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.
No one is going to remember you. Fifty years from now, when you’re long gone, when all the pictures of you and your family have decayed like old bones in a cemetery, you’ll be less than nothing.
It will be as if you never even existed.
So what’s the purpose of it all? Why should you pretend to be the good guy, why are you trying to bring judgment upon the world, when the world itself doesn’t want you, doesn’t need you, and most certainly is going to forget you the moment you die? Why would anyone want to be nothing? Continue reading →
The odds of being born on any given day are about 0,27%. Of course, certain days are different than others, due to religious, cultural, or practical reasons. That’s why the odds of being born on Christmas Day are 0.0022%.
I was born on Christmas Day.
You ever hear the expression: “Karma’s a bitch?”
I know, I know. Such a terrible cliche. But it’s kind of true. I never met her, but I can tell you that “bitch” is the best possible definition of karma.
Fate fortunes the bold, the Romans would say.
It does. But she also screws them over, in ways no one could ever possibly imagine.
Like the ancient gods of Greece.
Like the way Zeus screwed mortal men and especially women for centuries.
You know, in that witty and cruel manner that makes you wonder if gods were ever on our side. Continue reading →
I appreciate you coming here, I really do, but you’ve got to stop looking at me like that. You remind me of my shrink. She kept staring at me in such a way, as if I were going to strangle myself with my necktie.
Have you ever heard of Sisyphus? No, it’s not a venereal disease. He was an ancient king. Nasty bastard. He enjoyed killing people. He was deceitful and his greed for power and money was insatiable. Eventually, the gods punished him by making him roll a boulder up a hill, but before he could reach the top, the boulder would always roll back down, so he would never complete his task.
Like Prometheus, who was punished by having his liver eaten by an eagle every day only for it to grow back and be eaten again the next day.
If you thought you were smarter than Zeus, he would punish you in a way you’d never forget. Continue reading →
I’m a writer. I spent over fourteen years telling myself this. Reading at least a book a week since I was fourteen, spending hours daily punching those damn keys, hoping to be rewarded by the muse with something that someone else can call beautiful.
And, yes, from time to time I did doubt it. I still do.
We have wings glued to our backs, yet sometimes we forget that we can fly. We opt to crawl through life instead.
But the truth is that we’re all writers. In one way or another. We wouldn’t exist otherwise. You see, we have language, so we can speak. We can speak, so we can tell a story. We can tell a story, so we can write.
It’s really that simple.
People have wanted stories since they were painting them inside their caves. This desire is what’s kept The Illiad and The Odyssey alive for so long. And it isn’t just belief in God that keeps the Bible breathing.
It’s the stories.
If we didn’t need stories, the world would be perfect. Or empty.
To paraphrase Balzac, solitude is fine but you need someone to tell that solitude is fine. Life is only as beautiful as the stories that define it.
You’re alive, you have a story to tell. A story to write.
On a cold and dark night of December I wrote my first story. It was for the first time that I had the vision, that my eyes saw more than what was right there, in front of me, that my ears heard more, and my mouth wanted to speak in a voice that was louder than ever before.
I wanted to reach people, I wanted to share with them the same dream I had. It was happiness in a way that you know it can only last for a few moments, that kind of happiness you could never expect to last longer. I was happy because I knew what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Continue reading →
For any aspiring writer, a rejection letter, regardless of the provenience of said letter, is one of the most dreaded of objects. In this line of work getting rejected is considered a sort of literary murder – people are knowingly destroying something you’ve spent time on, and a lot of it. But the thing is everyone got rejected, more or less. I can think of very few instances when writers found publishers/agents from the first try. Or the second, or the tenth. Continue reading →
I woke up this morning to a pretty cool surprise. I had reached 40,000 followers on this blog, which is kind of a big deal, at least to me.
When I first started blogging a year and a few months ago I couldn’t possibly imagine that so many people would like my writing. To be frank, I didn’t even know what I wanted to write about, or if I had anything to say. I knew that I wanted to become a self-published writer, and I knew that I wouldn’t give up. I made myself this promise: that I would be relentless in this pursuit, no matter what. And I’d just keep blogging and writing.
A lot of indie writers ask themselves if blogging can help their careers. Today I’m going to answer this question. Continue reading →
A lot of people got offended by a recent post of mine. Or, well, they thought the first sentence was offensive. And even though I wrote a disclaimer later on, I still got plenty of angry comments and stuff. And even though I’m used to people missing the point, I fear that too many have missed the point here.
So, let me explain. The post, or the first sentence (which is actually from George Bernard Shaw’s Man and Superman) is not about teachers, as in high-school teachers. So if you teach Physics or Maths or whatever, you’ve got no reason to be offended. I have the utmost respect for teachers of any kind, and I believe education is the only way we can truly become human. We gain knowledge and culture and understanding of what it means to be a human being. So, yeah, that wasn’t the point. Continue reading →