TCIK Original Book Update #2

I'm old af

I was just remembering 'the old days'. 'My days'.

I'm so oooooooooooooooold.

Me, my parents and a cheap car.

No air conditioning, the warmest summer ever known.

Beatles rocking through the radio nonstop.

Beetles rocking through the windshield with a ton of their insect friends as well. (For some reason, those insects just disappeared nowadays...)

Coming back home to... sit down and read a book? Cuz no internet, babe. Not even a mp3 player at the time.

(I confess, I'd just stare at the ceiling, wishing it'd swallow me whole.)

Tumblr is god-given, I'm telling ya.

Perfect!!

Full offense but your writing style is for you and nobody else. Use the words you want to use; play with language, experiment, use said, use adverbs, use “unrealistic” writing patterns, slap words you don’t even know are words on the page. Language is a sandbox and you, as the author, are at liberty to shape it however you wish. Build castles. Build a hovel. Build a mountain on a mountain or make a tiny cottage on a hill. Whatever it is you want to do. Write.

First morning I don't edit a chapter before breakfast in months. I'm feeling weird. Like there's this burning in my throat that just won't go away. I don't even want to eat anything. What is it I'm feeling? I always was horrible at being self-aware, so I guess I'll keep wondering...

Expelled from Word, he is now trying to contact you through other programs...

I used to think I had nothing to offer to the world. That my writings were shit. Lacking in pretty much everything. That no one would want to read them in their right mind. That I'd be better off dead.

Fuck that.

I'll carve my path in blood if need be, if even one person feels heard by a word I wrote.

(I'm just being poetic, policeman)

TCIK Original Book Update #5

Hmmm. Yeah. Procrastinating. You got it.

But I AM writing! Just not in the right doc. I ended up having this idea-like always-and this idea now has 55-songs in its own playlist and a few scenes badly written. But damn, aren't they funny! I've never written scenes as hilarious as these before, in my life.

I think this specific book (not the one I've been working on before, which will come around August 2025) will come around mid 2026, perhaps. Or early 2027. Idk. I want to make it a long book, full of banter and ridiculous situations, so it will be harder to write than an angst book (at least that's how it works for me).

Anyway, the other book? The August 2025 one? Yeah, it's in what I call, "de molho". Which translates as "leaving it soaking", kinda, which means, yeah you got it you smart pie, I'm procrastinating. Out of ideas. Out of the will to write anything down. Hating it, even. But that's how it always goes. Give it a week or two, or maybe ten years, and I'm back to it again just fine.

All in all, wish me luck. Or don't wish me anything. Or wish me evil, and I'll just laugh. Below my blankets.

xoxo

TCIK Original Book Update #6

I talked to a friend today and it REALLY helped.

We spent like half an hour discussing the plot and I ended up deciding on a few things after our conversation. Also, she made a curious request: that I repeat a phrase or an emotion in certain specific moments (I can't talk about what those moments are, big spoiler...). I think it made me stumble into some hidden treasure, but what this treasure is, I'm yet to know...

My ideas always go like this:

Oah, cool, fine, that shows promise

Nah scratch that, something better came up

Wow another new idea, this one actually makes 1 and 2 make sense

mindblowing

omg I'm weeping, EVERYTHING MAKES SENSE NOW

Over and over again, project after project

You just need to give it... time. No really, time and eat proper food

Coração

Do alto do céu, Ele olha em teus olhos. Vê o que ninguém vê, O brilho esquecido, A dor que em silêncio não cede.

Sinto um peso no peito, O eco de uma ausência sem nome, Uma ferida sem cura, Alguém sem solução.

Eu cruzaria o mundo, Daria meu sangue, Seria teu pão. Já não posso ser menos Do que Deus pediu de mim.

Ser assim, Um tanto diferente, Um risco na maré, Um passo além da linha. E mesmo que me tentem calar, Sonharei mais alto. Terei algo a te dar.

Nem que tenha de dar Meu sangue, Minha carne, Minha última prece. Pois sei que tu podes mais. Sempre mais.

Mas me pergunto, Quem, do alto do céu, Fez do vento um anjo? Quem o moldou Para salvar minha dor?

Ele fala, mas não o ouço, Sussurra, mas temo entender. E se um dia se for, O que restará de mim?

Mesmo se o céu for azul, Se as nuvens dançarem livres, Algo em mim será cinza.

Mas um anjo me diz: "Há tanto a fazer, Tanto a dar, Para tornar alguém feliz."

E eu, Que já não durmo cedo, Que luto contra meus próprios fantasmas, Ainda rezo. Pois as palavras não têm fim, E se Deus não muda, Alguém mudará por mim.

Dar força a quem desiste, Dar fé a quem persiste, Desfazer a maldade, Firmar o perdão.

E mesmo que tudo se desfaça, Que tudo seja ilusão, Ainda há algo que resiste: A força do teu coração.

Já não tiro mais fotos, Já não busco respostas. Se tudo vem do nada, Que sou eu, então?

Peço mil dias de perdão, E ainda assim, Persiste em mim A força do meu coração.

Não há mais jeito... É o meu talento... Despeço-me de mim mesmo E entrego a quem quiser. Eu sou um. E por isso, Eu vivo.

A ti. A ti. A ti. A ti.

O amor floresce como uma flor de verão, Breve, intensa, Indomável.

Penso, falo, sigo, faço, Como o vento, sem pouso certo. Arrasto ilusões, Desfaço mentiras.

E se tudo me for tirado, Se o que desejo se apagar, Movo minha própria alma E sigo meu coração.

Não é fácil. Mas há de ser feito.

Penso, falo, sigo, faço, Como se nunca fosse chegar. Tento, canto, caio de cansaço. Onde está o céu?

Penso, falo, sigo, refaço, O amor há de resistir. Pois é da fé que vive em mim.