Todos já quiseram escrever um livro, criar uma história ou até mesmo construir enredos para séries e filmes igual nossos escritores e roteiristas favoritos. Ter algo feito pelas próprias mãos, inspirarem pessoas ao redor do mundo, é o sonho de muitas pessoas.
Mas as vezes, achamos que é algo impossível para nós, um sonho inalcançável, algo que dará muito trabalho ou que não ficará tão incrível quanto o que os grandes escritores constroem, e que parecem construídos com tanta facilidade e beleza, que achamos que é algo que só aqueles que tem grandes mentes conseguem construir.
Neste pequeno artigo veremos dicas e informações de como iniciar não só umas história, mas também pode ser utilizado em redações, artigos, livros e até mesmo em roteiros.
(Continua...) Confira o artigo completo no Portal Tecnoveste:https://www.tecnoveste.com.br/como-construir-uma-historia/
The campaign is over but the journey has just begun! Thank you once again for all your support and words of encouragement. 🙏🏿❤️ “To whom much is given, much will be required”, so - we are working around the clock to ensure that the rewards are delivered to you in good time for Christmas.
We have been building our full webpage and webshop. It is now undergoing the finishing touches. We will be launching soon!
The socks are being produced right now, thanks to you! We got some samples today and gave the last feedback to the technical team. We will keep you updated on the progress!
What happens next?
Choose your socks: We will send out a message through Kickstarter with an information form for you to fill in. The faster we get your respomses, the faster we will be able to get organised to send the socks as soon as they arrive.
I surrender to the universe and it’s divine powers.
I surrender to nature and it’s glorious cycles and rhythms.
I surrender to the voice within me, longing to be free. Longing to speak up. Longing to resurface.
It may seem scary at first, to let go, to surrender to life and trust, but we must realize nothing in life is certain, and isn’t it the most liberating notion there is? Yes, we are in control of our lives and with each decision we make, we create our own reality, but that’s where it ends. The rest is up for the universe to decide. I don’t know whether it’s gonna rain or shine tomorrow and I surrender to that knowing of unknowing. I can’t control the weather, but I can control how I’ll react to it and how I’ll be affected by it. 🌀✨
Yooooooo! This Friday from 7-9pm there will be #storytelling at Vital Spaces. We all have stories to tell and what can #connect us is the similar themes that run throughout our lives (happiness, hurt, betrayal, loyalty, triumphs, let-downs, poisons and medicines). The backdrop and characters may be different but the essence connects us all. On Friday we will be honoring and recounting #stories that have brought us here to present day. Hoping to see familiar faces of this beloved #NM#community . I made it. You made it. We all made it. #santafe#newmexico#culture505
0 18 hours ago
If you wake up in celebration of being alive, your day will start off on the right foot!
Oggi, ispirato da un corso di Marianoenelmundo, mi sono avventurato nel fumetto autobiografico con alcune (preciso: alcune!) scene di vita quotidiana di questo autunno 2019 nel quale riesco a mantenere il sorriso e la serenità grazie all'amore per i miei figli e alla gioia che provo mentre continuo ad aiutare i miei studenti a parlare l'italiano sempre meglio. Alla fine dei conti è una vita che fa sentire vivi e dà tanti stimoli ad andare avanti... :-) E voi? Come state passando questo autunno del 2019?
They say, poems are incomplete without the thought and story behind it, and as rightly said, we invite you to an event which focuses on these aspects as well! Out of Context, an English poetry collective, brings together poets who not only indulge in their art, but also discuss elements that go behind their craft – telling the story behind the poetry!
Consider this a celebration of who you are, as a whole package!
Naturally, poems of your mind and of others' are welcome without judgement.
Nov 24, Sunday, 3 pm, Music Cafe, Law College Road
Group Contri / Head: Rs.160
Sign Up at: https://zurl.co/0ceJ
What: Day 17/30 (30 Adventures Project)
Where: Ladakh, Nubra and Zanskar
When: June 2016
I got to be a part of a National Geographic project through The Outdoor Journal in June 2016. It was on mailrunners, people who used to deliver letters and packages to remote areas of Ladakh, Nubra and Zanskar region on foot.
There are 5 parts to telling a story on Social Media. Everyone loves a good story. And a good story has the ability to keep peoples attention & keep them captivated for longer.
Part #1 The Beginning
Setup your story be telling people what they are about to watch or see before you show it to them.
Part #2 The Middle
This is the “meat” or substance of your story. Build up to a Climax Point. Most of your content lives here.
Part #3 The Climax
The crowning act of achievement in your story. Deliver on what you’ve promised in the beginning.
Part #4 The End
Finish your story by summing up everything your audience just watched, so they remember it and remember you.
Part #5 The Ask
Finally, before you leave... Ask your audience to do something... Anything... Don’t be afraid to ask them.
Well that’s it... Those are the 5 parts to telling a good story in Social Media.
If you want to know more about Story Telling go on YouTube and search for my Channel “Tent Creative” go to playlists and look in the “Social Media Help for Small Business” Playlist and you’ll find a video about Story Telling where I expound on these principles more.
Thanks for reading all the way to the end. Please comment below and tell me which part of the story you want to start adding to your posts!
#WomanCrushWednesday Mae Belle Powell was born to Huntington and Olive (Swisher) Powell on May 17, 1905 in Findlay, Ohio. Her father died in 1911 leaving a wife and six children behind. Mae Bell married Theron Glathart on September 15, 1927. Theron worked as a reporter for The Morning Republican, and was employed by the Ohio Oil company before entering the insurance business as an agent of the New York Life Insurance. He died in 1938. Mae Belle moved back in with her mother and sisters. In 1943, she joined the Women’s Army Corps (WAC), training in Florida and Iowa. Mae Belle was awarded the Asiatic Pacific Campaign Ribbon, WWII Victory Ribbon, and Good Conduct Medal with a commendation. She was discharged in 1946 as a Second Lieutenant. (Mae Belle is directly in the center of the photo). She returned to Findlay after the war, and worked as a New York Life Insurance Agent. On December 7, 1950, she married Norman Harritt. The couple remained married until Norman died in 1969. She had no children. Mae Belle died on June 2, 1982 at Blanchard Valley Hospital. She was buried beside Theron Glathart in Maple Grove Cemetery. ⠀ #WCW#ProfessionalWomen#HerStory#BecauseOfHerStory#LocalHistory#History#Storytelling#HistoryMakers#DowntownFindlay#FindlayOh#Discover419#WAC#WomensHistory#WWII
0 28 hours ago
At its core, marketing is storytelling. The best advertising campaigns take us on an emotional journey - appealing to our wants, needs and desires - while at the same time telling us about a product or service.
- Melinda Partin #marketing#storytelling
Content and Copy writing is one of the #1 skills evey Advertiser as well as Marketer needs to have.
Storytelling is another very important skill to have especially if you want to communicate anything to anyone.
I have been tying to improve my writing and Storytelling skills lately, I found this one - Writing for Story by Jon Franklin
It's a great book if you want to generally want to improve your story telling skills.
For a Journalist, a must read.
What books do you recommend for improving story Telling?
Leave them in the comments section 😊
1 18 hours ago
These set of people are not ready to evolve and be better, they are not happy for you when you grow and they display their level of ingratitude at the slightest opportunity.... Stay completely away from persons with these traits.
You are better off without them.
The lake that accompanied the woods was not a desirable destination for most. It was located a few miles outside of Baltimore, where crimes were kept secretive. People often went missing in the sinister isolation inhabiting between the tall trees. Missing children’s backpacks were often found beneath piles of dead leaves – Polaroids of women bound and gagged were hidden in secret compartments of purposely forgotten jewelry boxes, the ballerina refusing to spin – skeletal remains of people who had been missing for years or had not been reported missing at all were constantly being found by teenagers hunting for ghosts. .
One of my most vivid memories as a child is when I awakened one morning and saw a ghost standing in my bedroom doorway. She had hair the color of fire and wore a green dress from either the eighteenth or nineteenth century. She has left such a large impact on me. As a child, I rarely thought of her, but as an adult, she occupies so much of my writing. I often wonder if still wanders my bedroom doorway, watching me sleep.
I am not missing summer because the sun advised the grass to grow into abandonment, selfishness, and toxicity. They sprouted from the ground and slithered through the holes in my window screen, yearning to creep into my mouth as I slept. Autumn has returned and I have vomited most of the grass, but there are days when the sharp vegetation pierces my gums, and I bleed. .
I remember meeting you on the first day of our 11th standard. You were silent and did not talk much. Our friendship took a while to find its place. Whenever I think of my school days what makes it really special is that you have a starting role in all my memories.
From walking to the bus stop and travelling back home in the same bus, to gossiping, cracking jokes, to checking out guys, to talking about our crushes, sharing our favourite books, to talking about our favourite serials, to sharing childhood memories, to midnight study sessions, talking for hours over the phone, to having my back, to being my strength in my bad times, to sharing our heartbreaks, you have been a constant, the kind that I cannot put into words how much it means.
I was sad that you moved to a different city for college, but that never changed the equation with us, the distance only made our friendship stronger. You are still the first one to call me on my every birthday. You are my one friend whose name my father never forgets and my mom loves you. Every one of my relatives knows you cause when I say best friend they all know that it's you.
I'm thankful that I have you in my life. I love that our friendship evolves when we both are changing and now it's at a beautiful place. We may not talk every day, but we both are closer than ever. You are my soul mate in every way. No matter where we are in 10, 20 or 30 years, you will always remain in my life.
Here's to growing old together and to many many more memories and for a love that's just simply ours.
We're a generation of people who've spent half their struggle in building walls and the other half in breaking them down. We're a generation of heartbreaks-- heartbreaks we try to fix through our near perfect, aesthetically pleasing Instagram feeds, by stacking up memes and defining love through never ending, unbreakable Snapchat streaks.
We've lived for some 21 years and spent 16 of it in just moving on- moving on from a ghosting ex-boyfriend, from an almost-relationship, from an estranged best friend and from people you met and fell in love with, wore their photographs in a locket around your neck; soon to realise they vanished like the morning fog as an afternoon came about.
We're a generation of people who stick to polaroids more than silhouettes because that's easier. We're a generation who looks for homes in other people only to find motels that are flooded during holiday season and deserted otherwise. We're a generation with temporary eyes looking for permanent places to unpack.
We want to fly but we chain ourselves. We want to scream but the only way we know how to express- is through the lyrics of the songs we avoid in public, the sketches we doodle at the back of our notebooks, the movie scenes we secretly play on repeat late at night when the silence of it fails to provide us comfort.
We're a generation of crowded clubs but lonely eyes, brimming glasses but empty hearts. We want to be taken care of but we're too tired to take care of. We want to be loved but we don't know how to love.
We're a generation full of desperate but helpless people with huge holes inside of us that we're dying to fill- holes we fill with trends, gossip and beer instead. We live the same routine every day in the urge to do something different.
We're a generation full of sad people tragically waiting to be understood, unwound and un-saddened.
I've been sitting in my car for the last 45 minutes, trying to gather the courage to go inside. I'm not scared, I just don't want to face you yet.
There was a lot of yelling last night. We said things we didn't mean, we blamed each other, we cursed our exes and in those few hours, we also forgot all about our love.
We didn't sleep in the same bed either. I was curled up on the couch, still trying to process it all. You sat in your study, pretending to work. I don't think you even heard me leaving for work in the morning.
There were no texts throughout the day, no updates on each others work or moods or if the other one had eaten or not. I missed you so much the entire day, but each time I thought of you, I could hear all the harsh words we spoke.
I was wondering if you'd be home when I got there. Leaving is so easy, it's staying back that's so hard for gypsy souls like us. And maybe that's why I'm still not sure if I want to go inside our home. It'll be empty and I wouldn't know what to do with all the quiet.
Strange how both, the noise and the lack of it, perturbed me.
It's getting late and I feel like an idiot sitting here. I turn off the engine and pick my things. The door's not locked, you're home early today. I can see you sitting in the study. I think you heard me entering, but you don't look back. I curl up on the couch and go to sleep.
I wake up to the noise in the kitchen. I slowly open one eye and there's a cup of tea on the table next to me. You're in the kitchen and I can smell breakfast. I can also see the book that I bought for you yesterday, open on the table, and your glasses on top of it.
You probably knew I'd say sorry with a book. And I think food has always been your way to call a truce.
You bring your mug of tea and sit next to me on the couch. I pick up my mug and lean on your shoulder.
I think this is what hope looks like. A lot like us.
I'm your best friend, and I have a vocabulary lesson to prove it.
Let's do this step by step, shall we?
1. Feminism isn't called that because it means 'women are better'. It's called that because inequality attacks femininity, by calling it weak. Because everytime you, my dear, show any signs of emotion, they use toxic masculinity to shut you up.
2. I do not believe 'women are better than men in any sphere or form. Those who do, are called 'Misandrists.' I hate them, too. (Definitely not feminazis. Please let's not get insensitive towards one of the biggest tragedies in human history, okay?) See, they make YOU believe that you're in power, because saying 'women are emotionally stronger' enables the patriarchy to get away with emotionally harassing them and then talking about 'naari shakti'. But if that were true, then why are men laughed at for crying? Patriarchy plays with both of us.
3. I don't think there's anything 'unnatural' about women sexually harassing men. Those who do, are 'misogynists'. Because the only way that someone would believe that women aren't capable of mentally, sexually, or physically abusing men is if men were stronger. I don't think you should be in jail just because a woman said so, and I don't believe a woman shouldn't be punished harshly only because she has a vagina. I want to wear whatever I want because I know men are not animals with uncontrollable sexual urges. I believe in you. I want equal pay because I want us to be able to contribute equally, financially. (And consequently, in household chores. Because I know you're not a 'child'. You're a functional adult. I believe in you.) I don't think mothers are more special than fathers. (I would never say 'oh, you're babysitting!') I believe in you.
Please don't confuse me with the girl who posts a status about it and then expects you to pay the bill.
P.S. this doesn't mean that chivalry is dead. It means I'll pull the chair for you, too.