Is it possible to write about the writer?.
How to start writing about the writer?
There is no better way than trying to show the truth with heart in hand, robbing the post of any hint of post mortem salamería to which they are accustomed to politically correct. But the gringo was not politically correct, was "without offending the reader-a conchesumadre, a festival of talent and intelligence in a fat cocktail combined with a desire to gloat over his Puritan unsurpassed power snake charmer. He deserved everything tributes and diatribes, honor and repudiation, but never forgotten.
Memories come as early music of 90. The bathroom door pine for newly constructed, contorted with the rest of the old house of Javier Prado. It was placed there in earlier work that became home to one of the first families sanisidrinas in a journal, the Journal Page Free. But his pallor was short: on the inside had written a memorable graffiti: "The director is a white whale and I fish any sailing in this sea of \u200b\u200bincomprehension."
When I read that sentence did not yet know the mythical character who occupied the newspaper's management and who also belonged also the mythical home. It had been barely three days in Page and my eyes had come to welcome the customs of the writing more memorable of my career in journalism. He had not even turned 20 and took out his chest when I had that this was the congregation of the promises anthology of journalism. I remember
described it almost like the cuckoo. A monster in requirement, however, was able to become the most faithful teacher if he showed the wood was done. That third day I arrived early to confirm what he said the legend and so I saw it: flanked by two dogs, laughing as would a big ogre, greeting everyone and going to his cave-office, which then also directing, writing a book he called then "The Mole."
Several weeks passed weeks and for some reason ate a strange fascination for that office and the character that was occupied, though I hinted at a growing fear of having to reach her for some wake-up call. Fortunately, my foray into the cave of the ogre was happier reasons: I was responsible for the first time in my life an investigation: It must develop a profile of entrepreneur Leandro Reaño, then accused of murdering her lover, a secretary named Marita Alpaca, who were exhumed to end doubts about the presence of a child in her womb as a motive for murder.
(Note: The case grabbed the headlines of every newspaper. In one of these headlines is because just the name of Blog Ocram ).
gringo's voice sounded as serious as the compressed air flows through a pipe that was cut off the water. Among spirits and tired, completely terrifying for anyone who is facing for the first time the big boss. I listened carefully to his instructions and six hours later I was delivering my progress to my immediate supervisor. That night a greeting from the director did that at least I could sleep without fear. Guillermo
I met in my journalistic prehistory and I recognized him with several books and a thousand enemies lurking. His was a life of constant contradictions. On the one hand, an admirable creativity that nobody, absolutely nobody who has followed or denying known. On the other reprehensible political views, accommodations questionable, "hire talent to the highest bidder" as someone told me once. However, I can attest to his intelligence, his keen eye for the powerful stories of his ability to move public opinion, from his pen impressive. I always said that he understood the love-hate relationship from what William meant in my journalistic career. I remember I once went to a software radio that I was driving to talk one of his books and end with a blow to the shoulder, told me that he believed in the youth because he was a young forever, even though long ago he had cut the hair of Woostock times.
I came to feel that I admired and hated at the same time. He lived happy with his books, but outraged by the prostitution of his talents on television. Meanwhile, the gringo was telling the world that believed in me. Perhaps that is why I will never forget one afternoon, I ventured to look him in the eye and ask why so much political lunacy. Although their responses then kept him on his supposed blindness, followed by a silence, a pause betray me some humanity left.
(Since I started this blog I promised to tell the details of this conversation and the circumstances that motivated it. It is a chronic slope).
Guillermo Thorndike Lozada was nothing less and nothing more than a human being filled with excess, fear, guilt, merit and memorable episodes. A genius of such a timeless character. Adios gringo, you will miss.
How to start writing about the writer?
There is no better way than trying to show the truth with heart in hand, robbing the post of any hint of post mortem salamería to which they are accustomed to politically correct. But the gringo was not politically correct, was "without offending the reader-a conchesumadre, a festival of talent and intelligence in a fat cocktail combined with a desire to gloat over his Puritan unsurpassed power snake charmer. He deserved everything tributes and diatribes, honor and repudiation, but never forgotten.
Memories come as early music of 90. The bathroom door pine for newly constructed, contorted with the rest of the old house of Javier Prado. It was placed there in earlier work that became home to one of the first families sanisidrinas in a journal, the Journal Page Free. But his pallor was short: on the inside had written a memorable graffiti: "The director is a white whale and I fish any sailing in this sea of \u200b\u200bincomprehension."
When I read that sentence did not yet know the mythical character who occupied the newspaper's management and who also belonged also the mythical home. It had been barely three days in Page and my eyes had come to welcome the customs of the writing more memorable of my career in journalism. He had not even turned 20 and took out his chest when I had that this was the congregation of the promises anthology of journalism. I remember
described it almost like the cuckoo. A monster in requirement, however, was able to become the most faithful teacher if he showed the wood was done. That third day I arrived early to confirm what he said the legend and so I saw it: flanked by two dogs, laughing as would a big ogre, greeting everyone and going to his cave-office, which then also directing, writing a book he called then "The Mole."
Several weeks passed weeks and for some reason ate a strange fascination for that office and the character that was occupied, though I hinted at a growing fear of having to reach her for some wake-up call. Fortunately, my foray into the cave of the ogre was happier reasons: I was responsible for the first time in my life an investigation: It must develop a profile of entrepreneur Leandro Reaño, then accused of murdering her lover, a secretary named Marita Alpaca, who were exhumed to end doubts about the presence of a child in her womb as a motive for murder.
(Note: The case grabbed the headlines of every newspaper. In one of these headlines is because just the name of Blog Ocram ).
gringo's voice sounded as serious as the compressed air flows through a pipe that was cut off the water. Among spirits and tired, completely terrifying for anyone who is facing for the first time the big boss. I listened carefully to his instructions and six hours later I was delivering my progress to my immediate supervisor. That night a greeting from the director did that at least I could sleep without fear. Guillermo
I met in my journalistic prehistory and I recognized him with several books and a thousand enemies lurking. His was a life of constant contradictions. On the one hand, an admirable creativity that nobody, absolutely nobody who has followed or denying known. On the other reprehensible political views, accommodations questionable, "hire talent to the highest bidder" as someone told me once. However, I can attest to his intelligence, his keen eye for the powerful stories of his ability to move public opinion, from his pen impressive. I always said that he understood the love-hate relationship from what William meant in my journalistic career. I remember I once went to a software radio that I was driving to talk one of his books and end with a blow to the shoulder, told me that he believed in the youth because he was a young forever, even though long ago he had cut the hair of Woostock times.
I came to feel that I admired and hated at the same time. He lived happy with his books, but outraged by the prostitution of his talents on television. Meanwhile, the gringo was telling the world that believed in me. Perhaps that is why I will never forget one afternoon, I ventured to look him in the eye and ask why so much political lunacy. Although their responses then kept him on his supposed blindness, followed by a silence, a pause betray me some humanity left.
(Since I started this blog I promised to tell the details of this conversation and the circumstances that motivated it. It is a chronic slope).
Guillermo Thorndike Lozada was nothing less and nothing more than a human being filled with excess, fear, guilt, merit and memorable episodes. A genius of such a timeless character. Adios gringo, you will miss.
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