I dip in and out of writing. Something is simmering beneath the surface. Three women, memories of three lives, each carrying some elements of me inside her. I connect to them, get lost in their lives, I confuse them, then try to separate them back and mould them into three independent characters. I try to… Read More scribbles from a notebook
I watch her eyes as she watches the news. I watch the fear almost spilling out. Behind the glass windows – A horror movie. A helpless ninety year old woman – Beaten in her bed. Wheelchairs parked in the middle of the night – In the corridor. Slumping wrinkled bodies sleeping – In the wheelchairs… Read More Mama, you will always be home
being a writer means that I’m either writing, thinking about writing and about my characters’s lives, constantly weaving alternative narrative lines in my head. But it also means that I live two parallel lives – the one real life, and then a second life, which is lived through words, within the folds of notebooks. There, when… Read More monologue on the wall
Yesterday was the first time in my life I participate in a workshop with a performing artist and storyteller. Being a writer is a form of storytelling, but being a performing storyteller is different. On some levels, these two forms are the same, but on other levels they are different. They are the same in… Read More a workshop in storytelling
just a fragment from my current work-in-progress. raw and unedited. Hayat | in her voice | a woman’s monologue I will tell her everything tonight. Not because I need to justify my choices or defend them in any way, not because she deserves to know the truth, and not because I feel any need to… Read More Hayat | in her voice | a woman’s monologue
