19 January 2021
The two year anniversary of my self-publishing journey!
I don’t remember how it all started, my first book – is it a book really? – was a collection of absurd stories posted on the blog, blended genres full of grotesque erotica, satire, sci-fi, adult humor, and surreal fiction. I remember how one day someone proposed to publish a book. I’m not sure who it was but let me say thank you. If he or she hadn’t asked, I would probably never have dared because I never dreamed of becoming a writer.
In the world in which I grew up, the profession of writer didn’t exist. My family was a simple working-class family in the USSR, and also poor. My mother worked two jobs: from 8am to 5pm, and then from 7pm to midnight (or later) for ten years. All she wanted for me was a good education that would give me a stable income. But look, now I am a writer…
I know that my books aren’t perfect. In my position, very difficult to strive for perfection:
- I don’t speak English daily
- I never learned English grammar (self-taught)
I’m writing what I like, and the most crucial detail in the book I’m picking at the store or library is its style.
A writer’s style is like a face. Too many books are faceless, even those driven by plot or character.
If someone loves to read what – or it’s best to say “how” – I’m writing, it’s good enough for me. I’m writing for the joy of it. I’m the author of sketches and types. I don’t dig deep into psychology, perhaps, because even though it’s a fascinating subject for an ordinary human being, we will never understand what makes the person tick or why they kill, or what pushes them to do unimaginable things to another creature. I’ll leave it to those who enjoy writing it. We are all different, and there’s a beauty in it.
Time after time, I say “Go Away” to the story that suddenly arrives at the doorstep of my empty mind, and sometimes it is listening. I don’t know why, but I feel happy when it leaves me. I’m thankful to Cadmus (the Greek God of Writing) and Thoth (the Egyptian God of wisdom, magic, and writing) that I do not encounter the heroes or parts of my stories separately; instead, I see the stories as a whole. That’s why my heroes aren’t deeply researched portraits, but only strokes on a white field of paper, the letters creating a mood or delivering a lonely note, or illogical news. They are like a postman: imagine their brief visit to your door, knock-knock, and the next second – they are gone…
Next post – Untamed Wilderness