Microwave Green Beans

Florence + The Machine Contest

In the throes of a fit of what I can only label as insanity, I decided to hold a contest on the forum the Temple of EFP.

The aim is to write a fiction or an original drawing on quotations from songs on the album " Lungs" of singer Florence + The Machine.

HERE the announcement of the initiative.

join numerous!

The Lewis Structure For Cs2

How many things I do not know me ...

This is the hardest story I 've Ever Told ...

Mika "Happy Ending"

Here I am again to rant in vain, prey to a kind of melancholy sweet and sour sauce that wont get me every time that you are about to close a chapter of my life, I guess he's going to happen, I believed that the imminent delivery of the BDT would make me euphoric rather than nostalgic.

Nostalgic de that, then? My last two years in three universities have been trench warfare with a labyrinthine psyche, so much prefer to go beyond them to relive them.

However, the fact is that, at this moment, I would have at least ten thousand different priorities at stake, such as correcting the story ended the contest, write the three missing, end the post with the review of the katti boiata solemn "The Mentalist" and last but not least, add the famous thanks the end of the thesis.

I told you I can not write reviews, or greeting cards, well, I can not even write the acknowledgments. course, would add at this point my mother, if she were here in this write-leggiucchiare what he does and I'll leave it more often. " Since this is presumably the person who knows me better than this, I have to admit that he is right, but his concept of on course does not coincide entirely with mine.

course, she said, translates into a true-alas-" because Though you are flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood, I must call yourself a moody genialoide eccentric and egocentric, with the innate ability to drown in a glass of water half empty, and seems to result from mental panic almost from scratch, as well as unable to be produced in any expression of praise that is not self-referenced . Well, here, she would use a language a bit 'more direct and brutal, but the meaning is.

course, for my part, now sound like a pathetic sort of apology than what is written above, because I think the problem is mostly in my head buggy that in reality I do not know write reviews, best wishes and thanks because I always seem to play false.

are not spontaneous, and I write what I say, I think, then think, then think again, and eventually maybe even express it aloud and / or on the white paper: Hamlet, thinking that paralyzes action. In these moments, I identify myself fully in words spoken by the character, and homosexual writer, Riccardo Scamarcio (barely myself to believe what I just typed O_O) in "Mine stray," which unfortunately does not remember exactly, that every time the family will ask a question, he wanted to retire to put the answer in writing, unable to express it in words with the same efficiency. Often I have the same problem also in writing, so I have the constant worry of missing out on something wrong, something polite, but cold and circumstantial, something of a disappointment.

Yes, because most people are well-brought-to mistakenly think that because you are good with the written word, then you're automatically a genius for originality even in times like this minute.

No, sorry, you have the wrong person, I'm not capable. And, I forgot, I'm not even a genius of the written word, I just get along discreetly.

However, this is exactly why I started writing this post, and even why I like a verse of the song titled "The Greatest" (Elisa feat. Ligabue).

Like the story that haunts me for a year now.

Why this story, among many other things that means to me, is also unlikely and worthy in its own way of writing here, thanks.

But let me, before any other explanation, tell you a small, significant historical background: I'm starting to hate the Women's Day.

not get me wrong, though I often write in the shoes for boys to satisfy my mood no actress, I think I'm one of the last bastions of vulgar feminism of the past, inherited from barricadera my mother in disguise.

However, except for 2010, which, however, I was trying to relearn all over again the ancient Greek grammar (u_u), 8 March the last three were to be eradicated from my memory of being human is not common. Literally.

In 2007 I spent the day screaming all the swear words I know-then, however, I was still a maiden chaste and uncorrupted by the evil influence of abusive & Flattened Gene Stout at Hunt-cubic ignorance editor of the publishing house of my baby (aka thriller "End of Days", end spam momentary), which, among other atrocities, was convinced that " stentorian " was synonymous with " broken" and so also for " parried " and " scoffed." Moral of the story: that evening, to the training arc, I pulled well six arrows in the tent para-arrows, which I never did even during the first hour-basis.

In 2008 I had a fucking panic attack less than a month, so I was probably facing the incontrovertible since my social life was mercifully lacking (even now is not that drunk, but ...) that my inspiration was so dead that I would never write a line in my life, except for force majeure and closely related to my academic career, and that the study compulsive disorder and was my only crazy, ruinous refuge.

In 2009 I attended the most squalid, terrible, disgusting presentation of my literary career never took off, at the mercy of mood swings and annoying chatter of an old writer want to be, who, as the object of his fear-still long-life, set out to drill the attributes of the new local talent.

Despite the querulous

unsolicited advice, ideas written about my socks, and the unavoidable presence of his close friend and alleged hateful painter of merit, this little man with the potential to break a bad-tempered wasp in a motorcycle helmet was useful. Useful in a way that, if he knew what I have in mind, giving me regret it bitterly launched a similar challenge.

One of the few present had asked me why I decided to set my novel in Rome. I state that I always answer in a friendly Anglo-Saxon also by far the most idiotic questions, like "Why did you choose such strange names for the characters?" Immeasurably more than ever the question Pirlo human mind can give birth, or "You inspired Dan Brown * * scribacchinopennivendoloimbrattacartecheodiocontuttamestessa for ...?" as if this guy was the only narrative dall'indubbia failure in the history of creation to have talked about the sacred feminine, however, a ringing crap after another at incredible pace, worthy of the worst botched ficcyna.

Therefore, I candidly explained that, at that time, I had visited the capital for the first time, I thought I was in love and to know enough to be able to set a novel without any embarrassing blunders (Yes, Mr. Brown, we are talking your crazy idea the topography of Rome). In fact, among my own rules as an author, is that of never writing a post in which I spent at least an entire day and night, you only exception in the case of fanfiction (LOM in Manchester, CSI New York) , even then, tries to document the best of my ability restricted.

At that point, the old man spoke out of turn, ruling that, as a citizen of Pavia, should I stay at setting my stories in the shores, without sail far away. Since I doubt understand that I live in Pavia already every single day, at least in my leisure I can afford to be cosmopolitan, a goal that we have a writer who writes about Pavia Pavia, as the old M. Milani, with whom I have not the slightest intention of competing, considering his extensive experience in the field.

The last thing I expected you to answer is: "He has had its day, it's time to take care someone else."

inflated lump of criminality (cited Scanzi Andrea), which I am not need similar opportunities offered on a silver platter.

remain convinced that I have no interest in challenging the 'auctoritas local writers, because neither he nor the old man probably never read this, my next project, which, after a year of feverish meditation and alternates, is to catalyze all of my commitment to grass-only author in the grass, alas, I repeat.

I feel sorry for those who come to this point, they will be wondering when I will begin the publication: I solemnly decided not publish anything which is not self-contained before it is complete, because I know you too well not to know that I hate to be pressed for and updates when I write that, from day to day, this story might end up among the various incomplete crowding the hard disk of my computer, for inspiration or flight to Miami, as has already happened to me, because I do not feel more with the same force and passion with which I perceive it now.

And I do not want to disappoint anyone.

In Me author of the Temple of EFP I was optimistic, saying that in mid-October I will post at least the beginning: Yesterday I drafted the statement of evidence for the chapters, the length of which conclude that we will be very lucky if I can intention at least by New Year.

I apologize with the readers of my novel, though I doubt that most of them can pass through here: the long wait after that, and I earnestly ask every time you encounter the undersigned in person or in my parents , it's all in my head, built to the smallest detail, but I feel blessed this story in the bud is the step I have to pass before turning to the sequel.

I must admit, is the first time in my career as a writer that I fear: fear of not being up to expectations, my first of all, fear of not finding the right words, fear of not being able to put on paper what unfolds so clearly in my mind, fear of not being suited to write this kind of history, even though I know to have to write.

After all, for now I tried to just psychotic boy wizard with investigators and psychics, what I am going to make is, I fear, as far removed from both categories mentioned, will be a sort of gym in which smooth the defects of my style, often too convoluted, and test the limits of my narrative ability.

I have kept enough with some people who talked to me about writing "therapeutic" and the rest of the opinion that, often, the reader is on the run from their problems, so it is very likely to be regurgitated on all the tedious existential flaws of the poor author harassed on duty. But now I find myself having to admit that in spite of myself, lately, I can not help but put a bit of what I have tried in the past and what I write: perhaps mixed with irony, perhaps Ammannato along with a lively plot, but it is felt However, I guess.

All the characters of " How many things I do not know me ..." will have a bit of me in them, more or less ... Goddess, this thing scares me so embarrassing to say the least.

verbiage I wasted time, as usual, to fill a post with a bunch of nothing, at present, is still playing pool in my tiny brain rotting.

And at times I even forget to say why this story will be in a certain way, thanks, because, first, will be dedicated to the readers, without whom the author is just a man who dances in the dark (it's too good for me, it is Ovid's!) and then, because every character is inspired, for better or for worse, people need to know ... People should think twice, instead of asking me to write something light-hearted about them because you never know how the unbalanced mind of a writer will hear you, and especially if the end result will be to your liking.

Seriously, this story is my personal tribute to all those dysfunctional to which they are attached, in one way or another, even if he does not know or do not care, or give it for granted. Why would

lost without you, although I can never tell you to words.

soon!

Dunlop Vs Slazenger Squash

QC: amateurs!

* Warning *

The letters "QC" marks the half-serious posts with reviews by the undersigned.

not recommended reading in bimbiminkia, amykette and everyone who is a pathological case of "syndrome of feeling offended."

today are moderately happy: my argument does not so much crap, I found a whole hazelnut in my ice cream last night, in the first episode of "Bones," was Stephen Fry (*_*).

those circumstances to suggest that the subsequent acid regurgitation not be an end in itself, but fully justified by the circumstances.

It is now known for some time that a widespread malpractice, and not in the amateur writing. And no, you do not write slash ficcyne idiotic.

The axiom in the prevailing contemporary writer has for some time now, the following:

" everyone can write a yellow"

By its very definition, the axiom is an assertion unprovable, but intrinsically true here, that this is demonstrably false as well.

Recently, is spreading the unpleasant conviction that anyone who has failed to prove, at least once in their lifetime, that the brother / son / cousin had stolen the biscuits and blamed the dog, anyone can write "shampoo", not "shampoo" on the shopping list, anyone who has emotional Paturnie to throw up on the next without having the money to the psychologist is able to write a crime novel.

Dependable, decent and not granted.

This is my new personal trinity, entirely absent from most of the works of pseudo-mystery writers that stand, mostly on the shelf of any bookstore, or those that propinano generalist and satellite television.

Judging from what circulates, I have concluded that most mystery writers are male individuals of moderate physical appearance, brainy, around forty, who have sexual activity disappointing, sporadic or absent.

The crime writer of the other half of the sky are harder to label, and because smaller, either because they have the unfortunate tendency to try to write like their male colleagues, and then ending up back in the old catalog, I would say-often- in spite of themselves.

At least that is what is apparent from their writings, often much worse than the most vulgar ficcyna Self-insertion marysuesca / garystuesca, with lots of muddy bed scene customary. With the single, small, significant difference that I read ficcyna free, pay him the yellow, salty and too expensive.

At this point, I wish to state that it is not unknown in Shrimp: I'm not going to get into the chair and say what you should or should not do to write a good yellow, I myself have much to learn about ; I never tire of repeating an author to be in high grass the grass-only, unfortunately.

What I wish to condemn, with my next post, is the 'hypocrisy critical gender , which creates literary cases lack of narrative consistency, to elevate the banal antics, hosanna products were bleak as the Copernican revolution writers of the third millennium, it's all wonderful, miraculous, spectacular ... But by what criterion?

Because the problem is not that they emphasize only those works that might be less successful for those who are already famous, but are raised to the laurels of triumph even beginners who, IMHO, would do good and right thing to devote to horseracing. In every possible sense of the term.

for me and your luck, there are also honest critics, who have the good sense to admit that, yes, in short, this new world crime writer of genius was not so brilliant: last but not least, the recent review of critical acclaim with one voice in a little 'bleating on the trilogy of the late Stieg Larsson, one of the authors in my opinion the most overrated of the decade. Why speak ill of the dead is not politically correct, but objectively what he wrote should be criticized in part. Negative criticism.

Unfortunately, these champions are rare and little say: the common practice is to inculcate in people the belief that, as the axiom states, anyone can write a mystery when nothing is further from the truth.

Yellow is a literary genre that demands the same commitment and same constancy of all others by the man / woman who decides to undertake the writing: not enough as the two lovers and the silly Machiavellian villain of the moment to make a good love story, so you do not need is a dead killed in the most paradoxical and can investigator saw a healthy carrier of mind to make a good yellow.

Therefore these considerations shed my ironic attempt to be just a handbook for those wishing to re-evaluate their views on contemporary mystery writers, by discovering what it would look better (IMHO, anyway) and what instead can be a pleasant recreation.

Dyo Not being on Earth, are always inclined to civil dialogue and peaceful: the links at the side allow you to contact me in many ways, if you do not agree with my views. The objections, the curses and-why not - even excommunications only ask to be well argued and, above all, written in Italian power.

Because I know how to read the case, but that the language of text messages.

the next QC, 99% with a writer who hates the chemistry nerd, and a handsome Australian who ignores the meaning of "Shut up!" ...

There are three elements to write a good thriller plot, plot and texture.

Ed McBain

Good Looking Red High Lights

Signorinaeffe vs University of Pavia (Act One)

There was once a graduate student in Classics and Oriental Antiquities, who attended an old university shooting in the foggy city of Pavia.
The university had always seemed a decent enough place, apart from some minor inconvenience, like the mysterious disappearance of several textbooks, useful for his thesis from the library of archeology, or the failure of the entire staff of that library to provide an alphanumeric password for access to computers on the right (system they devised themselves, point out). The graduate
above, taking advantage of the fact that was required to submit the assessment at the speaker for the First Amendment, he decides to exercise its right and duty of voting, democracy enshrined in force on campus: he does every year, always animated by a strong sense of civic duty and the vain hope that someone really keep the promises the election campaign. Vana, because, despite the fine talk of politicastri, buses are for human cattle cars, tuition fees are soaring as the local Cake Heaven and interns are considered well-off citizens, because their card for public transport costs ten times More than three years of university.
But anyhow, our protagonist wants the seat, well hidden, while people who have glimpsed yes and no a couple of days in class in three years, greet, embrace it, kiss it (!) as if they were his buddies since kindergarten, who has not attended, among others - looking for a vote. Note that these same people in class, maybe not even see her dodging.
However, ours is a consummate poker player, a nod to everyone, but remains firm on its position: at last, comes the fateful room and show the document to the three officers present.
Here, the mouth of the trio, turns out to be a ghost.
An unexpected plot twist, right?
In fact, the graduate is not present in any of the lists of voters in possession of the staff, which, once mastered own admission that it is an off-course, and asked her when she paid the taxes. How
forget that Monday, May 10, just the day before yesterday, when our mother and rebounded like ping pong balls between secretarial, bank and mail the money to pay for registration, conditio sine qua non for which we could deliver the application for graduation.
sure you want to truly know the rest of the story?
For the atrocious outrage committed to democracy, it is not recommended reading for political scientists to heart disease and emotional idealists.
La nostra  non ha il diritto di votare , perché non ha versato le tasse  almeno venticinque giorni prima .
Ora, Dio è nei dettagli e la matematica non è un'opinione, la nostra si è iscritta a Lettere proprio per la scarsa confidenza con quest'ultima, ma un paio di conticini elementari è in grado di farli:

1) La nostra è ufficialmente andata fuori corso il giorno  30 aprile 2010 .
2) La nostra aveva ricevuto l'ordine tassativo di  non pagare le tasse per la seconda enrollment in the third year before that date .
3) Voting shall take place in the days of 12 and 13 May 2010 .
4) Between April 30 and May 12 to 13 there are even twenty-five days in the calendar of Pluto.

Moral of the story: we went away with empty-handed and, soon, will write a letter to the director for information about the local newspaper "La Provincia Pavese" time, in writing from time to time have fun with letteracce his fiery, last but not least on the inefficiency of buses, published and commented less than a year ago.
Although not help anything, it's just that his fellow citizens to know that students at the University of Pavia have only obligations (paying taxes) and no law.

soon!

Can U Do An Ollie With Short Figures Tech Deck

(I have too many) things to do

Now the first two weeks of July I have to find time to

• Deliver the application for the BDT (which, unfortunately for me, not the Big Damn Table homonym community, but the Big Damn Thesis Degree ). This would not be a problem if those funny little men of my university had not moved, without my knowledge, the period from 18 May to ... tomorrow!

Yes, indeed (cited)! Love the red tape with me!

• conclude, correct and send to Mr. Giles rapporteur the BDT and hope that I do not tell us of the paper airplanes from what is horrible: I have no time to rewrite it from scratch, May 24 is here soon.

Someone explain to me the usefulness of the first degree, besides pocketing € 90 for parchment (human skin, I hope, given how damn coast) ...

• Write, edit, edit and send the five (You read that right, five!) Original stories for their contest in which I unwisely entered is a way to convince me that I waste my time at the keyboard even when I'm not sure it will come out of a piece by Pulitzer ... that, however do not quit anyway.

'm beginning to suspect that we need at least forty-eight hour days, at least until I use the method of Conrad: Write seven words to erase eight ...

• Reviewing the fiction that I put in the follow / favorite, before their I lincino authors.

Like it's easy to find something decent to say: I think the reviews are like greeting cards, there are those who can write and who is not. I am part of the second category.

• Cultivating a shred of social life.

Coff, overlook beautifully about it, from whatever angle you take, is always an unpleasant topic ...

Something missing?

Ah, yes, yes ...

• Laura!

Panicopanicopanico! After this virtual

whining completely useless, I leave you with a pearl of wisdom, I hope to fit the circumstance, taken from the Hell's Proverbs of William Blake

" Improvement Makes straight roads; But the crooked roads without improvement are roads of Genius. "

(Trad." Progress makes the right ways, but without the winding streets and progress are the ways of genius. ")

;

soon!

Does Best Buy Warranty Cover Water Damage

Testing Techniques (idiocy)

Test, test ... It seems to work ...

Hooray, MistralRapsody (aka Signorinaeffe) has arrived on LJ!