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From the far shores of Australia…

In it, you will find the different faces that I have wanted to give to love, that magical feeling that moves the world and is capable of overcoming any obstacle when it is put to the test.
In the same way, the spicy undertones of sex, so sublime when it is done from the heart, but so fun when a good dose of humor is added.

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You are listening to “Espumas” by Jorge Villamil.

Complete reviews of the books of
Raúl Briceño

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Nelson J. Cabrera. Journalist.
Editor "Semanario Español".

“The characters of “The Twin” are certain candidates for a film or at least a television series. They appeal to the reader, who almost without realizing it arrives at the awaited conclusion disoriented by the twists of the plot. And yet it is all there, and you cannot help but read the text, line by line, in order to not miss any of the adventure nor the pleasure of following a well written and even better designed book.”

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Dra Beatriz Copello Psychologist-Writer and Poet.
Doctor of Creative Arts (Creative Writing), University of Wollongong, 2003.
Cultural Editor "Semanario Español".

It is not every day that one can read books of the category of “The Twin”. In this highly entertaining book romanticism is mixed with tension and drama. In an intelligent style, Briceño tells two parallel stories; one, the tragic tale of the twins Veronica and Fidel, and the other, the tale of the Lieutenant Mauricio Bonilla.
Veronica and Fidel, two young Colombians witness the rape of their mother and the assassination of their parents at the hands of the terrorists. Bravely, they prepare a trap for them, but as revenge the terrorists swear to kill them. They run away in search of safety, but their escape is hindered by dangers. The other story follows Mauricio, a young, intelligent Lieutenant, who is not only looking for love but also fighting to stop terrorism and all those who accompany them.
Many things impressed me about this book, the storyline and the exquisite language that the author adopts throughout. The plot is intriguing and keeps the reader in a constant state of suspense. The pace of the novel is neither too fast nor too slow. The language… Oh, the language!... brilliant, almost poetic. For example, on page 87, referring to the feelings of Mauricio it goes: “Wrapped in the warm embrace of that image of diva he felt himself swaying, feeling a comfort that he had never before experienced, and enveloped in that paradisiacal inspiration he let himself be cradled in the arms of Morpheus to continue dreaming perpetually.”
The sayings were fascinating, some I believe were Colombian, like: “No warp is safe from a thread becoming no twisted”. Something difficult to come across in literature are good similes, Briceño excelled in these, here are some examples of his talent as a writer: “The smell of dirty money attracted him like flies to excrement”, “He lived day to day, which had allowed him to develop his hunting instinct, he could smell prey like a wolf smells blood”, and some with humor, like: “The guerrillero who was whiter than a nun’s arse.”
I truly enjoyed reading “The Twin”; in a few words this book is entertaining, interesting and very well written: I recommend it.

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Raul Briceño presents
his new book
“The Twin”

Hello Latin friends.

I present my novel “The Twin”, with a very special greeting to all the Latin community of the United States and Canada, I invite you to read it with the certainty that you will find in its pages characters living a reality that far exceeds fiction.

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Interview with the autor
The Twin

The promotion of “The Twin”, in interviews like this one has brought it to the attention of editorial firms. These are the words of Gena Editors SAS.

“The story of The Twin is attractive for its particular way of expressing the feelings of revenge, love, desperation, hope… that in the words of Malraux “describe the inexorable human condition”; but in the middle of the plot of The Twin the most beautiful of feelings, love, always shines. Love, which moves the world and serves as an element to exorcize all the bad that a human can come to house in his soul and in his body. These reasons, among others, bring us to consider that The Twin must be published, in addition to having a clean prose, with a defined style and a very particular way of presenting situations”.

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Launching of the book
The Twin.

Lanzamiento de “La melliza”.

ON the 21st of November 2015, The Twin made its debut into society, a memorable day for me. Many friends and acquaintances were present in that venue in Lidcombe, reminding me of the incalculable value of their friendship.

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Review of the book The Twin

First prize winner of the XIII International Literary Competition of the group “Palabras”, Sydney.


For someone who had left their younger years behind, Eduardo, only child, was still in the prime of his life. He was a sloppy dresser and of a weak appearance, with a shock of curly black hair seasoned with silver threads, he wore round-rimmed glasses, two perfect circles through which could be seen smart cat-like eyes. He got married shortly after finishing his studies, with a young woman within whose belly gestated two beautiful children, and whom his mother had chosen from amongst the daughters of her friends afraid that her little angel didn’t have the necessary charms to enamor a woman for himself. To his misfortune, the prude turned out to be berating, bossy and lacking in aspiration. Although he had to admit that she was like a sweet ripe peach, her sexual attributes were plain to see. Two tits, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what tits! They were like two melons and an ass that would take your breath away, making Eduardo the most persevering and self-sacrificing of all husbands. Between the swaying of her tits which seemed to be supported by oiled hinges and the harmonious rhythm of her impressive behind, the parsimonious man’s life was derailed – saving youthfulness for his old age and praying Hail Mary’s in order to gain indulgences which later he would redeem, sick with love, between the sheets with the voracious appetite of his woman.
The weak character that he portrayed at home, in which he conserved all his unfulfilled dreams intact as he never knew when he would need them, contrasted with his genial and gregarious temperament in the office. There, his personality bloomed, he was an excellent conversationalist and a first rate practical joker. So much so that if he one day suffered a heart attack, even if he were foaming at the mouth his colleagues would not run for help and as they were just as tricky as him or worse, they made a terrifying team.
On one occasion, he and three of his colleagues went out for lunch to a restaurant close by which advertised the best fish broth in the city. They were served by a beautiful young woman, - the kind of female you would swallow a brick for if it was necessary -, who returned after a few minutes pushing a small trolley carrying the four plates. Fish broth, by its nature, forms a thin film of grease that covers the surface and stops the steam from escaping, no matter how hot it may be, it can appear quite tepid but bubbling like lava in the center. The girl left, followed by the gaze of three of them, but Eduardo, who had already formed a plan in his head, took a spoonful of soup and yelled after her – Miss! This soup is cold, as frozen as a kiss from a penguin! His colleagues, daydreaming about the waitress still, put their spoons in the soup and sent it to their mouths. The burning was so bad that their lips turned white and our protagonist had to flee in order to retain his family jewels.
“Why are you going so early, the plane doesn’t leave for another 3 hours”, his wife complained, “You’re going to Medellin, not Russia”. She added
“My dear, you know that I hate being in a rush at the airport. I like to be one of the first to board”.
At that moment they heard the horn of the taxi outside. Taking his hand luggage, he gave his wife a kiss, a habitual squeeze of her ass, and climbing into the taxi he yelled back: give the kids a kiss for me.
His company sent him to the Medellin branch for a couple of days, as happened every three months, to undertake an audit. He arrived at Bogota Airport, went to the counter of Avianca, collected his tickets while chatting amiably with the employee, and as he had some time before they called his flight he strolled around, poking through the small stores, wheeling his small suitcase behind him.  He bought the newspaper, a magazine, some gum and continued on his usual route. Nailed to a column he noticed a scale with an eye-catching advertisement «Control your weight and have your future read». Curious, he stepped up and put a coin in the slot. The machine lit up, emitted a festive ding ding and spat out a ticket. Eduardo took it, read it and was left with his mouth open in shock. It read: “You weigh 79 kilos, your name is Eduardo Carvajal, you are married, you have 2 children, you’re travelling to Medellin and you’ll have a marvelous day”. He could not believe it. How… the machine… until he realized. Of course! His friends playing one of their tricks. They must be hiding somewhere looking at him dying of laughter. Now he could see clearly why they all had excuses to not accompany him to the airport. But he was not going to give them the pleasure. He would find them. Under no circumstances would he become the laughing stock of the office. He searched the extensive and wide corridor, calm, like an Egyptian. Looking, squinting, searching in each and every door, corner and window. In the middle of the long corridor he found another similar machine and went through the same steps. The result was identical: “You weigh 79 kilos, your name is Eduardo Carvajal, you’re married, you have 2 children, you’re travelling to Medellin and you’ll have a marvelous day”. Scoundrels! His anger was increasing. How they must be laughing at him, he thought, if he managed to get a hold of them he would leave them with no balls. He continued a bit slower, sharpening his sight, his hearing, his smell. He was paranoid, delirious. He inspected the restrooms to no avail. The frustration in crescendo hit him like a hailstorm. Finally, he arrived at the far end of the airport stubbornly expecting to find them but there was not a trace of his colleagues. Turning around he glimpsed a third identical scale. He stepped up, angrily shoved a coin into the slot, again it lit up, the ding ding annoying him, and the ticket was deposited in the small tray. He grimaced, as if he had received a direct blow to the jaw and he clenched his fists. The docket read: “You weigh 79 kilos, your name is Eduardo Carvajal, you are married, you have 2 children and you were travelling to Medellin, but you’ve missed your flight because you’re an imbecile”.

First Prize Winner in the XII International Literary Competition of group “Palabras”, Sydney.

Don Rafael has gone crazy.

He appeared out of nowhere, from one second to the next. He took a seat on the same bench that Rafael used to sit on daily. He greeted him – Hello Rafael. The old man turned his head lazily and found himself
looking at a man with a pleasant face and a lengthy beard. He replied to the greeting out of politeness.  “Do you know me”? He asked.
“Yes, I’ve known you for a long time, but I haven’t seen you until today”.
“I usually get the opposite. Many people have seen me, but nobody knows me. I live my personal tragedy tied to this body which still conserves the warmth of a lost love”.
“Tell me your story Rafael, it doesn’t matter how long it is, I have all the time in the world”.
The warmth and sweetness of that voice inspired confidence in the old man, who was stripped of any suspicion. He looked at the stranger for a few moments, then settled in, leaning his back against the bench and shaking off the sadness he started his tale.
“Twelve years ago, I met her in this very park. She was buying a vanilla ice cream, and I, a chocolate one. We looked at each other and a fog of love covered us like a halo. It came intense, flowering, shedding pollen. In an instant our souls had been disturbed. She caressed me with her gaze and I touched her with mine. We sat on this very bench that for twenty-eight days turned into the silent witness of our love. I came here to wait for her every day and under the warm embrace of the sun and the romantic light of the moon we talked of our love. We learnt to identify the scents of the flowers; the sweetness of the jasmines and the bitterness of the margaritas, the sleepy touch of the gardenias and the venomous enchantment of the orchids. We discovered love at an age where hopes and passions already rest serenely, and we feel satisfied in our own company. Now, hope invaded us with the spirit of adolescence, and passion captured us with its warm breath.Like two children during twenty-eight days we reconciled ourselves with life. We made plans and promises. Like the springtime, our love flowered each day with more intensity. The buds opened with our souls every morning and closed with poetry each afternoon at dusk”.
“But soulmates like this don’t exist, Rafael”.
“What do you know about love! Look at all these people passing us by smelling like cheap cologne, like naphthalene, how they look at us, they laugh, they make fun. They don’t know that twelve years ago my soul died”.
“As a philosopher once said, Rafael, the soul is not only not immortal, but it is the more mortal than the body”.
“This is why I sit on this bench every day waiting for her, this bench which has become a mausoleum upon which I have become accustomed to live. The crystal clear memory of that last day when we combined love and passion into one single verb in present tense is always here”.
“She was radiant, like an empress. She was not young, but her skin still smelled like the fruits of the earth, she still conserved the freshness of dawn and the smoothness of porcelain. I took off her clothes, bit by bit with the patience of a medieval monk. She submerged herself in my soul, I, in her body. She took control of my heart, I, her conscience.  I took over her ruby lips, her lovely breasts, her humid sex, and in them I abandoned drop by drop my whole life”.
“We made love slowly, sweetly, like a couple of old grandparents. It was as if we were dancing to the rhythm of a celestial melody that was blessing our incarnation with holy water. She received my kisses and caresses full of uncontrolled passion, and with them came the promise to adore her for the rest of my existence. I mounted her with force causing her some pain which culminated in infinite pleasure and we abandoned ourselves in a soothing swaying that opened up into a path towards glory, which hit us like a whipping, leaving us melted into one fused body”.
“We said goodbye that afternoon swearing oaths and promises. She seemed to be levitating as I watched her walk away, her dress waving like a sheet in the wind; but she never returned”.
“Since then, for twelve years, I’ve come here every afternoon to wait for her on this very bench. I’ve long forgotten the calendar of my life, but I’ve counted one by one the rounds of the moon which have passed infinitely, and I’ve learned to console myself with the aroma of the flowers that keep her memory alive”.
“Rafael, that same day that you said goodbye to her, she died”.
He felt that the sky was falling apart. An extreme cold prickled her skin and her body convulsed, she went limp and two slow tears filled her eyes and clouded her heart.
“How do you know that”? He asked.
“I was there with her that day, Rafael, just like I’m here with you today”.
“Did she suffer”? He asked after a long pause.
“She died without understanding Rafael; she didn’t even know she was dying”.
“I shouldn’t have let her go without me”.
“There is no way to avoid death, and it’s not as bad as it seems Rafael. The rich and the poor, the good and the bad all rest there with her”.
“As your servant, I will wait for her submissive on this bench until it comes for me and drags me to its placid refuge”.
The man with the pleasant face and lengthy beard came closer and hugged him tenderly.
“The sun has fled from the moon Rafael; it is time for us to go”.
Like a candle about to run out of wick, the old man’s head started drooping slowly and closing his eyes he began his final journey. He was on his way to find her. Around him, people who saw him every day sitting on the bench murmured: don Rafael has gone crazy, he was sitting there all day crying and talking to himself.

Other publications by Raúl Briceño

Biography of Raúl Briceño

I was born in Bogota, Colombia in 1946. When I finished secondary school in 1967, I entered Jorge Tadeo Lozano University to study public accounting to follow my father’s wishes. After two years of balancing books, profits and losses, and a little itch that every day was telling me that I was on the wrong path, I decided to turn my life around. Thanks to the help of Dr. Jaime Forero Valdés, at that time a member of the University Union - (and whom I had the great fortune to meet again when he came to Australia accompanied by his wife, Miriam- recently named Consul General of Colombia) – I managed a quick transfer to study journalism, and four years later I received my Professional Journalist Accreditation, given by the Ministry of Education.
From that moment on, my journey through various forms of journalism gave me many amazing experiences and a few bitter ones. In the early stages of our work, with that elevated sense of justice that blooms like budding flowers and believing ourselves to be great innovators, two of my companions and I created “El Observador Judicial”, a weekly paper which brought with it two years of struggle, more battles lost than won, because of the poor legislation that protected journalists at that time. Any slight incursion by a journalist into the business of the government was seen as an act of an extreme leftist revolutionary. We were looked at as if the names Marx or Engels were tattooed on our foreheads. That was one of the first bitter experiences that made me feel as if I had been born in the wrong century.
After that frustrating attempt to become an entrepreneur and the struggle to become an ally to justice, I delved into something more concrete and started working with American Press, created by Colombian journalists, in which I developed professionally and refined my journalistic skills. Some years after I found out that for legal issues with a North American chain, they had to close the agency.
At that time, 1979, an economically powerful group from the Valley of Cauca took control of a small radio station and after a large investment, they managed to gather more than twenty-five stations under their company: Radio Group Colombia. I formed part of this organization for about two years and quietly retired when I found out that the investor left a lot to be desired and their ethical standards openly clashed with the sacred objectivity of good journalism.
Together with a retired army Major, I delved into written press and we created the “Revista Hosmilmedica”, a scientific publication for the Central Military Hospital of Bogota, which originally was published bimonthly. I also formed part of the writing staff of the magazine of the Army Mounted School until I finally created and directed my own publication, the “Revista Prevención”, about industrial security, which circulated nationally, distributed by the fire brigade of each city. My work with that publication brought me some nice surprises such as becoming the second lieutenant of the Volunteers fire brigade of Bogota.
It was then that I dedicated myself enthusiastically to print media, which gave me the opportunity to express my dissatisfaction in detail with the politics of the government, without realizing that for this I would have to flee my country some years later. Almost ten years earlier I had married Dolly Arroyave Eastman, who hailed from a municipal of Castilian lineage, Santana de Los Caballeros, better known as Anserma in the region of Caldas. This relation had allowed me to get to know a marvelous area: the coffee region of Colombia, recently declared a World Heritage Site for its gorgeous landscapes. From this marriage, I fathered two children. My frequent visits to this exuberant region worked their magic and I ended up living in Pereira, a beautiful, festive city.
There, I found the newspaper “Diario del Otun” that opened its doors generously for me. It was a young Conservative Party publication, in which I discovered for the first time how exciting it was to combine journalism and publishing. However, my sharp articles against the government of Cesar Gaviria (to make it worse, he was also from the coffee region), for his bad management of the narcoterrorist problem and the laughing stock he made of Colombia for that famous jail – “La Catedral”, ended up making me a persona non grata, not only for the government but for the mafiosos. So, as the thread always comes undone at its weakest point; after a assassination attempt which I attribute to the latter, I ended in me being hospitalized for two days in the San Jorge Hospital, while on the fifth floor, Francia Lucia Uribe, today my second wife, was breastfeeding my daughter Maria Fernanda, who decided to come two months early thanks to the anguish and terror of her mother and had to spend 17 days in a ventilator fighting for her life.
After that, I opted to leave Colombia, but I still have very good memories of certain bosses and extraordinary colleagues from that newspaper whom I still think of today, over twenty years later. I arrived in Australia on the 25th April 1995, full of fear and the frustration of trying to fit into a foreign country so far away from my own, with a large variety of cultures which at that time were unknown to me. But with the passing of the years they have taught me the enormous creativity and richness of their contribution to this great country, it’s quality of life and holding the honor of being one of the best places in the world to live. In this country, I married Francia Lucia and we spent our honeymoon in the paradise of the Gold Coast accompanied by our small daughter, Maria Fernanda, who enjoyed it the most; there was no human force that could tear her away from the pool. From my father I had inherited a good singing voice, an art which had been a big part of my social life in Colombia and here in Australia it supplemented our family income, two CDs are left as proof of this.
In the middle of these advances we grew and became closer as a family, my wife Francia Lucia, who with love has supported my difficult moments, is the center of my life. My children, Raul Francisco, Gloria Isabel and María Fernanda, whom I feel immensely proud of, have learnt to face life’s challenges with their great values, finding success in overcoming them. And my only grandchild, Samuel, thanks to the teachings of his father, I can be sure that he will also become a great man. All of this obliges me to give thanks for such good fortune.
I found at last, after quite a few years, the space and the tranquility that I searched for to let my imagination run free. Journalism continued to boil inside me and one day I took a pen and I let myself loose on sheets of paper, hundreds of which ended up in the trash. But there was something that came out of them, and that’s how seven stories, full of humor and mischievousness came to be. I gave them the title of “Con estos cuentos me acuesto” (Seven wonders before bed). I couldn’t help but write about a particular character who I admired immensely and with all the love I held for him, I wrote a short story about my brother Manuel, which I headlined “In Memoriam”.
With the confidence of having this book received very well, I launched into creating my first novel. It took sixteen months of between four and five hours daily, and, thanks to the patience of my wife and tons of coffee to help keep me awake, with great satisfaction I carved the final word into the final page. On the 21st November 2015, ‘La Melliza” (The Twin) made its debut into society, a memorable day for me. Many friends and acquaintances were present in that hall in Lidcombe, to remind me of the incalculable value of their friendship.

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