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Pedro Paramo Juan Rulfo read: a luxury.

And we will be preparing the talk on Wednesday 25 May ...

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Flannery O'Connor and the art of writing stories.

Write a story ...

... is a way of observing the created world and to use the senses so that force them to discover things as meaningful as possible.

... a good story can not be reduced, you can only expand. A story is good when you continue to see more and more into it and yet escapes us. In fiction, two plus two is always more than four.

... the peculiar problem of the storyteller is how to make the action he describes reveal the mystery of existence as much as possible. Has only a small space for it, and not by means of statements. Have to get through what it shows, not what he says ...

... a story is a way of saying something that can not be said otherwise.

From: Flannery O'Connor, "To write stories" . In : Mystery and Manners.

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Workshop Activities. Juan Rulfo

Wednesday, 25 May:

8-10, talk about Pedro Páramo , by Victoria Albornoz, University of San Luis.

Tuesday 31 May:

8-10, Medea of Euripides, by Camila Paz Obligado.

Wednesday 8 June:

8-10, Lola Lopez Mondéjar talk to us about her novel My Love unfortunate (Ed. Siruela).

to attend the talks is essential to have read the texts.

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interviewed. Juan Rulfo interviewed

preparing to go talk about Pedro Páramo , we offer you this interview with Juan Rulfo made in TVE program "In Depth" in 1977. It is a very interesting material, but we must listen in order, despite my inexperience for publication has led to some chaos. As expected, the first part is the No 1 and, from there onwards. Under each video, in red, is a brief summary of what it contains. Enjoy it.

Summary Part 4: Biography. First stories. Rulfo tire salesman. El llano en llamas . Pedro Páramo and their issues. A new novel in progress.

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Juan Rulfo interviewed on A Fondo (1977) Part 2

Children. Rulfo in the orphanage. "And that calmed me a lot." "The only thing I learned was to depress me." "I have panic people." Violence and its characters.

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A Fondo (1977) Part 3

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Juan Rulfo interviewed on A Fondo (1977) Part 1

Origen Cristero revolution, emigration.

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Juan Rulfo interviewed on A Fondo (1977) Part 5

Pedro Páramo and structure "must be read three times to understand it." "It's really a novel of ghosts." Coming writers, literary tastes. Spain. Photography.

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Pedro Paramo in the workshop.

Point the agenda :

and l Wednesday 25 May, 8-10, Victoria Albornoz , professor of Latin American literature at the University of San Luis, talk to us about Pedro Páramo. The talk is open to all workshop participants and is necessary to have read the novel.

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Mother's Day, a non-commercial source.

Julia Ward (New York, 1819-1910 )

Source Mother's Day An appeal for peace.

Rise, women today! (...) Firmly say "Do not take our children to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, compassion and patience." We women of one country, we have too much compassion for those of another country, such as allowing our children to be trained to injure theirs. From the bosom of a devastated land, a voice will rise to ours and says, Disarm! "Disarm!" The sword of murder is not the scales of justice . Blood does not wipe the dishonor, nor violence is a sign of possession. On behalf of motherhood and humanity, I ask you solemnly to be designated a general congress of women, regardless of nationality, to promote the alliance of different nationalities, the amicable settlement of international issues.

Julia Ward

This passionate call for peace and disarmament was written in 1870. Also an activist, Julia Ward was a poet and playwright. collaborated in founding the Woman's Journal where he wrote and edited for 20 years. Some of his writings are: "The Other Side of the Woman Question" and "What Is Religion?" . From "The proclamation of Mother's Day, women from 18 cities gathered to celebrate the call for peace. In 1914, the country's president officially declared the "Mother's Day."

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... and goodbye to Gonzalo Rojas.

BEAUTIFUL DARK

Last night I've played and I've been without my hand
fled beyond my hand without my body
flee, and my ear
almost human in a way I have felt
. Pulsating

,
not know if as blood or
tag wandering
by my house on tiptoe, climbing darkness, darkness
low, run, sparkling.

run for my wooden house

windows opened and I felt you beat the entire night,
daughter of the deep, silent,
warrior, so terrible, so beautiful
that everything that exists,
for me, without your flame did not exist.

FAX TO Guster

Fax with gale

and a rose today

Rojas left this

-Gonzalo as put him in the water, was alone, there

epitaph to write about their fate, nor

body to breathe, scarcely

be said of him that came

fast and has left,

is no longer then that

no stars for him, carnally

goes over the glass that imprisoned a rose

as an instrument of destruction, which has come

and that's it.

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was once a great writer: Congratulations, Ana Maria Matute

who does not invent, not live.

Literature is the savior of many storms lighthouse.

... women were clipped.

... and knew the terror.

At last the story has entered gender respected literature.

Here you can hear the speech of Ana Maria Matute to receive the Cervantes Prize

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EXQUISITE CORPSE, 2

Today is the last Saturday of the month and I'm at the hairdressers in the morning. Maria spends her fingers with water and soap for my crazy head. I hope. What do I expect? Looking to keep parted lips, a touch to remove the foam of the ear, a kiss on each eyelid closed ... But Mary is no me, never answers.

Meanwhile, a girl reading a magazine. The Doorbell Rang. She gets up to open and I hear her say: this salon is only for men. Then look to Mary and smile. The girl with no water and no soap in his eyes. I pushed against her friend. Violence. How embroiled see them kiss. How to bite. See them destroyed.

But instead, what I see is how my fingers are falling gradually. Under my sleeve stumps poke sparse, like my bald head. How can I cherish now to Mary or his girlfriend or any woman in the world? Hide my stumps in his pocket, looked at the floor and see how their narrow ankles are directed towards the end of the salon.

then returns. Pass me and not look at me. Better, I think, and does not notice my lack of hands. I also notice that your feet fall, little by little, that I can not touch her in any way. It addresses the girl again and I hope I can only sleep and dream of Mary with her head inside the dryer. Noise centrifugal us and makes us one thing crazy dream that turns in his swivel chair, while outside on the street, some pedestrians look into the salon through the window without noticing the pictures of models or fasteners. Note, in any event, are turning the chair, but do not understand.

And that's when I begin to imagine. No longer touch but the madness of my imagination kneading her waist, falling waterfall soft and tender meat I imagine. Butter Mary, Mary licked with tongues of my memory, which devoured them with ice cream and lollipops in preschool. And stop being old, while I climb the mountains of her hips .

Talk from when I was six. I'm sitting in the kitchen with my mother offered me a cup of chocolate. The chocolate is hot but bitter. - Take it! - Bittersweet voice whispers to me as a hand up. But do not take it. He looks away and goes to his room. They spend a thousand years. From the open door of her bedroom look like lava slides red satin china for its left bank. Curly clouds moving over his face and fall, fall, fall. On the nightstand is a scythe .

Scissors heavy, unwieldy, so different from the graceful, elegant Mary earwigs that open and close in the air like a dancer's legs. "Chis!", "Chis!", Jumping, moving, touching my hair, agile and sleepers. "Chis!, Chis!, To get you going." Let me do whatever comes. I feel a shiver his touch. Also rubbing his arm, arm warm chocolate mixed with vanilla. How could sour?

Mary's voice suddenly returned me to the barber chair. His fingers flying across the hair I have made travel between flavors and memories, far away. She looks at me waiting for me to pay up and that's all what you want the old man. I rub my chin I fake distress. Do I shave? Mary snorts and goes back to get the bib, aerates the cream smell around me while I lather, and is to lay the knife on the leather when I look without meeting, his eyes lost in thought, to arrive finally at the time desired, in which the metal is cold for the first time my throat.

desire to die if that beheaded the rictus of pain relief that now I guess on his lips, longing eyes that exude from the mirror, I dig into the swivel chair. It is a dignified way to return a tiny portion of juventur elixir that gives me his reverie. Mary female cream, chocolate and butter in a world of men, perennial football pundits and bulls.

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Baseline Andrew Neuman:

Mary is: thin ankles, thick waist. I'm not sure why, I love that. No fine ankles. The thick waist.

Maria has: a hairdresser, a few customers. I am the oldest, almost. That does not mean I'm old. But cas i.

Almost as old as the book I read at night, book fine point average. That's all I can read now. Others weigh in bed and if they print, they become flies undaunted. Not that much progress in reading, come home defeated, but at least at that time, I think of it, in Mary, who, apart from ankles and waist, has chocolate and cream skin. More chocolate cream. At least, I imagine its taste.

I imagine its taste because Mary has always refused to accede to my proposals. A single lick! "Please," an ear to the other sliding the forehead, dropping by the nostrils to the upper lip, the lower skid cascade your neck, make a stop on the tits-two stories, on the right and left, "swim with Power to the navel, cast anchor in the Sargasso Sea curly dawn on the thighs and give a pinch happy to toe before the dismissal. But do not consent, or even paying.

not even paying. That tells me. Because I never cobgra. She's very own for this stuff, very professional, and when he falls can not joke with the silver, no sir. Love is with lovers and business customers. So I never wear anything en los bolsillos, apenas unos caramelos.

Ser el más antiguo, o casi, de sus clientes, me concede una serie de prerrogativas. Ni María me las ha dado, ni yo me las he tomado. Pero lo cierto es que me pertenece el mejor lugar, la silla giratoria y abatible del fondo de la peluquería, desde donde María me deja contemplarla a mis anchas, su ancha cintura removiéndose como un calamar bajo la bata mientras se inclina solícita sobre un cliente.

Me gusta cortarme el cabello en la peluquería de María. Tengo poco. Los años han ido esquilmando mi poblada cabellera hasta dejarla rala. Por eso prefiero llevarlo very short. I love to fix it Mary. It seems that this will be the only physical contact I will be allowed. That and shaving. I like that his hands caress my face. Your hands soft, plump, cheerful, expert. Sometimes when you are rushing me stronger chin, my head resting on her tits. My pleasure. Each month return to feel them. Some consolation!

(To be continued ..)

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Night of the Books 2011.

Wednesday, from 20.30 to 21.30

the International Institute Library

Miguel Angel, 8

will read texts of the "Please be brief" (Ed. Pages foam).

With the debut of "The microlocas"

Then, wine and jazz, to celebrate the Night of the books.

You are all invited to celebrate the shared pleasure of reading and writing.

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Exquisite Corpse at Night of the mutant books

From the creative writing workshop Clara Obligado ( www.escrituracreativa.com ) and the collective La Latina ( www.colectivolalatina.org ) we will develop various activities on April 27, the night of the mutant books. Among these activities, I intend to participate in a exquisite corpse literature.

If you want to help, contact us at: evohe@evoheproducciones.com or info@colectivolalatina.org , and give you more information.

Hourly published an entry with the following of our body shape simultaneously. Hurry up, and there is little free time!

Here we start Andrés Neuman sent to us to inspire you to go:

1

Mary is: thin ankles, thick waist. I'm not sure why, I love that. No fine ankles. The thick waist.

Mary has: a hairdresser, a few customers. I am the oldest, almost. That does not mean I'm old. But almost.

Andrés Neuman

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The Night of the books.

I invite you to read by Clara Obligado and authors included in the two-volume anthology hiperbreves stories "Please be brief" ( Foam Ed Pages) . A reading for discovery, for the dinosaur hunter. And also, first public appearance of "The microlocas" those who can read a sample in this blog, below. Then, wine and jazz.

Wednesday 27 April, 20.30 to 21.30

International Institute Library

Miguel Angel, 8

28010 Madrid

Photographs of "The microlocas" are Isabel Wagemann.

What Happens Ifthere Is An Enlarged Heart

Microlocas / 4: Teresa Serván

(photo by Isabel Wagemann)

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That night was to decide whether he would leave. Came home at dawn to find that his wife had fallen asleep on his side of the bed. He lay in the middle of the mattress that does not share. He missed his pillow, thick and firm, great counselor and had to fight with his wife. He woke early, ready to wear the red dress for the wedding on Saturday. She, strangely determined to flee with the young lover who have ignored.

Teresa Serván

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Microlocas / 3: Isabel Wagemann

(photo by Isabel Wagemann)

Dance.

Bright, sharp, fierce dissection of fabrics, hair and papers. As useful to prune grass, nails and pieces of chicken. Metal and menacing in the hands of the hairdresser. Helpful and accurate in the hands of the seamstress. Silly, between sheets of colors and origami. Dull as bipedal useless in the kitchen. Oxide and forgotten in a desk drawer. Deformed mutants. With good eyes to pick a flower and give it to you. Twisted zigzag with a smile, looking perhaps a language for profiling. Gloomy silver legs dancers who begin their terrible dance. Scissors crying and screaming that no, they never. Fleeing the sewing scissors and zipping inside. Whispers and laughter. Scissors perfect and rigid, leaving dazzling hiding. Greedy, bend my right hand and forced to follow them. Brutal, when sink their jaws, without remorse, in white butter on your back.

Isabel Wagemann

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Microlocas / 2: Eva Diaz Riobello

(photo by Isabel Wagemann)

ZERO

"Please, be brief," the murderer. I obeyed. I went into the bedroom of my wife and I made love one last time. Clothes for my children and told a story beautiful child who listened with rapture. I watched their faces to sleep, trying to imagine an adult version. Finally, I went into the parlor, where he was waiting with his gun ready. He offered me a cigar and smoked in silence. After I picked up my bags and left for not listening to the screams. It is difficult to start from scratch.

Eva Diaz Riobello

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Microlocas / 1: Isabel González González

(photo by Isabel Wagemann )

The art of dressage

I feel the edge of the bed and tie the rickety lions hanging on my shoulders. It is winter. I prop the vicuña and once the horses tied at the waist, shake arms swans. It buttoning the feline heart. Condor's eyes waiting for me at the jeweler. I open the box and turn a dancer. A figure stupid as I disguise the muzzle, it slows down. I would jump in and take the lead in the world, but the Cheetahs are without ironing. I'll have to settle for these legs of a woman who is dragged into the machine, that takes the spoons from the drawer and cabinet cup. On the cupboard, still haunts the murky reptile released during sleep. He watches me. Knows that catch it again. I have to lock him before he jumps on my head and my poor body dehanding tamed.

Isabel Gonzalez

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of pupils and wrists. Etymologies. Easter Holidays

I remembered yesterday in class. Did you know that the words pupil and wrist are related? In France, where he says wrist poupée, relationship (pun intended), it "sees" more clearly. Pupil comes from the latin, Pupilla , and means doll . Latinos identified both words because if you stare into someone's eyes, see in them your own reflection, tiny, converted doll. Nice story, right?

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Please read this news again in the eye of the hurricane, and as always our security guards are the bad.




http://www.20minutos.es/noticia/1021703/0/cacheos/aeropuertos/espanoles/

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ANONYMOUS LETTER WRITTEN BY A PARTNER OF THIS AIRPORT, Read it and JUGUEN YOURSELF.

Written by VS

not going to be me more, think no evil. But I tell you, my dear fellow, that people are not confused with that of "I think it will be me next union" which is presented to a plate ... but the union or committee member, de ése al que no se le da publicidad en los tablones, ni en los periódicos, pero si en los despachos o juzgados. Este si que es el autentico.

“Creo que voy a ser yo”, el que canturrean por lo “bajini” todos aquellos que sueñan con ser enchufados en donde sea, puesto que el sitio da igual, cuando la pasta que se ve al final de mes supera con creces el sueldo de un V.S. y encima su jornada laboral podría ser a su antojo.

Mis queridos compañeros, como es habitual en este Aeropuerto, los comentarios entre ustedes es la revocación del comité, pero tenéis que daros cuenta de que es el periodo idóneo para que proliferen comments, cuddles, the presence of certain unions, the photo opportunities of those who think "I'll Be Me" and trample the rest of their opponents, we have to be paid to all that we care about our work and ask for our rights.

These unions that advocate for our future in the bars of the bar where they meet to arrange the Canary Islands. OMG

Anyway I am going to say about the shamelessness that have some in the application of this motto, we are able to bring it to end, without realizing the ridiculous that they sold to the highest bidder of the moment and writing, in the case of professionals, they want to read, putting it in that bulletin board that nobody or almost nobody watches.

And these so-called sons of the wind or future trade unionists attending business meals believing to be above all.

With all this I mean that's enough to make smoke screens and more we have to do is to encourage, persuade, support and join this committee, which is what touches us.

What you have to give account to the committee is a reflection of workers and workers a reflection of the committee.

have not only 9 people to join. Partners are more than 140 people, who are the ones who decide our future.

should not ignore the freeloaders, or trade unionists who are manipulated by unions who only want political power.

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By decision of the writing workshop participants, Holy Week will have classes every day except Thursday, which is a holiday. I hope, with or without clothes on the beach, and we will work to read your stories. Until next week, then.

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Maez, or the book that became CD.

Maez participated in our workshop while living in Madrid. Now, back to his hometown, looking for commonalities between what is said and what you hear, is recording her first CD. We wish you all the luck in the world and we offer this little scoop.

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National Award of criticism, or issue of shares ... male.

And I say: if there are so many talented writers, How can it be that in the past 36 years, there has been no worthy of the National Critics Award?

Here is an interesting article on the subject.

How Dyslexic People See

1. Pay easy, follow the corridor, watch your pocket.
2. Every child older than 7 years and ranks as paying passenger.
3. In their culture depend machetes.
4. If your child is suffering and cries for a lady driver.
5. Advertise your stop time.
6. If a hurry early.
7. If I keep taking still ringing.
8. As I drive?
9. quote Me 109.
10. located Me 105.
11. Virgen del Carmen ampárame me and mine
12. me away From evil enemy
13. God bless this car
14. -defense of not smoking fumer- viettato Smoking-no smoking - eat fruit.
15. is cowardly damage the cushions.
16. seat just for them.
17. If the child is the driver does not pay.
18. all counterfeit be broken
19. TBC AND A BB TDG
20. the early bird God helps
21. work and do not envy
22. demonstrate their culture do not throw garbage

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Published in the BOE, the Private Security Agreement 2009-2012

http://www.boe.es/aeboe/consultas/bases_datos/doc.php?id=BOE-A-2011-3070