THE WITCH'S BLOG
Giz Editorial Publishing House, São Paulo
Recommended for children up to 9
Segundo esta obra, as bruxas são seres imortais, que escolhem a vida que vão levar e se mudam no tempo e no espaço, trocando de corpo, nome e estilo, mas sempre vivendo experiências novas que lhes trazem crescimento. Esta que conta sua história num blog sempre levou uma vida equilibrada e previsível. Sua intenção não é fazer amigos, pois sente-se muito bem sozinha. Talvez esteja apenas realizando um sonho secreto, nem ela mesma tem certeza. Quando resolveu abandonar a bela e confusa Paris do século 18 e escolheu São Paulo para viver, jamais poderia imaginar que o inesperado entraria em cena: no século 21, a bruxa conhece Tomás. E todos os seus conceitos caem por terra.
- A beleza, o amor e a imortalidade são os grandes temas discutidos neste livro, de uma maneira acessível aos jovens leitores.
- Linguagem agradável e fluente, que envolve o leitor da primeira à última página.
- Aproveitando o fascínio que todos temos pelas bruxas, a autora traz uma delas para viver situações corriqueiras junto às pessoas comuns.
Despite having lived many lives, in different times and situations, the witch confesses that she had only one Love: the cat Subtraction, cruelly murdered by the apprentices of a tipography, in the beautiful and confused Paris in the 18th. Century.
She suffers and cries, but life does not wait for anybody, and follows like a river toward the sea, carrying with it some things it meets, leaving others trapped in the margins.
Suddenly, the unexpected comes into scene...
He is so young.
Handsome. Elegant. Cattish.
In the 21st. century, the witch meets Thomas.
And all her concepts fall to the ground.
About the book
Changes always cause stress. There are so many decisions to be made that anyone, sometimes, can be uncertain.
When she jumped from one era to another, the hardest choice for the witch was the physical appearance she would have at that life.
She had enough experience to know that beauty, always capricious, used to change according to the time and place, making it hard, expensive... and insecure. Its maintenance took so much time! Time that should be devoted to take care of the spirit.
The witch hated calling attention, thus, she loved being ugly. And she explained:
– Ugliness is the hiding place of beauty, which only the eyes of the heart can see.
Beauty, love and immortality are the major topics discussed in this book.
The first pages
Post 1 – The rules of the game
Witches are like prime numbers: they always occur; when and where , you never know.
Dirce de Bellis
I'm a witch. Not the ones who walk around in costumes, black clothes, pointed hat on their heads, announcing miracle potions that turn all the dreams into reality. No. I'm not that kind of witch who pretends and intends to have the power whose strength is totally unknown.
I'm a real witch. This is, above all, a state of mind, but also something much deeper and older. You need to feel with the heart, love nature, try to be in tune with it and live in harmony with the world, people. It is to want to be good to do well, no matter whom.
This was the lifestyle I chose; thus I don't need to show anything to anyone, even less to announce myself. I want to live in peace, so, discretion is fundamental. And I only walk around disguised as a common person.
A witch does not have a physical place of origin. There isn't a land she can call hers. It depends on the life she is living, and she has a lot of… They go overlapping, accumulating and weaving one to another in such a way that we become citizens of the world.
To begin this blog, I think my name doesn't matter. You can call me any. I had so many names along the way... I had one for each life I lived. I chose the one I felt the most adequate for a given time, the one that better fitted me in a special situation. And I got rid of them when I was tired, or I changed to choose another further.
Names have power. When someone knows the real name of another one, it's clearly known, he has some power on this creature. He may be, even, able to influence the other's life. Thus, it is agreed: you can call me as you wish.
I decided to write this blog because I have a secret dream and a very old one, that can be changed into reality, perhaps. I will start for fun to see what happens. I will think I'm talking with my dear cat, something I did so many times during the last centuries. Then, it will be easier to be accustomed with your presence, my readers.
What I'm looking for here is the same as those who write blogs: the illusion that they all are read. Or, in other words, that someone cares about what they think.
It's very clear to me that nobody can have true friends if this relationship is only a virtual image. It should be interesting to be hidden behind the anonymity; it can be even fantastic to invent a life and live it as if it were real. But, in my opinion, this eye to eye is the key. Friends have to take hands, hold, and run together.
It doesn't mean that I have so many ... But, it's...well, let's go on.
Lights. Camera. Action.
Today I'm particularly devastated. No, broken. Demolished. Severely damaged. A steamroller passed over me. After all, it was this evening, many years ago that...
I cannot think of what happened without crying. Sorry. I'll tell tomorrow.
Post 2 – New attempt
If someone is reading me, he became curious, of course. I'll try again, even if it's only to satisfy the curiosity I awakened. It would be unfair to open the door and do not let my story pass. It would be unworthy not to accomplish what I promised.
But... Alas! I don't know if I can talk about it...
It was so sad... I still remember how my tears flooded the small room where I lived. Then, it ran under the door, and was spreading onto the street... flooded the district, the town, the country.... It continued to spread and flooded all the world. Since then, I have no more tears to cry.
In any case, today, I will insist to myself. Perhaps, I feel better after telling my sadness to an imaginary listener, and, therefore, a patient one: you, who is reading me.
I breathe and write incomplete sentences, incoherent words, scribbles of a story I am not able to tell. Mine. Would it be easier if it were the story of anyone else? Good question.
Pay attention, you there. I will blow off as one who is relieving himself from a natural need of the body. Go... go... Okay!
That night, my cat was killed.
Today it is the birthday of what was the darkest day of my whole life. Even so, that day was also able to modify it, being a milestone in my personal story, dividing it into "before" and "after".
At first I shocked myself by the blunty (and even indecent) way I spoke. At the same time, I was also pleased to have achieved. And once released, the feeling flowed and I feel I can tell everything now.
Yeah, that infamous night my cat was killed, I became another witch.
Listen to my story. It's full of emotions. You will read it little by little, and I want you feel as if I were telling it especially for you at your ear. More than being a witch, I'm a storyteller and this is my main talent.
Snuggle up, you will love it.