food as we watched the rest of Dances With Wolves (which made me a little sad, actually). Michael went back to his work, and I went to a bit of Frances Burney reading, but I fell asleep on page two. Don't take me wrong, I don't usually feel sleepy when I'm reading, but the couch was so comfortable, and the weather so mild, that I couldn't help wandering into Dreamland way too early. It was 3:00ish p.m. when I woke up, and Michael was still working. He's excited about a computer game he is writing. I pestered him some more, and wondered whether I should work on my novel.

I wanted to write, but I had that nap-in-the-afternoon feeling, which I can only describe as feeling drowsy and sugar+caffeine deprived, and perhaps a little on the sad side too. Most people I met in my life love to take naps after lunch, but I actually feel quite bad after I wake up from napping. Michael and my mother are the only other people in the world who feel this same way. So, I made myself some coffee, and bragged about barely using the computer that day (if you know me, you'll recollect I'm a computer addict, you'll know I'm a girl who stays glued to the keyboard and monitor all day long), but right after I betrayed my words and borrowed Michael's laptop. He was using mine, so I had to use his – and it's another long paragraph to explain why such complicated arrangement.

Writing, however, didn't occur. This month, I'm working on the last few chapters of my book, and I'm getting to a point when I need to feel truly inspired to write down my thoughts. These past two days, my imagination seems to focus only on refining and brewing the story... in my head, not on paper. It's a little frustrating, yes. But it isn't writers' block (knock on wood!). I must confess, then, that instead of doing work, I decided to accept that Sunday for what it was, and proudly declared that it would be a shameless lazy Sunday. I spent the day catching up with America's Next Top Model – Cycle 17 and figuring out which girl would be my favorite: I've come to the decision, of course, that Allison Harvard shall win. Have you listened to her song? I've been playing Underwater over and over, tonight.

Allison has something I found very interesting when I started studying about creativity at Lawrence University. When you are creating something, I suppose it isn't enough to merely have good ideas or to think extraordinary thoughts. It also isn't enough to just have an intellectual / artsy / etc personality, or to be artistically gifted. For sure you need both aspects if you want to be remembered, if you want to be remarkable in your field of work, but I'm more and more certain that there's a third element that makes what we call “genius.” I must say it is passion. When an artist, or a scientist, or just someone working on a project on someone else's lazy Sunday, manages to (1) glue with strong emotions (2) great ideas to (3) personality, then the product for sure will be a masterpiece!

It's Monday, and life is back on track again, after my break last weekend. Tonight I am eating spaghetti, and thinking about how great it is to have friends to support you when you need them – or, rather, when your boyfriend needs their help desperately. Also, thinking about work, and old dreams, and this screaming wish to get my book finished, published, loved or hated. Thank you, everybody, once again! And try listening to Allison's song. Underwater, that's the name. You'll like it. It's the ugly-pretty that people in the fashion industry talk about so proudly.

Wintry Days

2011-11-05T17:35:00.000-05:00

Isn't it strangely depressing how the sun goes down early during winter? It's 5:22 p.m. and this room is already so dark!

Yes, I must confess I'm a big fan of gloomy looking days, when the sky is cloudy and threatening to pour down rain or snow on unprepared passers-by, but I can't help feeling a little sad at this time of the day, when it is past five o'clock and I'm here still desperately writing. I know people who would say it's just the sugar level in my blood stream going down, but I think that this daily sudden sadness has to do with feeling slightly frustrated as I notice the day saying goodbye without leaving behind a gift, a get well note, or some other thoughtful little thing.

During winter, in particular, I'm aware of how my days go by flying, and how slow I am. I feel, then, this urge to embrace the entire world at once, to do everything I can -- and can't -- and to live all experiences there are to be experienced. But, unfortunately, I realize how short my arms are, and how I always pull myself back to reason, and how I appreciate writing by hand... instead of typing up my stories. I can't help wondering, before 6:00 p.m. finally snatches me away from this world of expectations I have within me, whether I'll be able to truly accomplish my most ambitious dreams within the little time that these wintry days provide.

Creepy Building...

2011-10-27T15:32:00.001-05:00

I often hear noises coming from upstairs. It's strange, though, because there isn't "upstairs."

This is the 3rd floor, the last floor. Above us there's only the roof. Two nights ago I had trouble sleeping. I couldn't calm my thoughts, they were too loud. My thoughts sometimes do that to me. They are stubborn, and don't listen to me when I beg them to stay quiet. Instead of showing any mercy at all, they keep on laughing, playing, making faces at me. Because of them, I stayed up that night. I left the bed, sat on the couch reading The Hobbit, tried to relax my soul with Gandalf's wise words, but not even his magic was powerful enough to put me to sleep.

As I stood there, struggling with myself, I heard those weird noises coming from the ceiling. In fact, I just heard them now. It sounded as if someone was closing a door. There's no doubt that was a door closing. It was the type of noise someone makes when distractedly closing a door behind him / her. Loud, though not necessarily the annoyed type of slamming a door. Just distractedly pushing it back.

What do you think that means?

An invisible world above my building?

A hidden room. A hidden floor! A hidden floor inhabited by invisible people.

A hidden floor inhabited by... ghosts!

Old Dreams

2011-10-27T13:02:00.000-05:00

Hello!

Yesterday, Michael brought home the first draft of my latest novel. He printed it up and brought it to me. I felt strange when he handed it to me, though strange in a good way. Although this might sound ridiculous, I felt as if holding a child in my arms -- greeting my baby.

I don't know precisely why that is the case, but writers tend to create emotional bonds with their work. Characters, even the mean ones, are always very dear to us. I suppose readers also develop attachments to the stories they like the most. For instance, I speak for many when I say that Harry Potter shall always be a great friend.

This novel, in particular, is very important to me. Although I can't tell you a lot about it, I would like to say that it definitely represents a transition in my life. I've been writing since I was a kid, but this story is the watershed that separates my childhood and my adult life. It brought me great happiness and great pain, too, and I believe this mixture of feelings allowed my writing to become more mature. Oh, how I wish I could tell you more, but I'm superstitious, and I suppose I can't say a word about this story before I publish it.

Thank you, and don't forget to wish me good luck. I'll need it.

Still Alive!

2011-10-11T22:27:00.000-05:00

Hey guys,

Sorry it's been a while since my last post. Tonight, though, we finally got internet working here! This week I promise you'll hear more news on what's going on in my life and read the next Voice of Youth article. There are so many things I want to tell you!

So... stay tuned!

Love,

-- Becca

Leave Comments, Subscribe, Donate!!

2011-09-21T13:37:00.000-05:00

I hope you liked my article on Janailton. Well, he appreciated it, so I guess that's enough. Although it is my favorite thing in journalism, I think it's always a tense moment to write about people. As I publish my article I'm crossing my fingers that I understood and interpreted everything correctly. There's nothing more annoying than to read about you on the news and find out that the writer wasn't actually paying attention to your words.

The series will continue, of course, and I am very excited about it. Last weekend the Badgers were playing, so Michael and I went to a bar a block away from where we live to watch the game. The Badgers won, as usual! But the most interesting part about going out with my boyfriend to watch the Badgers play was that we ended up discussing some of our goals and there I found myself feeling more and more excited about this The Voice of Youth series.

I think, in general, that's what I've always wanted to do in journalism, besides becoming a war correspondent journalist. Actually, as a war correspondent my main goal is to be able to interview people who live under such extreme conditions. I don't know precisely why hearing different people's stories appeals to me, but I clearly am a happier journalist when I am working on something like that. I'll devote part of this blog, then, to these interviews, and I really hope you'll enjoy reading them as much as I love writing them. Feel free -- and I am almost begging now -- to leave comments. I would love to have some feedback from you, so I could improve my series and make it more interesting.

Alright, I think that's enough of blogging for today. It's getting cold again in Madison, and I should focus on my work before it gets too cold to leave the window open. I have trouble concentrating when it is too stuffy in this room.

So, don't forget to send your comments and to subscribe to this blog! And, if your finances are doing better, a donation would be absolutely welcome, even if it's just enough to buy me a cup of coffee. :)

The Voice of Youth Series -- #1 Janailton, The Teacher

2011-09-20T15:57:00.000-05:00

Many kids and teenagers today aim high, perhaps even higher than they used to a few decades ago. I often wonder whether this has to do with improvements in communications, which let us hear from more people what their goals are, or if this thirst to accomplish more and more dreams is just an inexplicable mark of today's youth. An inexplicable mark that has turned this era into the freedom to dream time.

Regardless of their background, many teenagers seem more inclined to challenge norms and to fight for their aspirations. The year of 2011, in fact, has proved to be the year of protests, when youth from many countries decided to march on the streets to speak up and defend their rights. What all these teenagers have in common is eagerness to break free from everything that restrained their thoughts and speech.

Janailton, a seventeen-year old from Sanharó, Brazil, didn't go on the streets of his town holding political signs that accused society of neglecting his voice, but he is an eager protester. A rather calm and extremely polite protester who probably would have trouble recognizing himself as such, nonetheless still a dissident of old customs.

Sanharó, almost 200 kilometers from Recife, is a city in Pernambuco that relies on agribusiness to economically survive. Instead of shaping his life goals to keep his city's old agricultural standards, Janailton decided that what he needed was to learn languages. He left Sanharó and moved to Campina Grande, Paraiba, to attend Federal University, where he is studying to one day become an English teacher.

Janailton is glad to live in Campina Grande because the city is bigger than where he was raised and because of the variety of festivals it holds every year. Despite having access to more opportunities, however, Janailton still is dissatisfied. "The mentality of some people here is mainly based upon getting money," he said. He explained that although his dream of learning languages isn't unusual, his goal to teach English to his community is uncommon. Janailton believes, in fact, that his idea might impact his community since people are used to foreign languages.

He wants to teach English, however, not just because he grew up admiring it. Janailton believes that learning the English language "nowadays is quite important and essential to both get a job and communicate with the globalized world." He does not, however, feel entirely encouraged by society. His dream, as he explained, is only supported by the few who also are interested in changing their communities. Despite the obstacles on his way, he prefers to remain focused on trying to benefit his community with what he learns at college.

The few supporters he mentioned are the Youth Ambassadors. "The most significant moment in my life was when I became a Youth Ambassador and traveled to the United States of America through the Youth Ambassadors Program," he explained. In January, 2011, Janailton traveled along with 34 other Brazilian High School students to represent Brazil in diplomatic meetings in the U.S. This exchange program, which is an initiative of the U.S. Embassy in Brazil, played a significant role in encouraging Janailton to continue fighting for his dreams. During his stay in the U.S., Janailton attended meetings with congressmen, gave speeches about Brazilian culture and engaged in volunteer work. The opportunity to play a diplomatic role was the last push he needed to understand that young people like him, regardless of their background, could also effectively influence society. Despite the pressure of the rural system Janailton came from, he understood that his own particular tool to make a difference was through linguistics.

Janailton strongly believes that young people need more respect. He explained that many people today still believe that teenagers are not able to positively change their communities, but he thinks that teenagers are actually very capable of assuming important roles in the present and are very interested in participating in society.

As a representative of the Brazilian youth, Janailton said that he encourages "everyone to fight for social justice, and to try to promote actions that can benefit everyone in society." Janailton encourages youth to continue fighting for their dreams, regardless of the many obstacles young people will encounter particularly coming from old norms in their communities. "Keep on trying and help as many people as you can," he said.

If you want to contact Janailton, his email is janailtonm@gmail.com and his Facebook profile is http://www.facebook.com/janailtonmick.

The Voice of Youth Series

2011-09-16T15:36:00.002-05:00

In Capturing Mary, by Stephen Poliakoff, Mary Gilbert mentioned that she used to write a column titled "The Voice of Youth." The idea, she confessed, was awful. Perhaps the concept behind writing to represent the voices of all young people might be a little too arrogant, or perhaps naively ambitious, but the truth is that it allowed Mary the chance to write openly about what she thought about the representation of youth in society. At least that is what I think she was doing, since there isn't any explanation of what precisely she did with such writing premise. All that was said was that she was a keen observer.

Well, I am particularly interested in writing about people, and what they think about life, what their life is like, and what they have to say about everything that afflicts them or what makes them happy. I thought to myself, then, that I should start a new article series inspired by Mary's column.

It will, at least for now, be called "The Voice of Youth" as well, and I am going to weekly interview young people from different countries about their past, present, and expected future. I want to know what they have to say about life, about their goals and what frustrates them. The idea is to simply mediate their voices through these articles. My main goal, then, is to show the world that these boys and girls have strong ideas and aspirations, and can effectively contribute to building a better present.

What Routine Means to Us

2011-09-13T14:54:00.000-05:00

I feel I am finally establishing my new routine. Awesome!

Many people disagree that having a stable routine is a good idea. For some reason we tend to think today that living an adventurous life is the only way to achieve true happiness. To some extent, yes, living unexpected experiences every day keeps people inspired and alive, but I personally think that stability found in knowing what your days will be like is also very nice.

For instance, students who move to a different town or country to study only find themselves at peace when they finally get their new rooms decorated and their class schedules / extracurricular activities settled. Many of these students find, for instance, the whole process of moving to a new place very stressful, and I assure you it is not only because packing and unpacking is boring. It is good to have a stable routine, so we could start feeling at home even when we're far away from it.

Why is that, I ask you, when we are sad we tend to think that we were truly happy when we were kids? We start reminiscing about everything we used to do, what TV shows and games we liked the most, what we felt like when we visited other relatives, and what going to school meant to us.

I suppose that childhood represents a vague idea of stability, of a time with no worries. Although, of course, melancholy makes us forget the annoying parts of everything our gloomy selves are trying to embellish in our memories, the past almost always represents a time that worked well compared to the present and the future, which are still blurry to us.

One of the reasons that inspired this article was my noticing this afternoon that I am living like a full-time author. I spend the day, and sometimes all night, writing. Since I still don't have a table, I place my notebook on a box and start typing. My back, after a while, complains. But my soul is happy. As I experienced graduation week, I felt more and more concerned that my routine as a student would be crushed by my unknown future. Although I am still concerned and eager to see my goals accomplished -- which could be as soon as possible, thank you very much -- I think I am finally starting to feel at home here in Mad-Town.

Firstly, it is very nice to recognize a few roads and know which way to go, for example, if I want to buy groceries. It is also very welcoming to see these yellowing leaves, the noise of construction workers early in the morning, that invisible train that screams from far away; and, above all, it is absolutely comforting to see clouds, big grayish clouds in the sky. Secondly, is there anything better than to be surrounded by these college kids who can be so drunk on Friday nights? For years I frowned when I heard their loud laughter at 3:00 AM -- yes, because I've always been a cranky introverted girl -- but now I truly appreciate their presence, for they are the essence of this town. Besides, what's wrong about expressing intensity at dawn? That's part of their weekend routine, and shame on you, Rebecca, if you yell at them in your head.

On top of all that, I like our new apartment, and have developed my own daily writing schedule. If I can sit down to write without worrying so much about the future, then it is very likely I will feel comfortable and happy with everything. Feeling relaxed where I am is what appeals to me in life. I find very hard to achieve this, but I've noticed that relaxation always comes when my writing habit is finally settled and I don't feel like I am being dragged around to do things I don't want to do.

Routine, then, means a lot to me. Perhaps I am very wrong to refuse living the many adventures my neighbors experience every day, but in all honesty I only feel truly free when I root myself somewhere safe and silently write down what occurs in my mind.

California - Wisconsin Road Trip -- (We're Back!)

2011-09-01T15:51:00.000-05:00

Hello! We're back in Wisconsin!

It turned out that blogging wasn't as easy as I thought it would be during the trip, particularly because we didn't have access to an internet connection throughout most part of it. Sorry! But the good thing is that I have many stories to tell you.

Today is a crazy day to post articles, since we're moving into our new place in Madison tonight, but I can tell you a few things about Las Vegas. Well, we arrived in Vegas on Tuesday at about 1:30 PM and it was really hot. I've never been to a place where the temperature was 105 F, but that matched very well our destination, as we'd be staying at the Luxor Hotel, which is Egyptian themed.

Michael tried to figure out the bus system so we could go to the hotel when we left the bus station, but it was too hot to think clearly, so we simply took a taxi cab. Luxor was nearby, so we still followed our road trip budget. The taxi driver was talking on the phone in Arabic and I had a chance to put my Arabic in practice when we arrived at the hotel. He was surprised and smiled. Michael, who didn't hear what I said in Arabic, thought that the driver was just trying to flirt with me. But Michael is always very polite and didn't say anything.

Luxor, if you haven't heard of it, is a giant pyramid in the middle of Vegas. It is the most impressive hotel I've been to, and the whole Egyptian theme was very exciting. There are statues of Egyptian gods everywhere, the architecture simulates Egypt's as well, and in the rooms you'll find many hieroglyphic symbols everywhere.

The hotel, also, functions as a giant mall. It has many restaurants, stores, casinos, conference rooms and other rooms where certain events and exhibitions are hosted. Strangely, we didn't find clocks, but I guess that might be their strategy to make people lose track of time. I must say I actually decided to try my luck on gambling, though the limit I imposed on myself was $5 USD. I'm proud to say I won 80 cents, however I lost it all in less than a minute. That's my first experience at a casino. Perhaps not my last one, though, since we decided to visit Luxor once a year and make this our tradition.

In general, our trip to Vegas went fine. It was always very busy, unfortunately with many fliers that objectify women, a place where materialism seems to govern, but very fun within reason, if you go with friends and family. We left it the next day and we're definitely planning on returning to visit it.

California - Wisconsin Road Trip -- (Trying to Sleep at Philz Coffee)

2011-08-28T20:23:00.000-05:00

6:10. Starting to get cold. Still sunny, though.

Our moods improved 100% after finding a restroom and snacking. Michael is so relaxed here at this coffee shop that he is actually trying to take a nap as we wait for the best time to go to the bus depot. He's wearing his Packers hat over his eyes, though failing at keeping it there.

"I wish I had my handkerchief here," he just said as his cap starting falling for the tenth time.

Don't think that we're the only people camping here, though. It seems that this place is adored by many other apparently loyal customers. I recognize a few others sitting nearby who arrived at the same time we did. They've been drinking coffee and talking for hours now, looking as relaxed as Michael. I guess it's something about the environment, the shade provided by Tangerine Hair Studio and Togo's, and the cool breeze. It's also very relaxing to observe people walking back and forth. For some reason many girls here like to wear boots even though it's so hot!

I don't know when we'll leave. Perhaps at 9:00 PM, when Philz Coffee is going to close. Hopefully the station will be just as nice. I think our bus leaves at 1:00 AM, and then we stop at Los Angeles at 5:00 AM, and after that we're heading to Las Vegas.

"Lost three handkerchiefs... So annoying. No, lost four handkerchiefs!" Michael just complained and sighed.

California - Wisconsin Road Trip -- (Hanging Out in San Jose)

2011-08-28T17:58:00.000-05:00

3:36 PM. My computer failed me. My pen failed me too. It's hot, I'm still grumpy, and we can't find a restroom...

Here are a few photos to show that we're alive. San Jose turned out to be a way more interesting city compared to Palo Alto. Although our bags don't let us walk too far, we still think that we could stay at Philz Coffee until it's time to go to the Greyhound station. Michael is so relaxed that he thinks he could sleep here very easily.

California - Wisconsin Road Trip -- (At Philz Coffee in San Jose)

2011-08-28T16:28:00.000-05:00

Afternoon... Hot and sunny, as usual.

We're in San Jose, not too far from Palo Alto. This morning Michael woke me up saying that we were late to check out. Luckily we had already packed everything yesterday, so I just had to run to take a quick shower. The annoying part, however, was that even though we had shipped our bags ahead of us, our backpacks were heavier than we thought they would be. For instance, in my backpack I have two notebooks, some clothes I'll need during the road trip, and other belongings, but everything together makes it feel like I'm carrying bricks. Michael's bag isn't as bad, but it's still pretty heavy, and our food bag is just as heavy. He was trying to carry everything, but my bag (or.. his bag, as he keeps reminding me that I actually borrowed it from him a few months ago) was falling apart as he pulled it, and that made me a little grumpy.

Right now we're just sitting in front of Philz Coffee, sipping iced tea. This area is quite nice, actually, although it's really hot today. There are many benches and at least five lampposts nearby, encompassing what seems to be a little hippie-looking student gathering area. We might stay here until 9:00 PM, when they close.

California - Wisconsin Road Trip -- (Cooking, Packing, Writing, Photographing)

2011-08-28T00:35:00.000-05:00

10:22 PM. Still in Palo Alto, CA. Strangely cold...

Michael and I are getting ready. I took a nap this afternoon because I barely slept last night and woke up feeling disoriented. As I watched hurricane Irene on CNN, I remembered I had an article due tomorrow that was half done.

I ran to finish it, and I just submitted it. Michael has been packing and cooking since I was asleep. He prepared many sandwiches for the trip and our dinner. After taking photos of us and of Glass Slipper Inn, we now can finally sit down to eat our last dinner in this already memorable hotel room.

Traveling in a Few Days

2011-08-26T17:35:00.000-05:00

I have trouble eating when I'm too nervous, even when I feel just slightly anxious. Right now, for instance, I have a half-eaten Korean sandwich by me on the table, and noodles waiting degustation; although I'm hungry, I can't eat. I don't know exactly what's the matter with my stomach, but since I was a kid I was never able to eat before exams, presentations, and other challenging circumstances. Despite my appetite being intact, I get awful burning and aching sensations in my stomach, and it feels as if my throat closes not letting any food, even water, pass. If I force myself to eat, eventually, I end up feeling a little queasy.

We'll be going back to Madison in a few days, and that means I'm not eating properly this week. What's interesting about heading back to Wisconsin this time, though, is that we decided this trip would be the adventure we didn't have a chance to live this summer. In summary, we'll stop at more than 20 cities on the way home. Yesterday I packed our bags, which are going to be picked up this afternoon by a company that ships luggage, so we could just bring our backpacks on the way back. We're leaving Palo Alto and going to San Jose on Sunday, and then our bus leaves on Monday, around 1:00 AM, to Las Vegas. We'll sleep in Vegas, and then take another bus on Tuesday afternoon. If you're wondering how long it will take to go from California to Wisconsin, that's precisely two days on a bus. And my stomach is starting to burn again...

I'm excited and I promise many descriptions, photos, perhaps a video, and more. For now I should try to relax my mind and just wish that everything will work out accordingly. Despite my nervousness, I'm actually looking forward to the stories and the things I'll learn during this trip, which I promise will not include gambling, as Michael and I dislike the idea of spending money like that. Michael, also, seriously needs a break before school starts. And, in general, although this adventure will certainly make me lose weight, I am glad Michael and I will go through all this together, and that's what matters.

Alternative Journalism in Times of Crisis

2011-08-25T20:47:00.000-05:00

I just published an article on alternative journalism. I am enthusiastic about this field, and strangely I advocate for pamphleteering as much as I like blogging.

I sometimes wish, however, I had been born centuries ago. Despite my belief that it is good that communications are spreading quickly and reaching more people, I can't help feeling that words -- my words, in fact -- are losing strength. Information has become trivial, no matter what the subject is. As we feel we can easily find them at more appropriate hours, we let them pass without giving them proper importance.

Perhaps, just perhaps, today you woke up interested in truly listening to different ideas. Here's my attempt at thinking coherently: Alternative Journalism in Times of Crisis.

A Few Thoughts on Leaving Home to Study Abroad

2011-08-24T20:46:00.000-05:00

A Few Thoughts on Leaving Home to Study Abroad

Although I am done blogging about my life as an international student, I am still writing about it. Feel free to read my article on Trifter!

Freelance Work Online - Alternatives To Demand Studios Part 2

2011-08-24T16:23:00.000-05:00

Freelance Work Online - Alternatives To Demand Studios Part 2

I read this article today and I thought it would be really helpful. I hope you'll enjoy it.

See You Soon, Midwest!

2011-08-20T15:54:00.000-05:00

It is almost time to go back..!

I still look at Walmart's college essentials options and can't help feeling nostalgic. I even decided I should get a small desk, cheap enough that I could buy and not feel guilty about it. While most of my friends are getting ready to go back to school this fall, I am done with it. I wouldn't say I am entirely done with school, since I intend to go to grad school soon (possibly next year?), but in general I am getting a weird feeling, particularly when I see former co-workers moving back early for RLA training.

There are so many classes, still, that I would like to take. For instance, I never took Professor McGlynn's creative writing courses. They were always full before I could enroll. I don't know how's the English department at your school, but at Lawrence we often had to fight to get into those writing classes. For centuries students have talked about them, praised them, almost worshiped creative writing at LU. So, if you are still going to college, I suggest taking creative writing.

We'll be moving back to Madison in a few days. There's a lot of speculation on our part regarding the most adventurous way to do so (within reason, of course), but because of my injured knee we'll probably end up being conventional. Yes, I'm getting old, and walking is difficult. Once we're back, it will be work, work, and work. I suppose I should also try watching regularly those Yale online courses in order to feel more included within the college environment that makes Madison what it is. Perhaps a course on Milton?

Good luck to you all!

Foreigners Through Brazilian Eyes

2011-08-19T17:26:00.000-05:00

Hello!

Here's the interview I gave to Gringoes.com.

And apparently there's a quick mention about me on Property Bond Brazil.

Enjoy!

The Great Adventures of Anita

2011-08-09T23:21:00.000-05:00

Harry Potter Fever

2011-08-09T04:29:00.000-05:00

I am not entirely sure why, but this blog has been getting many visitors due to my post on Harry Potter. Perhaps it has to do with Pottermore and also with the nostalgia that the last book left behind. I've been considering writing an article on the generation that grew up reading J.K. Rowling's series, what they learned from the books and whether their perspective on fantasy fiction changed after meeting Potter, so after the big wave of readers that Writing Room got these last few days I am guessing I should start interviewing a few people as soon as possible. Stay tuned!

A Few Thoughts on What's Going on in My Life

2011-08-03T20:54:00.000-05:00

Yours truly living the metaphor of taking a new path

It's August already, and three years ago this month represented the beginning of my life abroad. I suppose in my opinion August will always be meaningful, at least for biographical purposes, as it also marked the beginning of my professional life.

As I mentioned a few days ago, yes, I am busy. That probably sounds bad (who appreciates being overwhelmed with tons of things to get done?), but I am actually quite happy about it. I am not exactly obsessed with being busy, but one thing I do need is the feeling of being useful. I guess I am very ambitious, and a strong J (judging) according to the MBTI test, so carpe diem isn't one of my favorite life philosophies.

During my time in Palo Alto I will be working as public relations and general helper (sorting books, decorating, writer etc) at the NGO Friends of the Palo Alto Library. Their offices are 45 minutes away from El Camino, where I live, and I am there from Tuesday to Friday. When I am not at one of the offices, I eventually am doing work from home as I just recently took the challenge to improve their newsletter and website content. What I love about Friends is that they are truly helping support the libraries nearby with donations, and their famous book sales bring many people together and particularly help kids become more interested in reading.

My favorite place, in fact, is the children's books room. They have an entire section particularly devoted to Harry Potter and I would sit there all day. Their fantasy section is also terrific, and according to one nice grandma who was buying books to her grandchildren these are good books because they introduce many aspects of the fantastical, "but aren't too weird."

Other than my work at Friends, I am also going to interview two great authors I hard of last month. Roxanne Sancto and Martin Tarte published in December, 2010, The Pink Boots. The plot follows the life of Jamie Skyla, who was abandoned in a toilet as a baby and who goes through the challenges and difficulties of her generation until she starts reasserting her own identity through love. This is, however, neither a cheesy romance nor the common sex & drugs plot. The story is a lot more intricate and filled with social analogies and moral dilemmas that will certainly turn it into a classic. The authors are extraordinarily intelligent and until now I just communicated with Roxanne, but am looking forward to talking with M. Tarte as well. I'll be very soon interviewing them and writing a review of their book. If you are curious, The Pink Boots is now available on Amazon and on Barnes & Noble. I'll keep you posted on that.

I've also started writing for Demand Media Studios, which sort of works as an agent for freelance writers, filmmakers, etc. They approved my application and I am now one of their writers. I've been writing under their guidance, then, for eHow. I should probably let you know when my articles are available online. Would it be bad to say that one of the greatest things about writing is when you get paid to write?

That's, then, almost everything I am doing at the moment, because on top of the freelance writing, public relations and interviewing, I am almost done working on my last novel, which I am writing in English and aiming at publishing it in the U.S., working on an epistolary novel / writing partnership with an Italian journalist, getting writing done for a few writing contests, and preparing for job interviews that will start hitting my world next week. Isn't that fantastic?

I hope I did not overwhelm you with everything I am doing, but I am guessing that's the life of a writer after college. Wish me luck, and let me know if your writing routine is as crazy as everything I just described. My question, then, is how do you balance writing and your other duties?

P.S. This is the most recent interview I gave and it was on my life abroad. It's a nice way to reminisce my years at Lawrence University. It's part of a series titled Foreigners Through Brazilian Eyes and I have a feeling you'll learn a few more secrets about me. Enjoy (and don't tell anyone what you find out)!

Busy... and Happy!

2011-07-27T14:22:00.000-05:00

Hello,

I am sorry I haven't posted anything lately. I must apologize for that. I have a ton to tell you about writing and a ton to write. This week, graças a Deus, a thousand opportunities came my way and I am very glad to be packed with work to do.

However, I shall not neglect this blog. Make sure you'll visit this writing room soon, for I have a few things to say about writing contests, self-publishing and the world of volunteering.

For now... have a great week!

Writing Poetry

2011-07-22T02:30:00.000-05:00

I've never really liked poetry.

Surprisingly, I started writing poetry tonight.

I'm posting them online on Palavra Versada.

My verses, I suppose, will mostly be in Portuguese.

Thank you.

My Patronus is a Stag

2011-07-14T15:13:00.000-05:00

According to the Harry Potter website my patronus is a stag. Great honor, indeed.

Do you remember when you started reading the Harry Potter series? I do. I was thirteen years old and my mom brought the book home to me at night. Ten years ago my mom used to sell perfumes, so along with the first book of the series she also gave me this peculiarly citric fragrance that I immediately tried on my wrists. As I read about the boy who lived, my nostrils were inebriated by that perfume, which my memory learned to associate with the book.

I loved the books. I identified with the characters, particularly with Hermione. For some strange reason everything that Rowling said felt real to me. She could describe everything in such level of details that only if she had met Harry and the others she would have been able to write about them the way she did. In my childish naiveté I then waited for them to show up in real life, I waited for owls holding letters to flutter by my window, I searched the sky at night for signs of magic. I still do.

It's strange that the series is over. I wanted more. I wanted to see more. I wanted to join Harry's adventures for the rest of my life.

The Pamphleteer -- King of Salaria Dissolves Monarchy

2011-07-09T21:36:00.000-05:00

King of Salaria Dissolves Monarchy and Hands the Country Over to the People

July 9, 2011

Newspaper clipping from The Pamphleteer. Did this King go insane?

Yesterday, July 8, King Ricardo of Salaria dissolved monarchy in his kingdom. The population of Salaria, a kingdom internationally known for its high exportation of tea leaves, is in shock.

“I recently read books that changed my perception of everything I was doing,” Ricardo said. He didn't want to inform what books were those, but explained that they were an anonymous gift sent to the Royal Palace.

The population, which always supported Ricardo's laws, is surprised. “They are used to having a guide leading them, but I trust them to take care of their lives on their own,” Ricardo said, who now hopes to work as a farmer in the southern plains.

When asked whether Salaria would now enter an anarchic system, Ricardo looked impatient. “I don't like to label anything. Salaria simply belongs to the people, nothing else. It isn't a democracy. It isn't anarchy. It's just land that belongs to the people,” he explained.

The international community still cannot define what diplomatic relations they are going to keep with Salaria, but Ricardo is certain that any change will be for the better. “The people of Salaria is very friendly and they are known for being a hardworking population. They trusted me to keep and represent this status, so I don't know why things would change for worse without me,” he said. Ricardo also added that he is just handing back to his people responsibilities that were already theirs.

The Royal Family was not found to give interviews, but Ricardo says that they are very angry and cut relations with him. “They barely talked with me even when I was King, so I don't mind,” Ricardo said in a good-humored tone, before embarking on the three o'clock train this afternoon. He was carrying only a small luggage and, without the Royal top hat, mark of the Kings of Salaria that started in the 18^th century, he was not recognized by the passersby.

Today in Salaria the transportation system worked normally. The stores and other establishments opened at the usual time. On Monday, July 11, people will officially meet to discuss the needs of their neighborhoods. Although it is common to see inhabitants gatherings on the streets to discuss the current situation of Salaria, there are no signs of civil distress.

Writing for Pre-schoolers

2011-07-06T20:19:00.000-05:00

The Puzzle Place, officially premiered on the PBS in 1995

This afternoon I am working on the pilot for a new TV show I am submitting to the BBC. It's for their Get a Squiggle On competition, and although I understand how competitive this contest is, I am still trying my best.

The work I am turning into a TV show was, actually, my second novel. I wrote it when I was 12 years old, highly inspired by J.K. Rowling's books. I had been flirting with YA novels since I was 10ish and writing my own stories, but my second novel turned out to be my strongest writing following this supernatural genre that's turning little kids into avid readers.

What's challenging, however, is to turn that novel into something pre-schoolers would be interested in watching. They are known for their enthusiasm, but also for their quick loss of interest. Shows that are tailored for them often are concerned with trying to keep their attention until the end. Characters who talk too much, then, might be extremely boring for them. Lack of action is uninteresting, but too much action is overwhelming. Writers must strive for objectivity above all, but a flat and strictly paced chronology isn't that attractive. The dosage of complexity must be within reason, but characters that are too human might push the audience away, not to mention that there are certain subjects that might be too delicate for a little kid's mind.

After considering all that, I wonder how I should approach this task. I can't help thinking that my writing should try to echo the expectations I had when I was a 6-year old, but to be honest I was a very odd kid. I somewhat resembled Wednesday Adams in my interests (and, later on, also physically), and I often spent too much time playing by myself. I had social interactions with my cousins and a few close friends, but other than that one might say I was a very reserved girl who found in drawing and playing with my cats the best activities ever.

My favorite TV shows, then, were the ones that explored and challenged my imagination, like Castelo RA TIM BUM or The Puzzle Place, and shows that approached animals and natural elements from a creative perspective, like O Gato Zap. Other kids, I am sure, had different interests. I must approach this, then, in a way that a larger audience would enjoy. But I also shouldn't forget that a story is truly pleasant when the reader (or viewer) notices that the writer genuinely believes and approves his / her own writing.

I'll keep you posted on this. But, for now, what TV shows did you like to watch when you were 6 years old?

Seeking More Opportunities – A Series of Articles to Help You Achieve Your Dreams – (I) Global Youth Summit

2011-06-28T18:03:00.000-05:00

If you're between 16-19 years old, this is an opportunity you shouldn't let pass!

Taken from the Global Changemakers website:

“In November 2011, the sixth Global Youth Summit will take place in the UK, bringing together social entrepreneurs, community activists and volunteers aged 16-19 from around the world. During the summit, the new Changemakers will be exchanging best practices and developing action plans for projects that tackle issues ranging from AIDS/HIV and corruption to education and human rights. Register on the site today so you can be the first to learn how to apply. The call for applications for the Global Youth Summit will go live on 4 July 2011 and will end on 24 July 2011. Download the Global Youth Summit 2011 one-pager (PDF) for more information.”

I have a few friends who are Global Changemakers and joining this program absolutely changed their lives. Supported by this community, they've traveled to China, England and other countries to make their voices heard. This initiative was founded in 2007 with the assistance of the British Council, and since then is growing every year to help the voice of youth advocate for their dreams. They offer regional and global summits, support grassroots projects and bring young activists to conferences such as the G20 meeting, the Global Humanitarian Forum and the World Climate Conference.

Take a look at their website and don't hesitate to send your application. If selected you'll find the Global Changemakers community a way to speak up and an opportunity to start making the difference in your community. Other than the Global Summits and other conferences, the Global Changemakers website also has a marketplace section to help you seek help for your project and / or seek new opportunities.

Seeking More Opportunities -- A Series of Articles to Help You Achieve Your Dreams

2011-06-28T17:33:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, during lunch, I was asked about whether I see any differences between the students in Brazil and the students in the U.S. I must say that my reply was a quick “Yes, I do!” Perhaps I am not doing my fellow Brazilians enough justice, but from my tiny experiences as an international student, I've noticed that perhaps the students I've met in the United States were more ambitious (and to some extent more greedy) than the students I've met in Brazil. I'm not entirely sure whether those differences make each group, compared to each other, better or worse.

One could say, as I heard yesterday, that I might have a biased point of view, after all I went to a small private college in Wisconsin. But who hasn't? In order to avoid diplomatic incidents, then, I'll simply speak for myself and write this article based on my narrow-minded experiences.

I don't advocate for greediness. Far from it. My utopia consists of a world where people could live without worrying about the future. But I must add that most students lack of interest and self-consciousness might be what's killing their chances of building up the lives they'd like to live. In Brazil, and to some extent in the U.S., I've met many students who simply didn't think they were good enough and, thus, felt content exactly where destiny had placed them.

Yes, I know that sometimes (actually, most of the times) it is hard to think of yourself as capable of doing any better than what you are today. Dreaming, when one has no money to pay for the bills and buy groceries, almost look and feel like a sacrilege. Believe me, I've gone through similar experiences. I've lived without electricity for a few weeks because we couldn't afford it. It's almost ridiculous when I think that, despite all the difficulties my family had to go through in the past few years, I still was able to study abroad. How did I manage that? Perhaps I am the luckiest girl in the world, and I am sure God took care of me, but the main lesson I've learned from all this is that one should always seek for opportunities.

My homeland never felt very intellectual to me compared to the academic bubble where I lived for three years. But, although interest in getting a better education is important, academia is not exactly the formula to succeed in life. If you are reading this and wondering what to do to improve your life, I'd ask you one thing: what do you like to do? No matter what is your favorite activity, believe me, there are many ways (within reason!) to make money from it. It doesn't hurt to do a quick search online for fellowships, grants, ideas and whatnot, that could help you succeed in exactly what makes you feel good about yourself and about living.

I've got many emails, for instance, from people who'd like to hear more from me on what to do to study in the U.S. My dear Brazilians sometimes feel that it's almost impossible to envision themselves studying and working abroad, simply because life told them that it's really hard to make their dreams come true. It is hard, yes, but it is not impossible. You'd be surprised to find out that there are many people and many organizations interested in financing your dreams. From now on, then, I'll start posting articles on different opportunities for my readers who are interested in challenging their own current situations. But, before you continue reading this blog, here's your first homework assignment:

Go to FastWeb and create a profile. After that, search for scholarships, jobs and internships that fit your interests. Apply to at least one of them.
Type on Google: grants to help you become a full-time writer.

Will You Be My Writing Partner?

2011-06-26T17:10:00.000-05:00

Hello!

I had an idea for an epistolary novel and I'd like to know who'd be interested in writing it with me. If you're interested, just let me know and I'll explain what the plot would sort of be like, but the main idea is that we will be regularly exchanging emails. Our emails, then, will represent the letters of the characters we're developing. You're free to write your "side of the novel" the way you want and to develop your character accordingly. By the end of this project, which will be in English, we should start contacting publishing houses here in the U.S. Will you be my writing partner?

Your Best Work Place

2011-06-24T23:57:00.001-05:00

Do you feel that sometimes you can only write when you are feeling inspired? No matter what you do to push yourself to work on your stories, the plot only flows when the Muses are nearby. But why can't we just write whenever we want to?

If you could place yourself in a bubble of inspiration and stay away from everything that drains your motivation to write, what would this perfect environment look like to you?

Are you the type of writer who needs music in order to write, or are you a hardcore absolute-silence advocate? Do you work better at home or do you go somewhere else, like a coffee shop, to work? Write letting us know what type of work place better works for you.

It's Always Sunny in... California!

2011-06-22T17:26:00.000-05:00

California is a very sunny place. Palo Alto, precisely, is a very sunny land. This is the view from our window. Look at the sky. It's entirely blue. No clouds at all, and nothing else; well, sometimes a few airplanes, because we're surrounded by airports. Sometimes a few noisy birds, too. And an occasional kite to give the final touch to it. But other than that, the Sun reigns supreme in the sky of Palo Alto.

My desk is next to the window and I can see the world outside while I am writing. It's nice to observe these sunny days, but sometimes I miss the wintry gloominess of Appleton, when the whole town seemed to be inside one of those snow globes. Perhaps, though, the heat and these bright days in California will inspire different ways of approaching my stories.

Feedback Addiction

2011-06-19T04:10:00.000-05:00

Some time ago I found out about a website called Wattpad. First of all, I would like to recommend it to everyone who's seriously interested in self-publishing. Just in a few minutes you'd be able to see your work online, posted for many people to read, and quickly hear feedback from readers and other writers throughout the globe.

I must point out, however, that it is very addictive. If you are anxious to tell your stories, even the unfinished ones, to the world and get to know whether people like it or not, it is very likely that you'll develop a feedback addiction like I did.

On Wattpad I have 2 finished projects that might not be samples of my best writing, but they were stories I cared about. I got some feedback from Brazilian friends, and they're still online for you to read if you understand Portuguese. If you've been following me on Wattpad and also on this blog, though, you might have noticed that I had a few other unfinished stories I posted in English. Let me tell you, then, that I seriously had to delete them tonight.

My reasons for deleting them are very simple: I don't want to be a slave of feedback. I've been writing in Portuguese for my whole life. Just recently I started writing my stories in English, and I am actually surprised that my writing is flowing, that it might be getting somewhere. I was so anxious to see people's reactions to my work that I forgot the main reason behind writing them.

I forgot that writing is the activity that allows my soul to freely talk. Writing is what transports me to a world where I'm able to express myself without fear of judgement. Out of a sudden, then, I caught myself wandering away from what writing really meant in my life. I do respect my readers' opinions, who are always surprisingly kind and careful not to hurt my feelings, but I write first and foremost for myself, and this is how my writing should always be.

I am currently working on the prequel to a novel I wrote last winter. It is in English and I am seriously doing my best to hone my writing and the plot the best way I can. The main character is very dear to me, and she's definitely one of those characters who you'd like to find doing well by the end of the story. Wish me luck, for she's quite challenging.

Thanks. I wish you a happy writing. And be careful not to catch that feedback virus!

I'm a Storyteller

2011-06-07T17:55:00.000-05:00

Hello. I am Rebecca Carvalho. If you've been following my other blogs, it might be a little weird to hear me introducing myself. But, if you're a new reader, it would be weird to simply start following my words without even knowing my name. Once again, hello, I am Rebecca Carvalho. I just graduated from Lawrence University, and although people say I am silly for thinking my life is just starting, I must say it to you: my life (or, at least, this vague idea of real life) started on June 5th, 2011, when I stepped out of the Lawrentian bubble. Perhaps that's all you need to know about my past. My present and my future, however, I'll share with you.

I am an author. In other words, I make up stories. This week I've been struggling with my new identity. I just left my dear alma mater and, because I no longer can identify myself as a student (although I will always devote myself to learning), I should be able to tell people what I am when asked. Is it fine, then, to say that I am a writer, even though I've only once financially benefited from writing? Is it true to say that I live by my pen? If writing has to do with sitting down with pen and paper, pouring down my thoughts without fear of speaking up, making up worlds and building up thoughts in my mind, then I've been a writer since I was born! If, however, writing has to do with making money out of it... then perhaps I am far from being an author. For literary purposes, for the sake of writing this blog and the sake of my ego, please, let me just say that I am, humbly, a storyteller.

Starting today I will tell you many stories. Some of them will be true. Others will be lies. But most of them will be a bold mixture of reality and imagination. There will be pieces on journalistic accounts and a few pages of the purest stream of consciousness and the biggest trivialities one could talk about. I will whisper to you secrets and the most confidential observations. I will make many gestures when telling you about my creative writing. Most importantly, I will let you enter -- but only you -- the world I've created within my head and meet dear characters I've befriended throughout my life.

This is my writing room, but you are cordially invited to join me while I feed this bitter-sweet creature called creativity. Please, do help me. There is not a lot one could do alone in this world. Good luck to you, and good luck to me.