Me, Marcel Proust and Others
Marcel Proust, it is said, had coffee and a croissant for breakfast. I usually drink tea. Sometimes coffee. Croissants eat occasionally. Maybe the secret is in the correct combination and sequence? But how can I get a fresh croissant every morning at seven o'clock?!
I remember my first creative writing at my mom’s work on an old typing machine. Childish joy of pressing the keys turned into writing my first tale in a form of letters from a girl who lived in another country.
Since I was a passionate reader I expanded my vocabulary and improved my writing. From my father I inherited a long sentence ‘disease’ I still suffer from. That was not appreciated by my school language teacher. She criticized half a page length clauses and marked them with disgusting worms left with her red pen.
My talkativeness released later in a form of letters to my distance friends. A significant number of those letters were poetic. Other poetry of the time of my youth was written due to my romantic and artistic personality and fancy for reading poems.
Love experiences of that age resulted in short stories. Pleasant moments - in poems and sketches; negative experience demanded a narrative with the death of a main character. By killing a guy I simply ended a real affair.
A huge wave of my extensive writing came upon when I left home and started my overseas work. I desperately needed to share my feelings, emotions, excitement, despair. Thus my letters-stories began. Slowly, by testing words and acquiring experience, I developed my style and language. Recently about 20 best stories (out of more than 70) I edited and posted for the internet audience.
However, the fame of Marcel Proust, Toni Morrison, Anton Chekhov and Truman Capote does not let me sleep well.
I remember my first creative writing at my mom’s work on an old typing machine. Childish joy of pressing the keys turned into writing my first tale in a form of letters from a girl who lived in another country.
Since I was a passionate reader I expanded my vocabulary and improved my writing. From my father I inherited a long sentence ‘disease’ I still suffer from. That was not appreciated by my school language teacher. She criticized half a page length clauses and marked them with disgusting worms left with her red pen.
My talkativeness released later in a form of letters to my distance friends. A significant number of those letters were poetic. Other poetry of the time of my youth was written due to my romantic and artistic personality and fancy for reading poems.
Love experiences of that age resulted in short stories. Pleasant moments - in poems and sketches; negative experience demanded a narrative with the death of a main character. By killing a guy I simply ended a real affair.
A huge wave of my extensive writing came upon when I left home and started my overseas work. I desperately needed to share my feelings, emotions, excitement, despair. Thus my letters-stories began. Slowly, by testing words and acquiring experience, I developed my style and language. Recently about 20 best stories (out of more than 70) I edited and posted for the internet audience.
However, the fame of Marcel Proust, Toni Morrison, Anton Chekhov and Truman Capote does not let me sleep well.