One Saturday, after giant hands slashed opened the grey sky and released continuous rain, I wasn’t inspired anymore (that day) after hours of re-writes. I bundled up and took the bus to my other home—the library. I love our central library (rain or shine), a magnificent structure of eleven floors of intricate shaped glass and steel, designed by two brilliant architects, Remment Lucas “Rem” Koolhaas and Joshua Prince-Ramus.
When I need inspiration, this library’s enormous fiction section has it in spades. Its national and international selections are a reader’s dream. Continue reading
It’s hard for me to think when my mind is dry… better known as WRITER’S BLOCK. Writing a novel; drenching my soul to write “THE END” is like carrying a ton of bricks on my back and walking barefoot through the desert. It’s a solo journey moving my imagination inch by inch. Hands click away on the computer slower and slower and less enthusiastic. I’d like to think there are many writers like me, walking through the desert, in need of their brain to be refreshed. 
Fiction Writing emerges as my personal choice for many reasons. The most important one points to pure enjoyment.
Trying to reconstruct one’s life over a period of time sometimes proves difficult—not always because you can’t remember—but maybe the memory of past events makes you reflect—and you just shut down.