[short story] jouska

“If you could dream any dream you wanted, what would you dream about?”

“I don’t know. The possibilities are endless.”

“Wouldn’t you dream about the life you are living right now?”

“No… why would I do that?”

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[short story] crossroads

“El sueño de la razón produce monstruos.”

Francisco Goya

His chest felt heavy, his legs tired. Dead leaves rustled under his feet. Nailed to the sky, the moon’s sardonic smile quivered among a cluster of cold stars. His body just a coffin for his soul, Robert seemed to take every footstep with infinite precaution, as if fearing that the dirt road would swallow his feet.

On each side, pine trees stood tall. Ancient guardians.

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[short story] basorexia

All he was aware of was her. He was aware of her face, of the dress she wore, the distance between them. In this gap, in all the words that he had yet to say to her, was the promise of a great life. His heart was beating slowly but hard. He had never felt so sure of himself, so bewildered by the ease of what he was about to do.

A friend once asked him, “How does she make you feel?”

“She reminds me of winter,” he said.

“You hate winter. You hate the cold,” this friend replied.

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Does Your Why Make You Cry?

My home country of Romania is last in the European Union when it comes to reading books. The book market here is the stuff of nightmares for any writer.

What do these two sentences mean?

I shouldn’t be able to do what I do. I shouldn’t have attempted it. And I don’t think that you ever gave it a thought while reading my posts.

My parents never read a single thing I wrote because my words are foreign to them. They never read my stories or novels. Odds are, they never will. They never understood my dream of becoming a writer. Nor did they encourage it. But they also didn’t try to talk me out of it. Too often.

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Why Failing is (Actually) a Good Thing

failing

They say you can’t beat a man who doesn’t give up.

The first piece of writing I ever wrote was rubbish. And I kept on adding more rubbish. Then I wrote something else. And then someone said I was a retard. And I wanted to prove them wrong.

I’ve failed time and time again. In all aspects of life.

The first novel I self-published sold 4 copies in 4 months. It got a single 2 star review on Goodreads, and then I unpublished the damn thing.

And yet I didn’t give up.

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