I write to tell stories

Archive for the ‘Write’ Category


Extract Chapter 8 from my book – A blue and red swing – By L.A.

The Poet.

The habit and the exercise of writing awakened in me the perceptions I did not yet know to possess; in my soul there was a Poet, timid and fearful of human beings, whose intrigued gaze allowed me to see the surrounding environment under different aspects. With the arrival of autumn, the hills of the Ferro Monalatto bloom new life; the vineyards arranged disorderly on the slopes of the hills, wear colorful clothes, the palm leaves go from red to intense yellow, from green to brown and communicate, with these nuances worthy of a painter, a warmth that warms the heart. The acacia woods are lit with that yellow that contains all the strength of the sun, the pine woods keep a dark and shady green and the fields, whose borders of wild bushes wear a reddish worthy of royal clothes, they pale, as if they were afraid of the arrival of the harsh winter.

A few days before the start of the school, while I was swinging on the swing that my uncle had built for me after the accident with the Alguco, my eyes rested on a tree in front, a few steps from where I was and with I noticed how much his appearance had changed; I wondered if it had happened all night, suddenly. I remembered the green leaves of that plum tree and I could not understand the beauty that had suddenly reached each other from day to day in red and yellow; those two colors merged into the thick foliage of that tree, giving life to a picture of a beauty that left me breathless. I looked around and saw that even the trees at the end of the driveway had changed, even those on the other side of the hill were suddenly dressed up to celebrate the Autumn. All this moved me, the beauty of that transformation was fantastic, I found it a sort of masked ball to honor the summer and greet her with warmth and liveliness. The need arose in me to sing that show with words; it was an extraordinary fact that deserved to be remembered with appropriate words. I ran to my room, went up four steps at a time the stairs, grabbed my diary and the keys of his lock that I jealously stored in the belly of a stuffed rabbit, then I went back to the garden and sat down on the swing. I began to reflect on how I could praise the wonder of colors that was shown to my eyes and then it happened as if by magic that the words were placed on the white paper by themselves, as if a mysterious recall had brought them to me. At just eight years the poems that you learn at school are very simple, but from those few verses I had studied I had learned to grasp the melody of the words used to describe something, that touched the strings of my heart and made them vibrate. I ran to my mother to decant my cleverness and my compositions; like all the mothers who considered her son a fool and a naive, she showed a false interest in my creatures and after a few minutes she had already forgotten what I had made her read.

My father’s indifference was not far behind; on Sundays, at the table during lunch, absolute silence was imposed on those present in the name of television: once it was sport, once the news, then the film. Even today this unhealthy habit of listening to that blathering box that spits idiocy, silencing the family present, accompanies us every moment of our domestic life. I stayed there, sitting at the table with my head down and whatever I had to say, the television surpassed me, she, that damn box of the cathode ray tube, was more important than me. With the passing of the years, my feeling of being an invisible ghost within the family increased dramatically; my parents were too busy with their chores to dedicate a minute to me. Over time I learned to keep myself company alone and the Poet in this was really an exemplary friend. I spoke alone, I played alone and I had the only comparison with my ideas and my writings. In the morning I spent it in the company of my companions who, after years and days of crying because of bad things I did not understand, had finally become friends; the afternoon I would go back to the fields around the house with my dog and I would run happily in the castles and woods of my imagination, where no human being could reach me.

#Amazon #KindleUnlimted #KindleStore #L.A.


It forms like a shock under the skin: reading a #screenplay and watching the film at the same time, it’s like getting drunk of #narration.

The Movie – Annie Hall – By Woody Allen.

Focusing on every single scene, stopping the film to can read the screenplay and then look at it on the screen; I spent hours to see this film, but it was worth it, because it seems to me to study the film vivisection, as you do with the prose of poems.

Writing screenplays for the cinema is… WOW!

There are no words to describe such a privilege, such an emotion.

#movie #woodyallen #screenplay #anniehall #write #movie



#book #Amazon #KindleUnlimited #biography #L.A.

In the early years of my life I was accustomed to living with serenity and spontaneity, because the only rules I had to respect were those of home and, naively, I had never asked myself whether out of my house there were other rules: just I saw something on a shelf and I’d reach across my hand to touch it and pick it up. I had to investigate, hear and record. A child’s curiosity is boundless, maybe that’s why they are all a bit rebels from small, but it is also normal. Life is a gift and I think we are aware of it only at the beginning of our existence, when we live calmly without fuss absurd, abstruse and incomprehensible rules; to burn is a bit like finish thrown into a crowd of people at the market. Our eyes fill colors of clothes of passers-by and we were so taken by the goods on display, that the fact to be there, it invests us like an explosion; so, we do not focus well on the rules that govern that fiber of the universe, we simply enjoy it as long as we can.

From the car window that drove my mother, I saw scroll fields, homes and people like a series of photographs in bright colors. I was kidnapped by the succession of images; memorized landmarks, like a tree or a wall and marveling my own ability to memorize the places I had seen.  Some nights we went out all three together drive: I was sitting behind, my mother was sitting in the passenger seat, next to my father, who was at the wheel. The dark outside enveloped the car like a blanket and I loved lying down on those seats slightly inclined towards the bonnet, too dark as night. The only flashes that lit up the interior of the car were my father’s cigarette Firefly orange and colored dots of the dashboard: from my kennel I saw those colored stars, while my parents who, with their whispering, to reconcile my sleep, enveloped by the rumbling of the motor car, which he had on me the same soporific effect of the wind that howled outside our House.

I started writing my first #screenplay with scriptwriting #software.

What a strange feeling to build the scenes on paper, while I imagine them and how difficult it is not to number the scenes and not to insert the shots, because this rewriting belongs to the director.
To me it is also natural to do this rewriting, indeed, writing direct and complete the first draft with numbers of the scenes and details of the shots, because while I write the film I imagine it in my mind.

However it is the first script that I write, so I’m good and I hold back; at the end of the writing the same question remains unanswered, without an answer, the same question that the lady, sitting next to me at the cinema the other day, asked me:

“Once he has written the scripts, what will you do?”

I answered: “Good question, I do not know anyone in the world of cinema and I do not have contacts, but I only know, I feel inside the soul, I have to write scripts, I have to do it before I die, then what will happen and what will I do, once written … I just do not know, maybe I’ll send it to some production #company in Los Angeles. “

Today a lady told me: “It was nice to see the movie at the cinema with you sitting next to me, because you can see with a different eye. Thank you.”

In cinemas in Italy there is still a half-movie break, which on the one hand I hate, on the other hand I use it to analyze the first part of the film.
The lady sitting next to me, had never entered the cinema in the Duomo, in the center of Milan, which was once a theater.
Place that I prefer to the modern multiplexes, because the atmosphere of the old theater is a good company while watching the film.
At break I pointed out to the lady the change of colors of some clothes and objects worn by the protagonist: usually dark green or blue or blue, all cold shades of water, these objects, like the headband, the coat and the shoes, became red after the protagonist started falling in love or she made love with the amphibious creature,
I pointed out how often, in objects and furniture, blue, dark green and blue came into contrast with red, often identified in a single object.
The lady thanked me, she doubts that in the future she will be able to grasp certain details in the future films she will watch, because she claims that to me it is natural, that I have a third eye with which I watch the film in a different way from a spectator .
She encouraged me to write screenplays, how I feel I must do and she told me:
“Do it, because you are brought.”
I will do it.
The film we saw was “The Shape of Water.”

The semplicity to self-publish a book.

With Amazon selfpublishing it is so easy to create an e-book and paper book, that as a self-made author, you become an expert editor happy with your achievements.

The site http://pocketbook.space is a scam, because it is not authorized to have the book “Un’altalena blu e rossa” in the window.

Only Amazon managed the book “Un’altalena blu e rossa”, no other site can have the free download.
Therefore the site http://pocketbook.space is a scam.

​Self Publishing: follow the advice of Amazon.

This American self-publishing site is made up of professional and intelligent people.

When creating the e-book, follow the step-by-step tips: no index is needed, no white pages are needed between one chapter and another.

If after the e-book online publication you notice it from the Kindle Store that is not a perfect view of the book, correct the file and reload it.

It’s so simple and enjoyable self-publishing on Amazon that writing books becomes a concrete, tangible thing and personal satisfaction.

Publish books on the Amazon platform: simple, enjoyable, and fast.


Instead Amazon’s platform is, in its use and functionality, a disarming simplicity.

I have published both the e-book version and the paper version online, waiting for the request to be processed.

Once you’ve uploaded the correct files, thanks to the previews, you can change it to your liking how many times you want, just fill out the price and distribution fields and the game is done.

I was stunned, even once, by the professionalism and intelligence of the Americans.

They are and remain the numbers one of professionalism.

​How thrilling I am to see that Americans, as well as other people from all over the world, read my articles.

I always have the hope that before I die, I will be able to move to the United States and work writing scripts.

Hope is the last to die, but also the first to tease you.

Cursed desires of human origin!

And damnation! I love cinema and tell stories with movies is divine!

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