TELL ME A STORY

TELL ME A STORY

Raccontami una storia – Tell me a story is an initiative by Maria Guidi, La tana di Aloiz  and Sandra Giannetto

Raccontami una storia is a game that consists of writing a story following certain directions and a theme.

The theme of the second edition: ‘drawing inspiration from a painting!’

I suggest you follow the organisers to discover interviews with the three winners.

Then, if you feel like it, you can read my story

Even this morning, I am watching the sun rise beyond the skeleton of the building opposite: since the soft orangey pink has begun to contrast with the grey illuminating the sky and hope, I don’t want to miss the colours because they are proof that it is not over yet.

I thought I would never see them again, I thought my punishment for not having exploded yet was to become a useless part of a single inexorable leaden gloom.

I regret that I was unable to count the days accurately, that I succumbed to confusion, that I did not even take care of my memory.

Had I done so, I might now know how much time had passed.

But I didn’t want to think any more, I just wanted it all to end. Each new day was just another skipped meal, another interminable darkness strewn with anguish, another series of exhausting yet unsuccessful efforts in search of an impossible solution.

Instead, the light has begun to mark time again and I now believe it, it is not just a dream, nor a coincidence, nor even my illusion: the sun still exists.

One enemy lurks, however: fear.

I have not been hit, I have not been crushed, I have not been asphyxiated, and I have even managed to hide from the incursions of the human jackals, but I still cannot free myself from the grip that presses on my brain and paralyses me.

I tell myself it makes no sense.

Then I relive everything.

The gigantic ball igniting the sky and suddenly bouncing upwards, and immediately the shockwave.

A macabre, accelerated domino that shatters everything.

Without my eyes having time to see, the heat was already on me.

Pain is not food.

But I must eat more of it if I am to find real nourishment.

And then Frances is at the end of her tether, and I want to do everything I can, just as she did from the moment she dragged me by weight into the cistern until she taught me how to climb down the shaft to the warehouse.

She held the rope and sang U2 to give me courage

You’r in the mud
In the maze of her imagination
You love this town
Even if that doesn’t ring true

The first time I wanted it to stop but I didn’t dare shout it out for fear that some of the marauding Huns would hear me. Yet if it hadn’t been for those sung words ‘sky falls, you feel like … it’s a beautiful day …’ I wouldn’t have been able to find enough strength to climb back up.

The more things I could carry, the longer I could rest in hiding again.

And to think that on the various occasions when I had more or less tried, I had never managed to climb up a rope: my hands burned within minutes and the non-existent muscles in my arms didn’t even pretend to contract.

Survival.

A huge challenge to overcome in order to stay alive, even when staying alive seems like the worst of ideas.

Adrenaline, instinct, terror, mixing in a closed circle of pulsations bouncing between heart and brain at uncontrollable speed.

Survival.

Force that becomes flesh split between two heads: hope and despair. Like a Cerberus whose paws rest on the breath with all their agonising weight.

Survival.

Thinking that there can never be anything worse until existence turns into waiting.

Waiting for respite, waiting for food, waiting for mercy. Waiting for a miracle, for help, for a new day.

Like today.

The painting is Light and Colour (Goethe’s Theory) by William Turner.

THE LAST RIDE

THE LAST RIDE

The Last Ride is the title of my story for the Bisarca 2024 competition organised by Il Perdilibri

I have already told you about the Bisarca  competition in past editions: but I quote directly: what do you win? The satisfaction of participation and eventual victory.

I would therefore like to take this opportunity to thank Il Perdilibri for hosting The Last Ride.

Habit is regarded as addiction, but asking questions is also a habit.

Eleonora, however, is not in the habit of doubting her schedule, starting with the alarm clock: for which there are three repetitions before getting up, every day, regardless of tiredness, weather, hunger, or stress level.

After that everything is calculated, including the delay, a luxury offered to her by an anonymous traveller.

A group sub-habit is created among the usual commuters: a kind of unwritten code according to which, occasional invaders aside, seats are occupied according to a kind of hierarchy acquired over time.

Eleonora remembers the day when the man with whom she shares the seat beckoned to her: ‘as of today the seat is free’ were the only words other than good morning and good day, which they exchanged over a period of what may be a thousand days now.

Eleonora arrives at six forty-three minutes, sure to find the seat reserved by her travelling companion, who, as always, rests his briefcase on the window side until she reaches him.

All she knows about him is that he travels daily to Milan, that he perpetually listens to something on his earphones, that he prefers classic, good-quality clothes in shades of grey, and that he uses a perfume with Vetiver as the base note.

Every morning they exchange a single good morning each, Eleonora sits down, takes the book out of her bag and starts reading. In these thousand days she will have read a hundred books, all in strict silence until she arrives at Porta Garibaldi, when her travelling companion wishes her a good day before gettinf off, leaving her for her ritual minutes during which she waits for the crowd to thin out.

If you want, you can find the rest here

But first tell me: what would be the last ride for you?

There are many examples: books, movies, on a personal level though, does your first instinct lead you to think of last in a positive or negative way?

GIOVANNI TOMMASINI

GIOVANNI TOMMASINI

With each new year in one way or another, we find ourselves with the thought of “beginning.” 

I would like to quote Mary Shelley’s phrase
The beginning is always today.

At the beginning of the KCDC journey I could not imagine that I would have met you, perhaps we would not have had the chance to connect without the help of the web, or perhaps we would.

The network of virtual connections also led me to a very special ‘home base’: Giovanni’s concept of home base and baseball metaphor, which I suggest you discover directly from his words.

The KEEP CALM & DRINK COFFEE collaboration begins with this first article.

“The perfect setting for a chat: coffee” this is the presentation of this blog in which thoughts, comments, suggestions are collected and reposted, as if each of us had our favourite cup to show along with our passions and life stories.

It seems to me a good opportunity to start with a presentation of the beginning of the path that led me to get in touch with this reality, whose motto is ‘the site that gives you this opportunity’.

It is not every day that one hears these words.

In fact, when I read them, I could hardly believe the beauty of the willingness to create reciprocity and collaboration.

So I sent a message via social pages to return my enthusiasm for the proposal and opportunity for reciprocity.

After a few messages of first acquaintance, here I am to tell you my ‘writer for home’ story.

It started with the purchase of a laptop on special offer back in the winter of 2012.

It all started like this…

…….

“Gian I bought a laptop, I’m bringing it all down”.

That’s how I announced my desire to put my personal stories into story form.

Not only to tell them, but also to make them a road to follow, experiences to propose, to share, to relive together, each in his own world, in his memories, on his own emotional tone.

I set out to write…

Three pages on the ‘little unaware heroes of baseball’, I sent them to various publishing houses that dealt with sports, sports culture, sports education.

Fabio Mancini of G. Danna of Florence, Edusport.it website, called me.

“Tommasini, we really liked your way of romanticising reality, can you send us the whole story, we would like to publish it on our site as article of the month and we would like to make a DVD on the teaching of baseball in the physical education class in high schools.”

What had I written?

I’m going to review the e-mail, “I send you the first three pages of my story Little Unknowing Heroes of Baseball, fifteen teenagers who, in 1976, having just celebrated their age entering double figures, they were introduced to the art of baseball and nothing was ever the same again.

I forgot to write that the pages were the first but also the only ones…

The story was still to be written.

But the whole story was required for the edusport.it site.

I found myself in the same condition in which I had to do my homework for the holidays.

So I set to work.

They published it on the site as the article of the month of July, and on 1 August it was reported by the FIBS – Italian Baseball and Softball Federation on the official federal site.

Various sites, online editorial offices, especially baseballmania, began to contact me, as if electrocuted by the story.

“Something ravishes, the words go deep, those who read them do not forget them, indeed it is as if they rewrote them in relation to their own experience and emotional state”.

My name is Giovanni Colantuono from Nettuno, editor of the online site Baseballmania.

“Tommasini you’re the first one to tell baseball like this, there’s everything in your story, not just the batting, there’s all of us, our passions, the way we live life and sport, I can publish it, tell me about yourself, I want to know more, I’ll do a feature article on you, write others, let’s do a column dedicated to Giovanni Tommasini’s baseball stories, on the Little Unknowing of the Tomato baseball club.”

A few days after my debut as a writer, for the first time I was referred to as such.

What is going on, and how is my way of narrating my personal events re-enacted in a narrative so intimate that it elicits reactions in the reader that are also deeply personal, which are in the reading translated into a universal language, whereby the reader sees himself again, relives parts of himself and his own experience?

The first comments from readers arrived.

They would be of the same tenor as the comments of my first proofreader, once I had collected all the stories that in three months were written by me almost compulsively and which, within a few weeks of publication on the sites that requested them, would go on to form my first book.

I notice a common denominator.

My words excite, my description of the realities returned touch the emotional side, “the text possesses the quality proper to works of art, it excites” is how my text is commented on during editing.

You use a glass mirror to see your face; you use works of art to see your soul.
George Bernard Shaw

I begin to wonder why this ‘effect’ as I think of my writing?

Why did I start writing, where did the urge come from, the need to express an experience of mine, what need moved my will, led me feverishly to the keyboard, as if there was nothing else to do.

If the world were clear, art would not exist.
Albert Camus

In THE ART OF BASEBALL, the proposal, the requirement, the starting point was:

The story of the experience of some fifteen children who, starting from the basement of a car park in the centre of spectacular Sanremo, at the ‘mercy’ of two passionate, visionary personalities, will live an ‘adult’ experience at a still tender age.

The need to emphasise the beauty and depth of an adventure that will change them forever and teach them the pleasure of doing something well, with passion, curiosity, without thinking about results, but only to be able to fully express themselves, get to know each other better, grow together.

The articulation of the broader concept of growing up having the good fortune to be involved in an adventure disproportionate to one’s age, and the great value of passion, curiosity, friendship, healthy craziness that will lead these children to live an experience that will give them an indelible formation and imprint for their entire lives.

The memory of those years, places, feelings experienced, contexts, humanity, lived will be the sub-concepts that allowed the articulation and restitution of the stories told in the tales that make up THE ART OF BASEBALL.

Among the stories, one in particular totally involved me and was written solely by involving my emotional being.

For some time now, the concept of ‘addiction’ had been reverberating in me, the memory of one of our teammates getting ‘pierced’, our living through this drama, not knowing what to do, hiding our suffering and love for our beloved teammate.

Linked to the concept of dependence was that of our helplessness, that of our being too small in the face of such a big issue, our emotions that we could not express, dominate, live.

Which exploded in our worst nightmares, fantasies, suffocated suffering.

It was all a mixture of these ‘themes’ and I could not understand how to describe, return all this humanity, so intensely felt by all in inaccessible depths.

I was in the supermarket queue and like a flash of lightning ripping through the sky and clouds the story came to me. All the concepts that had grown up until then only created unexploded ordnance in me.

It was shocking and in me it began to rain, thunder, hail.

Arriving home in a hurry, I stood at the keyboard weeping and in twenty minutes, as if overwhelmed by a real ‘storm’, I wrote the story….

Now in play.

I asked myself, what to do?

Enjoy this first unexpected, never planned, unthinkable until a few months before, book or try to write something else, and what?

And how?

Everyone asks me one thing. Write Cesare.

Your story with the autistic child you have lived with for fifteen years.

I decide to go ahead. To stay in the game.

The project of giving back my first experience as a home educator is born.

I begin to ask myself questions and catch a glimpse of the path already unconsciously taken in writing the stories of THE ART OF BASEBALL.

The first answer to be given.

In the future second book, I AM CESARE …., what is the ‘experience’ to be returned?

Thinking back to the good fortune of having experienced the relationship with Cesare, a child suffering from a severe form of autism, an urgent and pressing need arose in me to represent concepts deeply rooted in this extreme experience, well ingrained in me, but to be brought to the light of awareness.

The first step other than the first three pages…

Now I am beginning to plan the path, a method is emerging, making clear the starting points, the roots of the story, long before I get in touch with everything else, which is still unclear in me, but on this occasion I am beginning to ‘see’ in the slow construction of the book.

On this occasion there is no longer occasionality, but a real ‘constructive thought’.

An awareness.

Being a project and not an accident, I begin to truly understand whether it will be possible to put myself forward as a writer or leave it at that, considering it a fortunate experience, my narrative debut and nothing more.

Pinning down what I want to express regardless of the story I am going to give back.

Art does not reproduce the visible but makes visible.
Paul Klee

And here I am at the keyboard telling you about the beginning of my journey and why I call myself a writer.

And here I am at the keyboard telling you about the beginning of my journey and why I call myself a writer by chance.

In the next few articles, one by one, I will introduce you to all the books that grew out of those first three pages.

Because from that story born by chance, ten years later, this past August, my twelfth book came out…

Below is an introduction written by Antonella Giordano during an interview for the release of one of my books following those first three pages…



Giovanni Tommasin
i

He likes to describe himself as a ‘writer by chance’ Giovanni Tommasini, more precisely’Writer by chance’ since 2013. Surely he is not just any writer, judging by the resonance that all his books have achieved, whose narratives indiscriminately follow in the footsteps of social and civil themes, especially concerning the ‘building of a helping relationship’.

For Giovanni Tommasini, social commitment is not a casual mission. A native of Sanremese, born in 1966, after graduating in political science from the University of Genoa, he has dedicated his life to bringing help to society’s neediest contexts.

A registered professional educator and seminarian, initially working as a collaborator in neighbourhood family counselling centres as a home help, since 1994 he has been an educator in the day centres and family homes of the Genova Integrazione Cooperative, under the Anffas brand. His professional experiences gained in the field make him an authoritative voice for understanding the panorama of the ills that afflict the many social realities of our time.

In his seminars, he offers debates and workshops on autism, emotional writing, internet addiction, sports culture and the new generations. He is the author of several books, among which the essays “Dad will you connect me?”, “Virus is us”, “Emotions and words. Emotional Writing’.

No less important and intense are the fiction texts ‘The American Dream of the Tomato Baseball Club’ ‘The Musicality of Silence. Our autism and that of the world around us’, ‘A life without. A story of everyday resilience’, ‘The last letter to my first girlfriend’, ‘Beaten earth. Being alive and going down to the net, that’s happiness’.

In the summer of 2023, the latest publishing endeavours of this prolific author produced the books ‘Well-Tempered Panic’, ‘Cinema and Sport, 12 Unforgettable Films’ and ‘Opposite World’.

All of this prolific author’s publishing endeavours have been produced by him and published on Amazon.
Antonella Giordano.

Giovanni Tommasini  Stories of life lived in a forgotten world where the only social platforms were the Other and reality.

Blog: here.

Amazon: link.

THE BOOKBINDER OF LOST STORIES

THE BOOKBINDER OF LOST STORIES

The Bookbinder of Lost Stories is the book I read, again thanks to Monica.

 

Speaking of friendship, Sas Bellas Mariposas  and Mamaglia are skilled fan of the author: Cristina Caboni, so maybe they would like to tell us something about her.

In the meantime I would like to chat more about how I especially liked the parts that describe the binding process in the early 19th century.

Nowadays how long does it take to create a book?
There are several 24-hour delivery options on the web.

And each time we find ourselves with the usual question: have we gained or lost?

Recently with my husband we have been looking for someone who was still in a profession related to the traditions of the past, but here in the area unfortunately we do not have old style jobs anymore.

It is very sad to be aware that the precious chain of passing on knowledge and teaching patience and time needed to acquire skills has been interrupted.

By interrupting the oral tradition, we will deprive ourselves of the privilege of being able to know stories because there will be no one left to tell them.

So I would very much like to take up the concept of “binding” lost stories to unite them and to keep them living with us.

I spent a lot of time listening to one of my grandmothers telling about her childhood in a peasant family, talking to me about a seemingly distant era, about an essential lifestyle, about objects that we will never use.

My other grandmother, had less life to live but equally her tales remain indelible to me, as well as the memory her rice-fields worker  knees.

My great-grandfather, on the other hand, was a carter, and his traveling for work gave him the opportunity to meet and to marry my great-grandmother: German, in spite of the saying “wife and oxen in your own country …” jokes aside, theirs was a rather unconventional marriage considering historical period and social conditions.

But tell me please! I would love to “listen to you.”

If you have a craft to tell, if you want a story not to be lost, if you wish to pass on a tale, a thought, a concept, a proverb, an experience or even just a comment, I will be grateful and add it to the lost stories to be bound.

CENTOQUARANTADUE

CENTOQUARANTADUE

Three: one hundred and forty-two.
Numbers today!

Third appointment with the Advent calendar by the blog Centoquarantadue

I have been following Centoquarantadue for a while and I am passionate about serial stories, in particular I am reading the publications of La storia di noi due which is a story written by four hands: She 142 writes the part relating to the female character and vice versa.

I recommend that you follow it from week to week, because at the end of each one you will remain in suspense wondering what will happen next.

In fact, the whole blog Centoquarantadue is written by two Souls fused in writing, and for this very reason it offers many different ideas among which I am passionate about quotes and riddles

Today’s story was written by the “female half” and is titled Il regalo di Natale – Christmas Gift:

That year the snow arrived early, earlier than usual. A lot of it had fallen and the small town at the bottom of the valley soon took on the magical and fairytale aspect of a Christmas cardgo on here

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