No special reflection this time. Just a poem from the archives, as the work, the worries and the projects have got a bit overwhelming. I always try to do too much. Bog So long I dragged my body over gravel and ice chips, coals and shifting drifts of dust. So often you crouched to lift me as my … Read more
Fiction writers, does this sound familiar? “I want to write a story, but I don’t have any ideas!” YAWN. Look, I know the feeling. But you can’t use that excuse anymore. Why? Because I’m about to give you a story-generating tool that’ll leave you with no excuses. Except maybe that you have no time. I respect … Read more
It all started with Joyeux Noël. I watched it in January, fell in love, and decided I was missing out by not watching more foreign films. Anton Tchékhov 1890 followed, seen in a Novosibirsk theater (Russian-dubbed), and then later in the summer I rented a few films advertised in the theater’s own French film festival. Add to that an upcoming … Read more
The magic is in the revision. That’s something I had to remind myself about, while writing this poem. You see, the first draft of this was just … so … BLAH. I wrote it in my notebook late at night before bed, and in spite of the “inspired” feeling that started it, it wasn’t as … Read more
Recently, my Russian tutor had me read this snippet from Russian Modernist poet Nikolay Zabolotsky: … что есть красота и почему её обожествляют люди? Сосуд она, в котором пустота, или огонь, мерцающий в сосуде? Or, loosely translated: … what is beauty and why do we worship it? Is it a vessel for emptiness, or a fire in a vessel, … Read more