A letter that travels through time: an intimate dialogue between the writer we are and the one we dream of becoming. By Lidia Roselló HoyLunes – Dear future me: I hope you are reading this with a cup of green tea in your hand (although if it is December, it will probably be a hot chocolate, because writers also…
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Discovering your characters is like falling in love with someone you didn’t expect: first you invent them, then they change you. By Lidia Roselló HoyLunes – When I began writing “Thief of Oranges“, I naïvely thought that the hardest part would be inventing the plot. I had scenes in my head, half-written dialogues on loose sheets of paper, and…
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Between mismatched socks and endless cups of tea, we discover how the most absurd excuses can become both the brake—and sometimes the spark—of writing. By Lidia Roselló HoyLunes – I’ll confess something: sometimes I don’t write simply because I don’t feel like it. There, I’ve said it. But the dangerous part isn’t laziness itself, it’s the highly creative excuses…
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An intimate portrait of the invisible women who lift our lives with tenderness, strength, and shared silences. By Lidia Roselló HoyLunes – In January of this year, I lost my grandmother, that superwoman who held the family together against all odds. Surely this resonates with you as well: perhaps a grandmother, a mother, an aunt… I am speaking of…
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Between the pressure of new beginnings and the tenderness of self-acceptance: September as a reminder that it’s also possible to start slowly. By Lidia Roselló HoyLunes – September has something of a trap; it isn’t the first month of the year, but it feels like it. Bookstores fill up with planners carrying motivational messages. Social media fills with goals…
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Between Flour and Words: How Writing is Kneaded in the Kitchen, Where Ideas Mix with Ingredients and Creativity Bakes on Every Page. By Lidia Roselló HoyLunes – I was kneading a chocolate-and-walnut cake, in case you’re wondering, when the idea I had been searching for all week finally arrived. Flour on my eyelashes, sticky hands, and the radio blasting the…
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A room without locks or judgment, where writing becomes refuge, mirror, and home. From the trembling of what’s lived to the sweetness of what’s felt, this intimate space gathers the words that don’t dare to shout, yet refuse to stay silent. Because writing doesn’t always heal, but it always holds. And sometimes, that’s enough. By Lidia Roselló HoyLunes – I…
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