Todas las cosas

All the things I wrote when none of them looked

People move in and out of our lives.

Sometimes mark us, sometimes not.

There are always things we left unsaid.

We heard little. While none of them looked at my hand emerged words, most of them were so vivid jets image and word in my head.

The result of all this, here it is. From the depths, from the true self.

Discover Retazos, my last book.

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Ainhoa ​​B. Escarti, writer born in Cadiz (Spain) on 6 April 1984. Passionate words and the many ways they can take.

Biography

I was born without hurry to midnight on a sunny April day in 1984. I always liked my birth year, when after all not everyone has a book with our year.

I had children, which was torn between being a veterinarian or writer. My beginnings as a writer were really bad. Was six, a life was born Comic imagination. Comic bad as it could only be him, it was an alien visiting some children who watch their parents did not spoil the environment. Yes, a six-year type that is "lovely". After 7 to 9 good at 10 and a month ... .. I became an ultra-Catholic, Holy, Apostolic and Roman person. And it was the only time entrometí me in the strange world of poetry. Made verses as captivating as "Mary, I want to be like you, tururru, tururú ..." Without words. When spent my fellowship, other issues of life, and came by chance into my hands "The Communist Manifesto" staggered my faith and decided to take a vacation. The funny thing is that they all happened a week at subsequent month of my fellowship. Before age 11 he had already renounced forever poetry, I made a firm promise never to enter it. At eleven I lost my faith and became a communist. In short, between 10 and 11 years I left completely childhood and adolescence jumped me. A brute. Over the years I was writing slowly stories and more stories. In my school I pointed and even won a contest. And I read, I read a lot, read everything that went through my hands or I passed.

I did not take writing seriously until age 16 years. I started writing compulsively, realizing that writing was not something more was a way of life. They reached 18, college. I studied what I wanted to no longer think that history or philosophy or that are useful. But I loved the history and philosophy I loved the 12 years since I bought a book fair in my first copy of Nietzsche.

Gradually, I was winning awards, publishing anything, even my monthly microstories "words only" people drank. Mil vicissitudes passed and finally in 2011 the new site, new life. Once settled here, I decided to devote time to my work. The rest of the story, as you know.