Read the original Estonian version here. To discuss this and other finalists, visit Mormon Lit Lab.

“The Journey”

written by Aivar Lembit
translated by James Goldberg

We are on a journey.
We are pure:
flowing waters
cannot remain
impure.

In a blue jug,
wounded feelings settle
like poison on our table:
let’s go
before we fill up,
let’s escape
the lull of the everyday.

We are real.
We are free:
blacksmiths forging
our own destiny.

We are strong.
We are alone:
on a path
pressed between
the steps of the soul.

On a wonderful expedition
into the eternal everyday:
toward the western sunset
and a Kingdom worn ragged
by our rhymes.

“Lucifer’s Monologue”

written by Aivar Lembit
translated by James Goldberg

This morning, Joy packed
her bag, pulled on some
frayed, faded, fashionable
jeans. She laughed
and waved—
then along came Sorrow,
who watched me reproachfully,
and sneaked in a few tears
that felt like a horse’s bit in
my mouth.

At night, I heard someone
fumbling at the door.
There were no thieves there,
just Joy, returned from a
worldwide journey
with wide eyes.
Sorrow saw it;
I let them in and locked the door.
We were three:
I fed them with the blades
found in the depths of my soul,
dropped into their hearts
the germs of envy.

Joy put Sorrow into song,
Sorrow put Joy back in the picture.

No one touched me
I was just a soul,
suspended.
Overseer.
Knocker.
Informer.
Accuser in court,
reporting before the Father.

I wrote down their every mistake,
liberating them from their
angel-souls with shining,
virtuous bodies.
I taught them
the world’s wisdom:
hard-working obedience,
obedient hard work,
and they praised me.

We became more and more alike:
Joy became Sorrow and Sorrow, Joy.
Life became beautiful.
Order was happiness
and it was everywhere:
order in the house,
order in the sauna.
Your own river
and your own mountain…

what else could you want?
Life always up and down,
like a roller coaster?
Heights and depths
like in American mountains?

Read the English translation here.

“Läheme Rändama”

Aivar Lembit

läheme rändama
oleme puhtad
voolav vesi ei saa
jääda saastunuks
sinisesse kannu
settivad haavatud tunded
mürk meie toidulaual
laseme jalga
enne kui täitub
laseme jalga
igavast igapäevast
oleme tõelised
oleme vabad
sepad iseenda saatusele
oleme tugevad
oleme üksi
iseenda juures
seespool piiri
hingetreppide vahele
surutud teerajal
imelisel avastusretkel
igavesse igapäeva
õhtumaa öös
riimidest räsitud kuningriiki

“Lutsiferi Monoloog”

Aivar Lembit

hommikul pakkis rõõm oma koti
tõmbas jalga luitunud teksad
moodsad ja kärisenud
naeris ja lehvitas
tuli kurbus
vaatas mind etteheitvalt
poetas paar pisarat
suu ümber hobuserauda
meenutav võre
vastu ööd kuulsin kedagi
ukse kallal kobistamas
ei olnud vargad
oli rõõm
kes oma maailmarännakult
tagasi saabus
suurte silmadega
tunnistas teda kurbus
lukustasin uksed
olime kolmekesti
söötsin neid oma pahelise hinge
soppidest leitud teradega
tilgutasin nende südametesse
kadeduse idusid
rõõm pani kurbuse laulu sisse
kurbus pani rõõmu pildi peale
mind ei puudutanud keegi
olin ju ainult hing
hõljuma pandud
järelevaataja
koputaja
pealekaebaja
süüdistaja kohtus
ettekandja isa ees
iga eksimuse kirjutasin üles
vabastasin nad nende inglihingedest
valgetest ja vooruslikest kehadest
õpetasin neile
maailma tarkusi
töökat kuulekust
kuulekat töökust
nemad kiitsid mind
muutusime kõik üha sarnasemaks
rõõmust sai kurbus ja kurbusest sai rõõm
elu muutus ilusaks
kord oli nüüd õnn ja seda oli kõikjal
kord majas
kord saunas
oma jõgi ja oma mägi
mida veel tahta
ikka üles ja alla
elu nagu ameerika mägedes

To discuss this and other finalists, visit Mormon Lit Lab.

“Victor”

written by David Hurtado

I prefer to believe that when my dad died he had seen an angel beckoning him home.  I prefer to think that as his spirit rose to leave, his stubborn body also arose from where he slept and tried to follow.  I imagine the ligaments connecting spirit and body stretched tight and then snapped like an old rubber band, his body crumpling to the hard floor, the institutional carpet marking his face and bruising his head.

I prefer to believe that as his soul shed its skin and bone, he rejoiced.  That the veil strained him apart like a sieve, allowing only the most heavenly parts to pass. That he stood, nobly, to heed the call home.

I prefer this image to the nagging thought that he just needed to pee and that being stubborn from birth he didn’t call a nurse for help.  (I had seen him do it the day before, attempting to stand on his own and pee into a urinal.  I’d had to hold him up, my arms under his arms, his hands trembling, his breathing shallow and fast.)  It’s entirely possible that this was the scenario.  That his congested heart simply couldn’t take the strain of standing to pee, so he collapsed and expired, apologetic and alone.

***

My dad was a sucker for the American dream. One time in Lima, I must have been about nine, he came home with a whole case of soap in his arms, from an American company. He was going to sell it on the side, and recruit others to do the same. He said we’d be better off and he wouldn’t have to work so hard anymore. He said his friend Manuel from the Mormon church was already making lots of money this way.

Mom was furious. But she calmly stubbed out her cigarette, sauntered over to Dad, and slapped him square in the face like a Peruvian Joan Crawford.  “Que ya te dije, Víctor. I warned you” she said, her lip curled, her eyes challenging. We all flinched, anticipating retribution. Dad’s eyes burned down at her and for a moment his fists clenched at his sides. But then, a calm spread over his face and down his shoulders. He simply said, “Ya veras. You’ll see”, and went back to the car for the other five boxes of soap.

This new church was strange, but Dad was a little different now. He still lost his temper from time to time, but he was clearly trying to kick the habit. For another thing, he quit smoking, a change he was more successful with. I think that Mom smoked more often around him, just to spite him. But he never smoked another cigarette.

He was the first to be baptized in our family. I didn’t really get it but I was there watching with my sisters. We made faces and exchanged carcajadas when the tall American missionary pushed Dad under the water.

In a few months the rest of us were baptized, even Mom, though I recall her lighting up on the drive home after the service. Those Elders really had something to write home about that week: five kids and their mother all dunked. I was last. The Elders had explained to us that baptism washed all our sins away, so I was surprised the water still looked clean when it was my turn.

Mom and Dad argued less violently, but more frequently. It seemed that almost anything could trigger a fight. Maybe that’s why Dad spent so much time helping the missionaries, or maybe it was the time he spent with them that made Mom so angry. Chicken or egg, I guess. In any case, he spent more and more time with church duties, driving the missionaries around, shuttling their investigators to and from church, and staying late after church on Sundays to help the leaders with paperwork.

It all came to a head the day Dad lost his job. Mom went into the bedroom and locked the door. Dad loaded my sisters and I into the car and took us to visit our Grandma and Aunt. My sisters ran in, excited to play. Dad and I went across the street to the Olivar and kicked a ball around. We pretended that the olive trees were defenders we had to pass, dribble and weave around to reach the goal. Some of those trees were over 300 years old, their misshapen trunks like giant cathedral candles still burning, and coated with centuries of dripped wax.

After playing for a while, Dad knelt and embraced me. “Carlitos”, he said, “I’m going to the United States. Elder Johnson’s parents have a job for me on their farm.”

I hugged him and cried, “No te vayas Papi! Don’t go!” He looked at me for a long time with tears in his eyes. He kissed me on the cheeks and forehead and hugged me more tightly.

“Be brave”, he whispered. “I will work very hard and come back for you as soon as possible.”

Dad stayed with his mother and sister in the house by the Olivar until the day he left. I stood on the airport observation deck with my sisters. We all waved as he walked resolutely across the tarmac and up the stairs to the plane. Just before entering, he turned and waved at us with both arms held high above his head.

***

Mom found a job sewing where her mother worked. We moved in with her parents. Her alcoholic father supervised my sisters and me. I learned to stay out of the house and out of sight as much as possible.  Whichever sibling was first home from school got the worst of it. But for my sisters, staying out late could be just as scary.  He treated all of us like his personal property, like Solomon’s concubines.

My friends and I used to get into all kinds of trouble.  We played a game with the discarded lids of tin cans.  We cut them around the edges like a circular saw blade, and put two holes in the center like a button.  Then we’d run a string through both holes in a big loop.  By twisting it up  and pulling on the loops from both sides, the metal blade would spin and we would challenge each other to duels, trying to cut each others strings.  This often devolved into trying to cut each other, or stray dogs, or smaller kids.

It took four years for Dad to save enough money to send for us. But he finally arranged for my sisters and I to join him in Utah. I didn’t understand, until Mom didn’t board the plane, that she wasn’t coming.

We were 5 unaccompanied minors from the slums of Lince.  We had no luggage, and even if we had, there was nothing worth putting in it.  After my dad left, the lights went out for me.  My childhood disintegrated, my innocence was terminated. Yet here I was on a plane, with stewardesses making sure I had water to drink and food to eat.  It remains my life’s most surreal experience; to fly, to land safely in Los Angeles, and there to be introduced to my Dad’s new wife, who I had no idea existed.

They took us to Disneyland.  I don’t know which was more impressive, the Sleeping Beauty Castle, Tom Sawyers Island, or the sight of people throwing away food; but that jarring juxtaposition, that suspension of disbelief that frays only at the edges, was our introduction to the United States.  From there we drove to our new home in Salt Lake City, leaving behind the Lima-like climate of Southern California, traversing deserts, vast open spaces, the perplexing anomaly of Las Vegas, and finally the snow-capped peaks of our new home.

***

Our stepmother was an English teacher.  She also spoke Spanish, having been a missionary in Argentina.  This came in handy, no doubt, as we acclimated to our new surroundings.  The next few years were a blur as my sisters and I learned to speak English and to present ourselves and our cultural background to our homogenous peers in a way that capitalized on the novelty and minimized the differences.

By the time I was a junior at Highland High School I had figured out where I fit in. I tried to emulate The Fonz among my peers, and Richie Cunningham in the presence of adults. I had an auto class and got the idea I could make my stepmom’s old Barracuda into a street racer. She got on my case for “tracking grease into the house,” but she let me mess with her car because she thought I was just giving it a tune-up. I told her it would help my grade.  It sounded pretty sweet with the headers and glasspacks I installed, but I wrapped it around a phone pole the next day.

Dad still struggled with his temper. He could sometimes lose it over late dinner or other minor infractions. But he usually kept his composure in major crises. Still, I wasn’t sure how he’d respond to the news that I had totaled his wife’s car.

He arrived from his first job each day with just enough time to eat dinner and put on his uniform for his evening job at the gas station. I stood and told him about the car as he was getting up from the table. Dad was furious, but he just stood and glared at me for a moment, then went to change.  My stepmom was frozen in her seat, her head bowed, her whole body shrinking.  “That went better than I expected” she said under her breath.

I awoke at about 1AM and found Dad seated at the kitchen table with two cups of hot cocoa and buttered toast . He motioned for me to join him. For a moment we sat in silence.

“I’m glad you weren’t hurt, Son,”

I poured out apologies. “I’m so sorry Dad. I’m sorry I messed up. I don’t know why I keep doing such stupid things. Why can’t I just be good? . . .”

It was one of those moments when you surprise even yourself with your grief. So much emotional baggage all suddenly unpacked itself, raw and incomprehensible.  He hugged me the way he had in the Olivar.  When I finally calmed down, he held my face in his incongruently soft, powerful hands and looked directly into my eyes.

“Son,” he said, “you are a child of God.”

“But so is everyone.” I replied.

“Son, YOU are a child of God. He doesn’t make mistakes. And in the same way an apple tree doesn’t grow peaches, you are the fruit of God’s tree. You are His child. All of eternity is for you to grow up to be like Him.”

***

Last weekend I sobbed the same way I did that night, as I brushed leaves and grass clippings from Dad’s headstone in a little cemetery just off of 45th South. I had gone to the temple that morning. By the third day I had fallen blissfully asleep, the same way my dad did the day he escorted me through my first endowment more than 30 years ago. I never thought I’d become so inured to that holy place.  But it isn’t born of disrespect. It’s just an awkward mixture of the miraculous and the mundane.

Either way, I woke up for the important parts, and I stood up when I was supposed to. I stood the way I’d prefer to believe that my dad did; that upon hearing a chorus of angels and ancestors he awoke and stood to join them. I’d prefer to think that he felt peace, like a long slow exhale, like water rippling on sand, like God himself had accepted all of his apologies once and for all and led him away by the hand.

That’s what I want to believe.

That’s my preference.

To discuss this and other finalists, visit Mormon Lit Lab.

“Tatau”

written by Lehua Parker

Uncle Akumu has tattoos. Big, thick pe’a lines shout his ancient Samoan genealogy as they crisscross his thighs. On his arms he carries his own story. There’s Aunty Lani’s name surrounded by vines and pua fiti. There’s a manta ray and turtle,  a bullet with RIP for cousin Ikaika, and something I can’t make out that’s covered in swirls and shark teeth that rolls over his shoulder and down his back. When I ask Uncle about it, he just says some things are better remembered than displayed.

Uncle Akumu is cool.

When I tell Bishop I want history like Uncle Akumu, he frowns. “No, you don’t,” he says. “The church forbids tatau.”

But I do. I say, “I want to be just like Uncle Akumu.”

“No, Kiliona,” he says. “You want to be like Jesus. Does Jesus have tattoos?”

Of course I want to be like Jesus. We sing songs about how we want to be like Jesus in Primary as He looks down from His poster. Sister Sinaloa says Jesus knows everything, like if you asked Him for help with your math homework, He’d know all the answers.

But Jesus also tells you to figure it out for yourself. Read. Ponder. Pray.

I read, ponder, and pray, but I still don’t know the answers.

When I ask Uncle Akumu for help, he laughs his great booming laugh. He takes my math paper off the counter and wraps his arms around me. “Math is hard,” he says and rubs my head. “Good thing you smart.” He sits next to me and shows me how six times five is thirty. How eleven divided by seven is one, remainder four, and how two goes into eight four times. Pretty soon my homework’s done. Tomorrow when Mrs. Tui calls on me, I’ll know the answers.

Jesus knows all the answers to all my questions, but Uncle Akumu helps me get my homework done.

That’s why I want to be like Uncle Akumu, tattoos and all.

Maybe Jesus is really like Uncle Akumu, only we can’t see His tattoos under His red robes.

Maybe Bishop never looked.

Thank you to everyone who submitted to the Around the World in Mormon Lit Contest! We received submissions in 6 different languages from 22 different countries and 6 continents/regions. Out of those submissions, we chose the top twelve, to be published April 15-27 here on lit.mormonartist.net. The finalists will be published both in their original languages and in English.

The finalists are:

April 15th: “Documentary Appendix 1” (“Anexo documental I”) by Gabriel González Núñez
Language: Spanish
Setting: Paraná (imaginary country located in what is currently Southern Brazil, Northeastern Argentina, and Uruguay), South America

April 16th: “TIME a particle” (“TIEMPO una partícula”) by Citlalli H. Xochitiotzin
Language: Spanish
Setting: Israel, Middle East

April 17th: “The Wall of Time” (“La Muralla del Tiempo”) by Camila Andrea Fernández    Language: Spanish
Setting: China, Asia

April 18th: “A Sunday at Laginha” (“Um Domingo na Laginha”) by César Augusto Medina Fortes
Language: Portuguese
Setting: Cape Verde, Africa

April 19th: “The Secret Friend” (“O Amigo Secreto”) by Amanda Araújo de Castro
Language: Portuguese
Setting: Brazil, South America

April 20th: “Two Missions” (“Duas Missões”) by Andreza Castro
Language: Portuguese
Setting: Japan, Asia, and the United States, North America

April 22nd: “Tatau” by Lehua Parker
Language: English
Setting: Samoa, Oceania

April 23rd: “Victor” by David Hurtado
Language: English
Setting: Peru, South America, and the United States, North America

April 24^th: “Let’s Go on a Journey” and “Lucifer’s Monologue” (“LÄHEME RÄNDAMA” and “LUTSIFERI  MONOLOOG”) by Aivar Lembit
Language: Estonian
Setting: Estonia, Europe / worldwide

April 25th: “Shaken” by Jhasmin De Castro
Language: Tagalog
Setting: Philippines, Asia

April 26th: “The Creation Workshop” (創造教室) by Mitsushige Takaki (高木光茂)
Language: Japanese
Setting: The Workshop

April 27th: “The Sound of Water” (「 水音」) by Aiko Tokuzawa (徳沢愛子)
Language: Japanese
Setting: Japan, Asia

Links to contest pieces will also be posted on our Facebook page, Mormon Lit Blitz.

We also want to recognize some additional stories. The following will not be published as part of this contest, but we want to congratulate the authors:

Honorable Mentions:

• “Um Dom Angelical” by William Mercês Silva
• “Taiyang Mao – Sunhat” by Jennifer Quist
• “Memories Reviving from Afar” (彼方から蘇る記憶) by Kazutoshi Ono (小野和俊)
• “El Viaje” by Graciela Dantes Carrillo
• “Un dia de pesca” by Luis Jorge Verano
• “La Cicatriz” by Sergio Nieto
• “Milagros a Pedido” by Hercules Antonio Palermo
• “Contra Tiempo” by Gabriela Acosta Laurini
• “El Ladrón” by Leticia Teresa Pontoni
• “Un Día Después” by Rosa Maria Cantero

We hope you will join us April 15-27 to read the finalists and vote for your favorite.

Writers who are interested in submitting to another contest can submit to the Mormon Lit Blitz. For the Mormon Lit Blitz, send up to 3 short pieces no longer than 1,000 words to everydaymormonwriter@gmail.com by 31 May 2019. We accept short stories, essays, poems, short plays, comics, or other creative writing that would interest Mormon readers in some way.

世界各地のモルモン文学短編コンテストに応募してくださった皆様、ありがとうございます。22カ国、6大陸/地域から6カ国語で応募がありました。これらの応募の中から、4月15日から27日にかけてlit.mormonartist.netに掲載されるトップ12を選びました。 ファイナリストは元の言語と英語の両方で発表されます。
ファイナリストは次のとおりです。

4月15日: “Documentary Appendix 1” (“Anexo documental I”) by Gabriel González Núñez
言語: Spanish
場面: Paraná (imaginary country located in what is currently Southern Brazil, Northeastern Argentina, and Uruguay), South America

4月16日: “TIME a particle” (“TIEMPO una partícula”) by Citlalli H. Xochitiotzin
言語: Spanish
場面: Israel, Middle East

4月17日: “The Wall of Time” (“La Muralla del Tiempo”) by Camila Andrea Fernández 言語: Spanish
場面: China, Asia

4月18日: “A Sunday at Laginha” (“Um Domingo na Laginha”) by César Augusto Medina Fortes
言語: Portuguese
場面: Cape Verde, Africa

4月19日: “The Secret Friend” (“O Amigo Secreto”) by Amanda Araújo de Castro
言語: Portuguese
場面: Brazil, South America

4月20日: “Two Missions” (“Duas Missões”) by Andreza Castro
言語: Portuguese
場面: Japan, Asia, and the United States, North America

4月22日: “Tatau” by Lehua Parker
言語: English
場面: Samoa, Oceania

4月23日: “Victor” by David Hurtado
言語: English
場面: Peru, South America, and the United States, North America

4月24日: “Let’s Go on a Journey” and “Lucifer’s Monologue” (“LÄHEME RÄNDAMA” and “LUTSIFERI MONOLOOG”) by Aivar Lembit
言語: Estonian
場面: Estonia, Europe / worldwide

4月25日: “Shaken” by Jhasmin De Castro
言語: Tagalog
場面: Philippines, Asia

4月26日: “The Creation Workshop” (創造教室) by Mitsushige Takaki (高木光茂)
言語: Japanese
場面: The Workshop

4月27日: “The Sound of Water” (水音) by Aiko Tokuzawa (徳沢愛子)
言語: Japanese
場面: Japan, Asia

コンテスト作品へのリンクは、Mormon Lit BlitzのFacebookページにも掲載されます。
また、以下は選外佳作賞として祝したいと思います。

選外佳作賞:
• “Um Dom Angelical” by William Mercês Silva
• “Taiyang Mao – Sunhat” by Jennifer Quist
• “Memories Reviving from Afar” (彼方から蘇る記憶) by Kazutoshi Ono (小野和俊)
• “El Viaje” by Graciela Dantes Carrillo
• “Un dia de pesca” by Luis Jorge Verano
• “La Cicatriz” by Sergio Nieto
• “Milagros a Pedido” by Hercules Antonio Palermo
• “Contra Tiempo” by Gabriela Acosta Laurini
• “El Ladrón” by Leticia Teresa Pontoni
• “Un Día Después” by Rosa Maria Cantero

ファイナリストを読み、お気に入りに投票するために4月15日から27日まで参加することを願っています。
他のコンテストに応募することに興味を持っている作家は、Mormon Lit Blitzに応募することができます。 Mormon Lit Blitzについては、2019年5月31日までに、3編までの短編をeverydaymormonwriter@gmail.comに送ってください。短編小説、エッセイ、詩、短い演劇、漫画、また末日聖徒に興味を起こさせる他の創造的な文学を受け入れます。

Extendemos nuestro agradecimiento a todas las personas que presentaron obras al concurso «Dándole la vuelta al mundo con la literatura mormona». Recibimos trabajos en seis idiomas, provenientes de veintidós países y seis continentes o regiones. De entre ellos seleccionamos los doce mejores, que serán publicados entre el 15 y 27 de abril aquí en lit.mormonartist.net. Los finalistas se publicarán tanto en inglés como en el idioma original.

Las obras finalistas son las siguientes:

15 de abril: «Anexo documental I» («Documentary Appendix 1») de Gabriel González Núñez
Idioma: Español
Marco: Paraná (un país imaginario ubicado en lo que actualmente es el sur de Brasil, el noreste de Argentina y el Uruguay), Sudamérica

16 de abril: «TIEMPO una partícula» («TIME a particle») de Citlalli H. Xochitiotzin
Idioma: Español
Marco: Israel, Oriente Medio

17 de abril: «La Muralla del Tiempo» («The Wall of Time») de Camila Andrea Fernández    Idioma: Español
Marco: China, Asia

18 de abril: «Um Domingo na Laginha» («A Sunday at Laginha»/«Un domingo en Laginha») de César Augusto Medina Fortes
Idioma: Portugués
Marco: Cabo Verde, África

19 de abril: «O Amigo Secreto» («The Secret Friend»/«El amigo secreto») de Amanda Araújo de Castro
Idioma: Portugués
Marco: Brasil, Sudamérica

20 de abril: «Duas Missões» («Two Missions»/«Dos misiones») de Andreza Castro
Idioma: Portugués
Marco: Japón, Asia, y Estados Unidos, Norteamérica

22 de abril: «Tatau» de Lehua Parker
Idioma: Inglés
Marco: Samoa, Oceanía

23 de abril: «Victor» de David Hurtado
Idioma: Inglés
Marco: Perú, Sudamérica, y Estados Unidos, Norteamérica

24 de abril: «Läheme Rändama» y «Lutsiferi  Monoloog» («Let’s Go on a Journey»/«Salgamos de viaje» y «Lucifer’s Monologue»/«El monólogo de Lucifer») de Aivar Lembit
Idioma: Estonio
Marco: Estonia, Europa / el mundo entero

25 de abril: «Shaken» de Jhasmin de Castro
Idioma: Tagalo
Marco: Filipinas, Ásia

26 de abril: 創造教室 («The Creation Workshop»/«El taller de la creación») de Mitsushige Takaki (高木光茂)
Idioma: Japonés
Marco: El taller

27 de abril: 「 水音」(«The Sound of Water»/«El sonido del agua») de Aiko Tokuzawa (徳沢愛子)
Idioma: Japonés
Marco: Japón, Asia

También colocaremos enlaces a las obras del certamen en nuestra página de Facebook, Mormon Lit Blitz.

Queremos extender un reconocimiento a algunos cuentos más. Los que se enumeran a continuación no se publicarán como parte de este certamen, pero deseamos felicitar a sus autores:

Menciones de Honor:

• «Um Dom Angelical» («Un don angelical») de William Mercês Silva
• «Taiyang Mao – Sunhat» («Taiyang Mao, sombrero de sol») de Jennifer Quist
• 彼方から蘇る記憶 («Memories Reviving from Afar»/«Recuerdos que renacen a lo lejos») de Kazutoshi Ono (小野和俊)
• «El viaje» de Graciela Dantes Carrillo
• «Un día de pesca» de Luis Jorge Verano
• «La cicatriz» de Sergio Nieto
• «Milagros a pedido» de Hércules Antonio Palermo
• «Contra tiempo» de Gabriela Acosta Laurini
• «El ladrón» de Leticia Teresa Pontoni
• «Un día después» de Rosa María Cantero

Esperamos que nos visiten del 15 al 27 de abril para leer las obras finalistas y votar por su favorita.

Los escritores que estén interesados en presentar trabajos para otro concurso lo pueden hacer en el Mormon Lit Blitz. Para dicho concurso, sírvanse mandar un máximo de tres obras breves (extensión máxima de 1 000 palabras) a everydaymormonwriter@gmail.com para el 31 de mayo de 2019. Se reciben cuentos, ensayos, poemas, piezas teatrales, cómics y otras formas de creación literaria que de algún modo puedan ser de interés para el lector santo de los últimos días.

Muito obrigado ao todos que enviaram textos ao Concurso, “Uma Volta ao Mundo com Contos Mórmones”! Recebemos histórias em 6 idiomas de 22 países diferentes e 6 continentes/regiões. Nós escolhemos os doze melhores, e serão publicados aqui no lit.mormonartist.net nos dia 15 a 27 de abril. Os finalistas serão publicados em seus idiomas originais e em inglês.

Os finalistas são:

15 de abril: “Documentary Appendix 1” (“Anexo documental I”) by Gabriel González Núñez
Idioma: Spanish
Locação: Paraná (imaginary country located in what is currently Southern Brazil, Northeastern Argentina, and Uruguay), South America

16 de abril: “TIME a particle” (“TIEMPO una partícula”) by Citlalli H. Xochitiotzin
Idioma: Spanish
Locação: Israel, Middle East

17 de abril: “The Wall of Time” (“La Muralla del Tiempo”) by Camila Andrea Fernández
Idioma: Spanish
Locação: China, Asia

18 de abril: “A Sunday at Laginha” (“Um Domingo na Laginha”) by César Augusto Medina Fortes
Idioma: Portuguese
Locação: Cape Verde, Africa

19 de abril: “The Secret Friend” (“O Amigo Secreto”) by Amanda Araújo de Castro
Idioma: Portuguese
Locação: Brazil, South America

20 de abril: “Two Missions” (“Duas Missões”) by Andreza Castro
Idioma: Portuguese
Locação: Japan, Asia, and the United States, North America

22 de abril: “Tatau” by Lehua Parker
Idioma: English
Locação: Samoa, Oceania

23 de abril: “Victor” by David Hurtado
Idioma: English
Locação: Peru, South America, and the United States, North America

24 de abril: “Let’s Go on a Journey” and “Lucifer’s Monologue” (“LÄHEME RÄNDAMA” and “LUTSIFERI  MONOLOOG”) by Aivar Lembit
Idioma: Estonian
Locação: Estonia, Europe / worldwide

25 de abril: “Shaken” by Jhasmin De Castro
Language: Tagalog
Locação: Philippines, Asia

26 de abril: “The Creation Workshop” (創造教室) by Mitsushige Takaki (高木光茂)
Language: Japanese
Locação: The Workshop

27 de abril: “The Sound of Water” (「 水音」) by Aiko Tokuzawa (徳沢愛子)
Language: Japanese
Locação: Japan, Asia

Links para os finalistas também serão postados em nossa página de Facebook, Mormon Lit Blitz.

Também queremos reconhecer algumas histórias adicionais. As histórias não serão publicados como um parte do concurso, mas queremos parabenizar os autores.

Menções Honrosas:

• “Um Dom Angelical” by William Mercês Silva
• “Taiyang Mao – Sunhat” by Jennifer Quist
• “Memories Reviving from Afar” (彼方から蘇る記憶) by Kazutoshi Ono (小野和俊)
• “El Viaje” by Graciela Dantes Carrillo
• “Un dia de pesca” by Luis Jorge Verano
• “La Cicatriz” by Sergio Nieto
• “Milagros a Pedido” by Hercules Antonio Palermo
• “Contra Tiempo” by Gabriela Acosta Laurini
• “El Ladrón” by Leticia Teresa Pontoni
• “Un Día Después” by Rosa Maria Cantero

Esperamos que você nos visite de 15 a 27 de abril para ler os finalistas e votar no seu favorito.

Autores interessados em se inscrever em um outro concurso podem enviar ao Mormon Lit Blitz. Para o Mormon Lit Blitz, envie até 3 histórias de 1000 palavras ou menos a everydaymormonwriter@gmail.com até 31 de mayo 2019. Nós aceitamos história fictícias, ensaios de não-ficção, poemas, peças teatrais pequeñas, histórias em quadrinhas, ou outra escrita creativa que interessasse aos leitores mórmons de alguma forma.