Tiago Dunecel 🧑‍💻
Bio
Portuguese author (yes, from Portugal, like Cristiano Ronaldo) sharing his texts in English. I enjoy writing in the first person singular and have a passion for dialogues.
Stories (11)
Filter by community
WRITING MY FIRST BOOK: THE ADVANTAGES
A few years ago, during some dull days, I took the opportunity to write a book. It was my first one, and it took about eight months to complete. As many authors say, writing is a true journey: your life goes through ups and downs, just like the characters you create, and your mind travels to unknown places, finding new things and knowing more about yourself. Naturally, I wouldn’t have ventured into this activity if I did not see advantages in doing so, and as I wrote, I discovered many others. It is true that there are disadvantages, but I prefer not to focus on them right now. I would rather ignore them and inspire you to write. Therefore, here are some reasons why you should write a book:
By Tiago Dunecel 🧑‍💻11 months ago in Writers
The Thresholds of Procrastination
Holidays use to give me the liberty to write whenever I want. There are fixed points in my routine, like meals and sleep, that I do not feel the need to change. I have preferred times for writing, but laziness, combined with other unhelpful traits and emotions, often prevents me from making the most of them. However, procrastination is the real challenge. Even with the possibility of starting early, I often postpone and postpone again. Below, I describe the different times of the day when I begin writing and what each one means to me:
By Tiago Dunecel 🧑‍💻12 months ago in Writers
Math Against Me: The Weight of a Test
I hold in my hands the sheet printed by the teacher, which had passed through my hands temporarily about two weeks ago. Filled with blue and red pen marks, so many red lines, it corresponds to my Math test, which I had been impatiently waiting for. I remember my studying: I would wake up early to study, the tutoring sessions offered me new exercises to solve, and even though I was not motivated, I did them seriously.
By Tiago Dunecel 🧑‍💻12 months ago in Fiction
I always liked him
Dear Diary of My Passion, I have to be completely honest about how I’ve felt about Samuel. The first time I heard his name was when Lilian had a crush on him. It started as a tiny infatuation, but by the end of the year, he was almost revered.
By Tiago Dunecel 🧑‍💻12 months ago in Fiction
Love Appears 2
The Unbearable Pain I can’t forgive myself for what I did to Lilian. I’m so sorry. You were so brave. I don’t deserve Catherine, because what I did to you deserves blame and consequences. Maybe I need to be rejected once to get even with myself and the world.
By Tiago Dunecel 🧑‍💻12 months ago in Confessions
Hunting the Universe
I knew it, he was just cleaning his weapons to go hunting on Sunday. His lucky charm is a rabbit’s foot, which he claims to have hunted, which my mother prepared, and with which, he often repeats, we delighted ourselves, especially me. I was much younger then.
By Tiago Dunecel 🧑‍💻12 months ago in Fiction
Love appears
The Beginning of Something I saw her today on Rosenthal Street... and I can’t stop thinking about her. Out of all the beautiful girls, she was exceptionally beautiful. Light blue jeans that matched her light eyes, a white knitted sweater, her brown hair falling below her shoulders. She was talking to another girl, whom I assume was her friend, perhaps not even aware of her subtle movements, engrossed in their conversation. In the background, there was a low wall made of muddy-colored stones, separated by a kind of white cement, and rising another meter, a thick myrtle hedge, which seemed to listen to their dialogue. Her face was illuminated by soft rays of sunlight that didn’t weigh down her eyelids, leaving her eyes alert to the events of the universe, ready in case the conversation needed a pause. But she was full of energy—her body radiated immense contentment. She smiled gracefully at something and turned toward me, still smiling. Surely, she wasn’t smiling at me, but in my direction. They were most likely not talking about me. Or were they? No, almost certainly not... If she kept smiling after looking at me, perhaps it’s because I don’t bring her sadness. Maybe one day I’ll think, “Why didn’t I smile back at her?”, maybe a missed opportunity. A simple moment that maybe mattered.
By Tiago Dunecel 🧑‍💻12 months ago in Confessions
Falling Asleep to My Sounds
My eyes blinked more and more, and my upper eyelid gave in to the pull of gravity. I slid my right elbow across the desk until my arm was fully resting, and the forearm that had been holding my head fell to the left with a thud, stretching the entire arm. It sent the pencil flying into the air when my hand struck the notebook, landing on the floor cushioned by the rug. The right side of my face sank into the wool of the pajamas I was wearing. With the little strength I had left, I raised my torso and stood up. I pulled the sheets back and lay down on the bed, where I collapsed like a rock into the sand.
By Tiago Dunecel 🧑‍💻12 months ago in Fiction
Assigning Desks
The student introductions came to an end, and to complete my disappointment, I discovered that no one lived in my village. Most of the students already knew each other from previous years and had sat next to those they liked most. The noise from their conversations had already become a nuisance to the teacher. Seeing this, he decided, for the sake of silence, to assign the students to desks by numbers, a method of randomly separating friendships, though it never guarantees success.
By Tiago Dunecel 🧑‍💻12 months ago in Fiction
A Young Boy Sitting at the Bus Stop
Again, for the second time and already weary, I walked down the small path leading to the main road through the center of all the silence of a village. But something unpredictable stirred my curiosity the moment I reached the crossroads. When I turned to the left, I saw, to my surprise, a young boy sitting at the bus stop. I walked cautiously, like a feline ready to pounce on its prey, my mind consumed with suspicion. As I descended the street, I couldn't take my eyes off the bus stop, trying to confirm it wasn’t a mirage. Why would someone be there, at that hour, of that age, for anything unrelated to school? The high likelihood of predictability turned into an optimism that, even to me, seemed excessive.
By Tiago Dunecel 🧑‍💻12 months ago in Fiction
