An international blog about literature and ecocriticism. Here I include my own lyrics, by Rui M. and also the work of others, from 10 to 14 each month 2017: new contributions sent to Periodical Art contests and Critics. Thanks. Arigatou

Abr 16

If you search for a good writer then you should find Janine Canan.

Her work give us the magic that sometimes our days are missing.


Here you can find all her books:




published by talesforlove às 23:58

Abr 13

A writer is not an actor. His work pretends to be a portrait of the most profound feelings of all the characters that live inside the tales he imagines. It is not an objective to see a face that really shows something that is strange to the hart of the person who is an actor. To write is to go hand in hand with the reader; not in a path of "real" landscapes, made of sand and stones, trees and grass, but of smiles, praies and weeping or tears, praies and busts of laughter's, with happy sounds together with them. The landscape of the writer is painted with words and letter, open and closed vowels, consonants and brain signals. Everything is like a group of small drops of electricity that combined create an illusion almost as real as reality. All this can happen during the night:  the writer doesn't have a brush or a palette. His most important instrument are his glasses, not to look to the piece of paper in front of him but to see (and think about) the world and the social movement that happens... everyday. Nevertheless, he is an ordinary man. If he wasn't he wouldn't be able to understand the reasons that explain the movements of woman and men in a complex society. You must believe that the human society is more complex than a society of monkeys! And you may smile thinking about this comparison but the truth is that they are our friends and we all together are a family: the cell of my novel, the piece of flesh the writer sees with the help of his microscope. It is marvelous to understand the machinery of the human reality, especially when we are a part of it.

published by talesforlove às 23:53