Autofiction cerita

The lesson will repeat itself until you learn from it. This quote alone symbolizes the tale of A dance with A Necromancer. A foretelling memoir of one woman's secret double life finding her in each and every lifetime. All secrets don't stay buried and not all Ghosts are dead.

Meet Den Mum. She is a self-contained arsenal running on calm, a "Hobbit-Elf" with cerulean eyes, and a woman possessing a thread of classic European elegance running staunchly through her bones. She survives on a precise matrix of sugar-free flavored waters, regular Shopee vitamin orders, and a fierce dedication to the Golden Rule Protocol. Having survived a childhood of psychological combat zones and a catastrophic system crash of familial loss, Den Mum has built an unyielding, sovereign fortress of peace. She has zero patience for the "Tedious Baseline" of her peers, corporate ego loops, or the superficial drama of the modern dating pool. Navigating the harried, roaring intersections of Bangkok, teaching a swarthy crew of young piratey ESL students, and running forensic audits on everything from British television satires to the un-kosher logistics of cheeseburgers, Den Mum is finally coming into her own. She's not looking for a corporate compromise. She's tracking a rare, high-fidelity frequency: My Person/Mr. Exemplary-a checkmate matching soul to share the handlebars of life with, if anyone at all. Equal parts dry, deadpan comedy and fiercely poignant emotional stewardship, "How Not to Marry a Welshman (and Other Success Stories) is a deeply unique, slow-burn biographical journey about stepping out of survival mode, healing from the wreckage of the past, and mapping out a multifaceted galaxy of one's own. Moving from high-concept cultural critiques to turning a frantic "fridge-dash" leftovers mess into culinary alchemy, "How Not to Marry a Welshman (and other Success Stories)" is a witty, raw, and fiercely sovereign story of neurodivergent survival, profound healing, and finding/founding a fortress of peace entirely on your own terms.

The Family Album is an intimate, memory‑driven narrative that reconstructs the childhood of Margarita in a traditional house in Valle del Cauca. Through everyday scenes-the games in the yard, the conversations overheard in the courtyard, the curiosity sparked by photographs in a worn album-the narrator explores the tension between what is said and what is concealed, between truth and the versions adults offer to children. The story blends autobiographical elements with literary craft: concise dialogue, architectural imagery, and silences heavy with meaning. The album becomes both a symbol of family memory and of the secrets that shape identity. The tone is delicate and reflective, capturing the child's gaze and her growing awareness that words can hide different realities. Beyond anecdote, the work speaks of the formation of a sensibility: a girl who learns to question easy answers and to search for her own truth amid the voices of adults.

Collected like memories. Some are pretty. Some are broken. Some can cut you. Some are forgotten.

Those who subjugate, hurt them back. Your labor, unpaid. Your rest, irrelevant. Your happiness, administered. Allow them not. Let not one of them escape.

20 short poems written in English in 2016, for a PechaKucha performance: www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZXa3PJwa7og . They were all inspired by my visual artworks. I looked at some of my drawings and paintings, and listened to the voices overflowing my mind in the process, in a dialogue between my drawing self and my writing self. I sing or speak these poems in improv performances that you can listen at https://soundcloud.com/mezzomonte 20 courts poèmes écrits en anglais en 2016 pour une performance PechaKucha: www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZXa3PJwa7og. Ils ont tous été inspirés par mes travaux visuels. J'ai regardé mes dessins/peintures, et j'ai écouté les voix déborder de mon esprit au cours du processus, dans un dialogue entre mon côté illustrateur et mon côté écrivain. Je chante ou lis ces poèmes lors de performances d'impro, que vous pouvez écouter ici: https://soundcloud.com/mezzomonte

« Mes Elles » est une autofiction dans laquelle je relate avec humour mon quotidien, celui-ci étant conditionné par mes relations particulières avec les femmes. Je n'ai jamais supporté la compagnie des garçons et j'ai toujours vécu entouré de femmes avec lesquelles je partage le fonctionnement émotionnel et avec lesquelles je développe des liens hors normes. Ce roman narre la progression de cette situation rocambolesque jusqu'à la construction d'un certain équilibre dans un contexte extrême.

Fra is shaped by self-awareness, trauma, contradicting thoughts and feelings, and by being a failed nihilist all at once. He sees the world with unforgiving clarity and retells his experiences with a disgustingly honest, almost too-confessional voice; shameful thoughts, taboo urges, the parts that make us "bad" friends, and the desires we can't shake off. Therapy was supposed to fix him, yet all it ever did was make him more painfully aware of everything wrong. He knew the causes, the patterns, the diagnoses-none of it helped. He walked into every session already knowing the answers and walked out with nothing to do with them. A mind that understands itself too well and still can't heal is its own kind of hell. Despite wanting to be numb, he isn't numb enough to stop caring-yet not hopeful enough to start living the way he, or society, insists he should. Knowing exactly what's wrong yet having no idea what to do with that knowledge is only one of the many tortures his emotional intelligence has handed him. [This story is a 1st person view based one, Fra and the author are not the same person characters Like Ivan or other ones may be based on real experiences but aren't real people and made up]

During his graveyard shift at a near-empty hostel, Allen drifts through small tasks and late-night distractions, slowly realizing his life is stuck in place. As dawn approaches, one decision might change everything-or nothing at all. Inspired by true events.

Je n'ai peut-être pas fini mon premier livre, mais il est pressant de vous raconter mon été. Comme d'habitude, j'ai tout fait chier... Mais pas partout.

Hi :) You are falling in a world that is not yours, don't torture your brain if it's meaningless, because maybe that's the whole point. Poetically write autofiction, kind of.

Récit où l'on essaie d'en raconter le moins possible. Tentative d'écriture au long cours. L'idée serait de raconter la vie du narrateur à partir des adresses. Il existe peut-être un jeu de mot avec les adresses à vivre..

### A Memoir --- *This is an autobiographical account, written from memory and old diaries. It contains honest, sometimes painful scenes: shouting, resentments, forgotten tenderness, prejudice, and childhood mistakes. The author shares what she experienced and how it shaped her. These pages are not a manifesto - they are an honest look at the past. Readers who are sensitive to raw scenes and harsh language are advised to keep in mind: this is one person's truth, not a universal statement.*

Whimsy is a lonely, fantasy-prone girl who often wonders whether she is from another planet. Determined to make a friend, she sets out to study the strange creatures on the playground. Instead of finding friends, she creates enemies!

Cécile est une femme mature, mais pas mûre... pleine de rêves, d'illusions, elle se cherche et découvre chaque jour une partie d'elle même... En rencontrant Loïc, Cécile ne sait pas ce qui va se passer, ni comment cela va marquer sa vie...

A micro Autofiction that explores the fragile intersection of identity, self-worth, and digital performance.

Préface Il y a des histoires qu'on ne raconte pas pour se faire entendre, mais pour se libérer. Des histoires qu'on garde en soi comme un feu sous la peau. Elles brûlent doucement, sans faire de bruit, mais elles consument. J'ai longtemps cru que les souvenirs s'effacent. Qu'avec le temps, les gens s'oublient. Que les sentiments passent. Mais il y a des regards qu'on n'efface pas, des rires qui restent suspendus dans le vide, des erreurs qui continuent de parler même quand tout est silencieux. Ce livre, ce n'est pas une leçon. Ce n'est pas un récit parfait. C'est juste un jeune gars, Christian Dimitri, que certains appellent Ng, d'autres Dior, qui a voulu faire un peu de lumière sur ses propres ombres. C'est un miroir, fissuré par l'adolescence, par l'amour, l'échec, l'orgueil, les choix impulsifs, le manque, la transformation. Je ne cherche pas à me faire passer pour un héros. J'ai aimé, j'ai trahi, j'ai douté, j'ai souffert, j'ai ri fort aussi. J'ai appris. Et j'apprends encore. Chaque chapitre est un pas dans le passé, un éclat de miroir que je ramasse pour reconstruire quelque chose de moi. Si tu lis ces lignes, je te demande juste une chose : Lis avec ton cœur. Et si tu te reconnais quelque part, alors c'est que tu portes aussi un reflet du temps en toi.