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Until recently wrote with pleasure and steadily entries in this blog, but for a few weeks my interventions have been reduced. Pocket it is inevitable when the final leg of a novel isolate a little more, perhaps unintentionally. Not that anything ever happened to me, and I'm not bored with blogging. I still do. But by mid-month a year ago I started the first draft of a new novel, and this morning I buttoned the penultimate chapter. And one place to be nearing the end of a long journey with the rigging intact and no major gaps in the hull that threaten to sink the ship before it reaches the port, but is also very tired and leave a little side blog, because many hours writing and least when you finish it you feel like writing a little more, but you know, like right now, a few lines are enough to enjoy the creation of something else, too short to park for a while the characters you ve been living together.

rains a lot in Sevilla, and although the words of the gravel may be a marvel, one is already a little tired, especially now, I just bought a new bike and I have not yet been release . I have it saved in one room, shimmering, without a speck of dust or a speck of mud, and I look look like children's toys that can not open until a date set. I have really wanted to go out and get lost for a few hours, and when I look out the window I remember the cyclists I saw a summer in Scotland, protected with a waterproof ponchos, so used to the rain that is sure to give them laugh if they saw me looking out the window and regret because I have not had my brand new bike.

Maybe

pedal through the countryside is also a kind of happy and voluntary isolation, like dive for months writing a novel. This morning was so focused on my work, I have not learned to lunchtime that have killed Bin Laden.

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© Andrés Pérez Domínguez, May 2011