When I moved to Barcelona, almost twenty years ago, I began pursuing the dream of being a fiction writer. I didn’t hesitate to sign up for creative writing school. The experience was wonderful; I made great friends and even learned something about this beautiful craft. Another outcome of the courses was hundreds of written short stories (of dubious quality) and a few others (a respectable number) that, in my opinion, deserve to be shared. But I’m an author without readers. Well, my partner, my family, and the judges of some literary contests have read my shit, but now I want more. I love writing; you could say it’s my passion. And twenty years of stories make for many stories. That’s why I’m rereading them all and compiling the best ones for several anthologies, by genre, which I will publish little by little. The first of these compilations is “Mis mierdas” (My Shit), a mix of styles and genres so you, my readers, can decide what you like and what you don’t. “Mis mierdas” (which I want to translate to English soon) is my calling card. My initiation ritual. My trial by fire. I may get burned, but, by god, I’m gonna get me some readers!