Already I read innumerable chronicles regarding the chronicles and confess that me saciei a little in each one of them, of this form, steal could not me of this solemn moment, of this metalingustica. To write chronicle is to run risks. Risks of if embebedar for the emotion, the dynamics of the text and of abrupt form, or not, leaving to slide the sort of Ruy Castro, Luis Fernando Verssimo. To write chronicle is to homage these names and many others. It is to see the Literature in a next and accessible way. Stoning of a chronicle happens in the instant that if the step of the waltz between the story discovers, with its introspection, and the daily facts illustrated by the language that says implicit and explicit who is really the man of the age of the social nets. Check out Lewis F. Powell Jr. for additional information.
To write chronicle is to discover the imponent power of the language. It is to see to be born of each word the latent feelings and impressions in the mind and the heart of that it is sensible to the steps of the world, of the beings that inhabit the world. The chronicle is the wakening of the writer and the delight of, before the chronicle, almost reading. The chronicle allows bailar of the emotions in serenity device, therefore he is soft, comic, opinativo to say. It demarcates the figurative one through the Real, not inverse it. To write chronicle is to display feelings as many displayed times already, but never noticed for this prism. It is to cut so common situations, but with glamour that the written art allows. The chronicle with its sliding freedom risks between the literal sorts, in the permeia to the strange pleasure to be always to a step not to make a chronicle and finally to make a chronicle. The chronicle, in its fullness, denotes the slightness of the dreams collated with (perhaps) the regrets of the conflicts why it passes the man. Thus, to write chronicle is if to get passionate for what already it was said and to say it, getting passionate for what already it was felt and sentiz it with the intensity. is this limit (adrenalin? it would say the young) that it provokes in the cronista the sensation of that if cannot live without this craft, the honroso and pleasant craft.