¿Alguien sabe de verdad cómo piensa un enfermo de Esquizofrenia?
LEWIS -MY SOUL- BAILEY: Esta novela es un relato intenso en el cual la literatura española se pone en contacto con el inglés más puro del norte... SPANGLISH! Relatado en primera persona por su protagonista Lewis Bailey, un scouser romántico de pensamientos que se deja perder entre su locura y su tremenda adicción a la cocaína y las drogas en general. ¿Quieres saber más? ¿Cómo puede acabar todo esto? ¿Suicidio y escapar? ¿La familia puede jugar un papel vital? ¿Un joven puede pensar más en la muerte que en vivir? ¿Cómo es la Inglaterra más del norte desde el punto de vista juvenile?
No, seriously now, I grew up in Reus, a small town one hour from Barcelona in Gaudi's city. I currently live in Barcelona. I've lived here for seven years with Kira, my German shepherd. She controls the house and I write! I studied but I learned to write with Bukowski on the street. With a magic cigar inside the car of Manu, an old friend of Reus's, my school expelled me at eighteen because I had an alcoholic coma in the school bathroom. Then, I had to learn to write. If I wasn't still just an alcoholic! You know, school was a short word in the '90s to explain what is education now? So, I don't care too much about schooling.
Widnes, the small town of Liverpool, and everything I saw during my time there, has had a vital impact on history.
In writing, my grandfather was always the best storyteller in the neighborhood. He would always follow me on the way to school, held my hand, and explained a story that I could never get out of my head. Ben Harrison, the singer of Little Grace, he is the best songwriter in the UK, so I've tried to get a lot of nutrition from his lyrics and I am able to bring it to the book. As a writer, it has helped me to read a lot continuously and keep from failing to write. It is a form of expression that, combined with weed, can acquire an incredible potency.
I broke my jaw in an accident, so that gave me a lot of struggle during the healing process. I left the cocaine, this was sad enough. I locked myself in a white room for three months. I had to see myself on the street and in a hostel with my German shepherd. A little cold, and hungry, this made feel me feel like shit, but, well, I think there are people who have bigger obstacles in this life than me authoring this book. It's all the difficulties I have experienced, that have further nurtured the argument -- there's no art without suffering. There's no suffering without teaching that will make it better. I like obstacles; I jump at them all and never look back.
Although in Spain it is said that, "Esto no ha sido un camino de Rosas precisamente..."