LIfe withing books


As a child, my means of escape were the books of fantasy and terror, especially those of a writer of British origin, named Neil Gaiman or the creatures of the films of the Mexican filmmaker, Guillermo del Toro. All those monsters had something much more interesting to tell, personalities much warmer, familiar and sometimes much less gloomy than those of us, the average humans. As time progressed, I decided to start writing my own stories and enroll in different writing courses. I wanted to do for children and young people the same kind of characters that these two men had created for my childhood, adolescence and that of many lovers of terror and fantasy just like me, but, the road was not easy, the more schools I knew, more suspicion and misunderstanding before my creatures were found. People judged my interior or that of my characters too quickly and because they didn’t like how unusual they were, they relegated me and then put brakes on opening opportunities to make my stories visible. At the beginning I started to get discouraged, I even contemplated the possibility of withdrawing from writing completely, until, one day, the death of one of my dearest beings led me to open again one of the books that I had since I was a child “The book of Cemetery”. In its pages, I could find much more comfort than any hug, word or attempt of kindness on the part of those who loved and loved me. From that moment, I swore that although my creatures and stories were not liked by someone, I was never going to stop, because, it could be that somewhere in this world, some child, youth or adult would find comfort in any of they.