Category: anti hero


I thought that I had it all under control. How wrong was I? Well, forget it. That was just rhetorical.

Under control. Sounds so mature and adult.

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But that’s never the case, anyway, with writers, and weird artists, is it.

When I look back on the summer vacations of the kids which rather sooner than later come to a close, I get a little panicky. What is it that I achieved so far? And Spanish summer vacations are long, they are like an aeon. I really hope that school starts over soon. I want to get back to be able to do things again. Get back in the saddle. Get along. Move on.

There is something inside me that feels kind of paralyzed or haunted or even cursed by the recent things I had the doubtful pleasure to be involved in, being the protagonist, one mean want to add.

I feel out of sorts. Emotionally all over the place. Fed up and wasted. Running on empty.

Left alone. Sometimes abandoned by friends.

Misunderstood. THat’s the most awful but also powerful feeling of all.

And kind of like this permanent underachiever.

Believe me, would you have the chance to talk to some of my previous teachers or friends who’ve known me from my early tens and until my mid twenties, you’d know that underachiever is not something that springs to mind when talking about me. And yet, recently, my life seems to have amounted to that of a huge failure.

For whom is it worse?

For the one who never had success?

For the one who tasted success and kind of tripped, stumbled and fell?

For the one who was always successful?

And what’s more? Is it true? Is this what I am? A failure.

Society wise, I am probably one. Mother, not even holding down a decent job in more than ten years. Always jobbing in McJobs. Not getting anywhere. Yes, failure.

Personally, I wouldn’t consider myself that much of a failure. I am someone who knows a whole lot of things. I am fluent in a couple of languages, I read a lot, I am on top of things, with my family and with my kids. We have a great life in terms of being a family. That is something that kind of psyches me a lot.

So what happens here? Is this the reason, why I am so unhappy? Don’t I allow myself to be happy just because i don’t have a decent job here? It sure isn’t for the lack of trying. Ibiza is fickle. I think I belong here. But being perceived as a failure by some few outsiders who just look at the very surface of things, that is something I should try to throw overboard. I do feel sad when I find that people only see my outward image and the failure to fit in to a society that doesn’t allow for freaks like me… It does make me feel that they should see my positive traits, it’s something that kind of brings me down. Is this mature? No, it surely isn’t. But I cannot help it. I still feel that everyone should tell me “Attaboy” every once in a while. And I can see that this is where a lot of problems within my life come from. This feeling of wanting to be the winner, the super achiever, the feeling that you can only be loved, if you are the winner.

What happened here? Am I hardwired to be only think I’d be loveable when I win? Do I even have the slightest chance to be happy in life? I feel happy for my kids. Because there seems to be something I must have done right, cos we are so close to each other. They tell me things. I see them grow up as happy and also as self confident little individuals, all with very different personalities. Why can’t I be like this? Why am I still so full of doubts, so unsecure about myself? Why am I still on the edge of everything when I should relax and enjoy life?

The answer seems simple. I just can’t. There are questions inside of me.

Questions that are still not answered. And questions that will never be answered.

Is it this reality shift that doesn’t allow people to step out of this huge shadow that society makes us perceive people without a permanent job? When I was younger, I was very straight-laced, very much the daughter of two doctors, very immune to any social ladder, and absolutely sure that I would never stumble or fall down. So when at age 18 I moved out, things were quite different. I had perceived things through a certain angle that was no longer there. So I rearranged my views. And that was hard, but I managed to do it, or rather undo that which was due to the way I was brought up. I grew up in this middle class family, with two aspiring doctors, and we were three children at home. I was the only girl, the middle child.

I must admit, I am someone who doubts everything. I doubt everyone, every day, every second of my life.

Maybe, writers must be like this, doubting, pondering, doubting again, I thought. But some aren’t like this. So that argument doesn’t cut it either.

There are people who have the most bulletproof egoes I have ever seen. But the truth is I do not belong to them. If you deal with me, doubt will be part of the experience. And it’s not even a conscious decision. It’s inherent in my nature, but somehow the doubt is projected onto me. And I don’t move along smoothly, I always tend to stumble through life, rather than walk upright. This is not effortless motion, it’s a tour de fource. Never mind stepping up a ladder. It’s not in my genes.

Maybe, it’s still my father’s death lingering over my head like a huge dark cloud that kind of hovers around, sometimes leaving me in peace, and sometimes not.

I could really think that this still is affecting me. It might still be the case. But come on, my father and me, we had an ongoing fight who was stronger, throughout my life. And I reckon I kind of gave way, because here he is, beating me to it. It’s not that life with him was always easy, but it was a hell of an intense father-daughter relationship which somehow made me the person I am. So either way, I am thankful for what my dad gave me. Be it his mental skills, his emotional depth, his love for music or his deeply rooted love for nature and more than anything his deep understanding of people as a species. He understood all of them. Correct, he understood all of them, except one. And that was me.

Maybe, it’s the fact that I did not achieve the goals that I set for myself.
What kind of goals were these?

I wanted to move forward. I had this weird impression I wasn’t going anywhere. I so wanted to find a publisher. But as I am writing these lines, I got nothing more than warm words and therefore I am still at ground zero with that. It seems not to happen like this. My novel is finished, but it’s this missing feeling of closure. I am very happy with it, but I cannot seem to find a publisher who is eager enough to publish it.

Maybe it’ll happen but hey, who am I kidding? It gives of the scent of a big fat white lie. Probably nobody wants to read the novel, and I should accept it and move on.

And with all of what happened in between set goals and not achieving them, I had two jobs in between, some money rip offs that happened to me, and more than a handful quite shady job opportunities. It’s just weird. When I apply for a job, people seem to think that I should bring money with me and not the other way round, which made me somewhat reluctant on that front. And I do have a home office, and internet, the right mindset, and what not. But the truth is that I am half employed, half unemployed. Right now the time of being unemployed has just begun.

That again doesn’t help to raise my spirits.

I always look out for new jobs, but it’s somewhat weird to look for a job, that seems to only exist in terms of self-employment. But I can’t do that. I cannot risk making myself self-employed without the perspective of getting a single dollar (or euro) and still be paying 250€ per month to get the bird off the ground. It’s all very tricky.

Some of my friends have been picking on me, calling me irresponsible, calling me worse than irresponsible, making me feel even worse, kind of letting me know that they of course have the patent recipe for all of this. We should all move back to Germany. Oh, how great is that? I would think that after almost seven years of living in Ibiza this is the most insane thing I could of.

I would rather pick stones in a Russian camp for dissidents or eagerly slash my wrists than going back there. I was so suicidal, so damn and downright unhappy and sooooo alone back there. There is no way on this earth that I am going back to this country that made me suffer this much.

So, what am I left with?

I will have to make do.

Maybe, it would be a great time to throw away the expectations I had when I was twelve, and get new ones. Just be happy with who you are. Love who you are and love people around you. And accept life for what it is.

Since I am not really practical, I have been failing at that gloriously. But that’s what true artists are really good at.

Failing.

They make an artful of their broken images and their shattered hopes.

Badass girls rule!

Badass girls rule!

The title might sound a bit juvenile to some but I need to come clean. I have a question. Why are not more people badass? Why can’t I be bothered with non-badass style?

Ok, science and fact books are exempted. I am talking fiction and fiction only here.

I came to notice that the authors I do tend to read and like to re-read are essential badass guys.

– E.A. Poe – William Shakespeare – Charles Baudelaire – Arthur Rimbaud

There are heaps more and also quite a number of more recent ones and this whole post would be pretty tiring if I started enumerating them but it really struck me why I get such a kick from desasters, chaos, mayhem, destruction and real bad story endings. Why instead don’t I feel the same intensity and need to reach for serene books, for happy endings, for nice, politically correct people, for something light, for something that does not end in death or in chaos, or in both, for that matter.

Triggered by a friend’s post (http://networkedblogs.com/Htmkc), I thought about which books we get to read in our lives, and which ones we happily skip reading and why we choose them. I guess, after all, when you take off the mask of being more or less academic and the natural question of whether or not you like a certain style of writing,… you end up with what?

Yes, that’s right. It’s a purely biological question. You end up with the same choice as on the playground, at school or at uni or at work: Are you going to be enchanted and swayed by the cultivated and silent guy with the sweet smile or are you deep down a little bitch, yourself a little badass (guy or girl) who wishes for something darker, something a little menacing, with a little bit animal inside?

The kind of guy who is not such good marriage material and who you’d rather seeing and enjoying for a short while, have the time of your life, and cry when he’s gone. Ok, ok, I got you. The one who is cultivated and clean, that’s the guy you date, you present your parents with, the one you keep at home. The other one that’s the one who have the dirty dreams about. I totally get it.

In fact, it is not so uncommon at all. You don’t have to be ashamed to have made this decision. And that is so understandable. Cos when you have kids, you need someone reliable, plus in the current climate and the world pretty much being a pretty fucked up place, you’d rather just muse about than head for the badass guy in real life. That could be pretty tiresome.

So, what are we after all? Cowards? Dreamers? Sentimental beings who always want what they can’t have? Are we simply acting according to a great master plan, being the cornerstone of the mere biological necessity of reproduction, that lets us women believe that the badass guy will be a good breeder (sorry guys), and that the good guy would physically not come close to the animal?

Hmm, tricky question that one. I guess that is something I cannot entirely answer myself. Of course, we are governed by biology, but there is also the intellect and some other factors which make this whole match-making thing all the more exciting. Plus there is always the chance of development.

I guess you c-a-n eat the cookie and keep it, but that’s another story. Let’s stick to topic.

I don’t know. To be perfectly honest, I do believe that we – both men and women – are really way more biologically governed, and way more badass than some of us care to believe. Deep down inside, there is this want for something raw, something essential and archaic. Something you lose your breath for, something that keeps you panting. That lets you smile because you hardly have the power to turn over after having had the sex of your life, because you just gave it all and feel totally wasted and empty.

So what’s the story?

The recent heyday of books like “50 shades of grey” is a nightmare, no, sorry, it is just one of these polished books that I refuse to read. Even held at gunpoint, I would not read it. Well, ok that one might do it, but still. Nothing I believe in will make me read it voluntarily. Not because it is “too dirty”, not because I would be “shocked”. No, I can safely rule that one out, as far as I am concerned. I just can’t be bothered. I just don’t like books which have been hyped too strong. And 50 shades of grey seems to belong into the category “one size fits all”. Well, let me tell you what. It ain’t.

I read a lot. A lot. And a lot of different books. What I do like is when sex is a minor character, when sex comes in as a kind of bonus, something unaccounted for, something casual. Something that happens and where you are utterly led astray. When I read a sex scene, which I would love to do more often, I end up mostly being bitterly disappointed. Some scenes may be too decorated, too rehearsed, to fancy, too overly clean or too kinky-hip… When I read about sex I want things to be worth my while. I want to read about the real thing. I want to be get the feeling, that there are two people (man/woman, man/man, woman/woman, I don’t really care) who are really engaged with one another. The ultimate climax (sorry for the pun…) for me as a reader, but also as an author is that the reader is led to a moment where he/she can imagine something which turns on.

Things can get too visual. Therefore, the treatment of sex in books is something which is difficult to achieve plus a tension which makes the scene believable.

I want to be able to find the words prick, pussy and fuck in a mature and modern way, grown up sex without the excuse of being kinky, and without having to hide like a six-year-old having used a four letter word. I don’t want to be afraid that someone puts a piece of soap in my mouth to have it washed.

Sex is a beautiful thing. So why waste it with the authors who act like mental wankers?

Sex is one of the never-out-of-date and never-out-of-style topics. Why is it so damn hard to get it right in the picture and in the book? We show so much flesh, so much skin in every goddamn commercial, but we get so prudish and Victorian about something that is surely more human than other things that get spread each and every day.

So. Basically, sorry I got carried away for a moment. The main topic: Is badass style something we need and if so, why?

To me, it is a necessity since it is part of human nature. There have always been the good heroes without a flaw, the badass guy, the antihero, the essential lost boy and the lost girl as a topic. If you look at literature, even the most classic ones, you will find it. No doubt. And it does tend to be the badass character, who is more interesting and more three-dimensional.

So, whenever you get to choose, think of my words: The badass character is the more interesting one. The one that lets you dream. The one you lose your tightened grip on reality for a small moment and paints a smile upon your face, thinking what if…

Long live the badass characters. And the authors who are brave enough to create them.

Long live the badass guys and girls out there.

I guess, none of us really thought that this world might come to an end, well, at least not now, not today, and not because some Mayan calendar ends with today’s date.

Well, if truth be told, the weird thing is… I will always remember this date in the future cos it’s been a very special day for me.

In at least two ways: I received truly good news regarding two very important things in my life. And secondly, I finally managed to see that I am overloading myself, pushing myself way too much, and have the urgent wish to downshift quickly so I don’t break down one day. And I made a decision as to which things I am going to deal with first.

Ok, here is the treat I promised 😉

As promised, here is some Hugh Jackman in his first acting role (1995, Australia, Rat’s Tamer, pilot of Correlli mini series). He plays Kevin Jones, a jail inmate who has been beaten up so severely that he suffers from memory loss, amnesia and some mental disorders. He plays the role uncannily well.

Little bit of tittle tattle. The jail psychologist by his side in this clip is his soon to be his (future) wife in real life. Deborah Furness who is 13 years his senior and who was the star of this series. To be honest, they are both very good and very convincing in their respective roles. I just got my Rat’s Tamer dvd and I love him in that series.

The more Hugh Jackman I see, the more addicted I become. He should take on more difficult, conflictive roles again. The Wolverine role is surely well cast but he is such a fine actor and it would be a shame if this talent would come to a standstill by being wasted with one-dimensional characters.

You have classics such as Carlos Castaneda “The teachings of Don Juan”, you have William S. Borroughs “Naked Lunch” and then there are Kathy Acker “Blood and guts in highschool” and tons of people who tried to jump the bandwagon. In the 90’s we have Irvine Welsh who is not just the “Trainspotting” but also the author of “Acid House”… But probably one of the more unknown ones, there is an 80’s novel by the back then still unknown American author Bret Easton Ellis. He wrote this novel at age 21 and it’s called “Less than zero”. Later on, it was made a movie with Robert Downey Jr. who himself quite often struggled with being on and off drugs.
I want to talk about this book since it was an eye opener for me. In many ways.

Back then when it came out, I was still at school when it came out. But as soon as I lived in Ireland I would make sure to read it.
I actually first read the book and then saw the film.
The whole book is a good sized package. It includes so many good streaks about modern western society that you cannot even say it is purely a drugs book because it would not be true.

Ellis lets us into the heart of American culture. Their obsessions, the silence within families that asphyxiating silence, and the pure hedonism of a youth centered culture.

It is still an easy read and a fast paced novel. At the end of the day, you see a group of friends shaken and faced with being part of a system that is pretty glamorous on the outside but sometimes proves to be a pitfall, and allows for more and more people to stumble, fall and not get back up again.

The part of Julian who is the heroic anti hero, the guy whose life falls spectacularly apart is so heavy that sometimes you keep asking yourself how Downey Jr was able to carry this off with such lightness and with such ease and charme.

Anyone who is wondering about the term spoilt brat, brat generation or generation x should read up on Ellis. He wrote for the generation x. For some Ellis is THE generation x author. The generation x covers the between 1965 -1975 born ones. It is a narrow generation but neither before nor after did we find ourselves inmidst a maelstrom of cultural decadence, affluence, and the feeling that everything would be possible some day not too far away, and these kids lived by it and through it. Let’s face it… My generation, we were growing up in absolute affluence, and the sometimes insane feeling that anything was possible. As long as you had the money to buy it, hire it or do it.

In gold digger terms: Boomtown years. The years of 1985 until 1999 more or less. I would make the cut here. You could argue and include 2000 but there was already the sign of an decreasing economy so I would just go as far and include 1999. In any case, 9-11 was the already a totally different era.

I will expand on the historic dimension and also on the impact of politics, terrorism and education another time since it would somehow make this article expand too much, but the crucial point is this: we – our generation – took the drugs because… Just because.  We simply could. It was a juvenile try out. It was somehow recreational. Like people do wellness or yoga. Speed, acid and pot were the yoga and bling bling of the mid-late 80’s and throughout the 90’s.  The money was there. Jobs were plenty. People were well off. Cold war had ended. There was no imminent war with anyone except for the gulf war. Everyone was relatively rich in the 80’s and beginning 90’s. So… The brat generation was born. Douglas Coupland called us generation x. But I find brat generation much more apt cos ours was the first ever generation after ww2 that was totally free in terms of freedom of speech, had received good education, was not forced to make do, but was rather encouraged to spend more time studying, and this would pay off, and still even students had plenty of money and other amenities through their parents, through society and the way the world was in. The basic word that comes to mind would be squander.

The funny thing is… 2000 was already the end of the dot com area and the high fly dreams of many many people.

So, just in case you should also belong to the generation x or brat pack, go out and read “Less than zero” and you will understand many things, looking into the rear mirror so to speak.

Plus it is a fast book that gets you hooked from the first moment. One thing I very much liked about Ellis and his style was that his stories sound like reality. These people are pretty much all out there. The situations too.

Julian is a true anti-hero, a lost boy, a kind and very weak character. Even though someone should protect him, he finds himself on a trip, caught in a downward spiral and we become voyeuristic witnesses of what he has to go through. The end is something very un-american and that is why I like so much about this book.

This is one of these books that you read, then put it aside, pick it up again and re-read it.
It is a very good novel about friendship, decadence, power and power abuse, drugs and the  principle “the show must go on”.

If you are afraid of reading a “drug book”, take it easy. “Less than Zero” is a read that shows and combines drugs, social decline and misery, but it is not as outspoken as others books earlier mentioned.

Should “Less Than Zero” be too lame and too boring, too harmless for you, try “Naked Lunch” instead.
Having said that, I do not find it lame or boring in any way, it is subtle. I really prefer “Less Than Zero” to “Naked Lunch”.

In case, you are interested in the urban novel, try and read Jay McInerney. “Bright Lights, Big City”. Here we have a sweet case of love, heartbreak and obsession. The coke he is snorting, the affect that the drugs have on him and the constant partying is a sideline but it is like it is an antagonist of the story-teller. Another generation x novel.

Ok. Admitted, I like wild story turns. The wilder, the better. Today I am going to talk about an old story topic, Amor and Psyche.

I have to go back a little bit for this. I grew up immersed in the world of Ancient Greece and Rome, with books about Mars, Apollon, Zeus, Artemis, Hera, and all the others. My passion for Ancient Greek and Roman mythology and its surrounding culture was kindled early in life since I attended a classic grammar school from age 9 and started out with Latin as a first second language to be followed by Ancient Greek later on, and some more languages. Through the love and passion of my Latin teacher who also happened to be my class teacher (thank you so much, Mrs Elisabeth Lebek), this passion grew and spread like a wild fire. And I was not tyhe only one. All of our class were the same, we all kind of fell in love with the ancient mythology and the world of gods and godesses, heroes and heroines. We explored all the myths, looked at the tales, discussed them, perused all the school library books, we acted in plays, we re-enacted scenes on the playground, we devoured all the writings where immortals and mortals would mingle. It kept us enchanted, we looked at its beauty wide-eyed, mystified and with immense awe. And what’s more, we would always hope for a good story ending, set alight by the story, it was a feverish and never ending wish, we would pray for one good story ending, and go on to read the next one straight away… and rarely we were deceived. All the ancient mythologies have a good ending or at least an ending that can be called “fair” to some extent.

I can safely say that this was a strong impression and it somewhat reflects the classic mindset that the good has to win and the bad has to yield and / or has to be destroyed. The inherent order of the golden age could and must not be destroyed. All sounds pretty naive when you think about it from a post-post-modern point of view. But as children, we could not tear our eyes away from these tales. I remember many nights spent with a torch underneath the duvet so I could read on and would find out if my heroes would fare well. And so they did. In most cases anyway.

I will now share one of my favorite tales with you: Amor and Psyche by Apuleius.

“Amor and Psyche” is a tale about Amor, the beautiful son of Venus, and the immensely beautiful but mortal (!) daughter Psyche who happens to be a king’s daughter. It is a very early version of Romeo and Juliet in my book only this one ends differently. Mortals and immortals don’t mix. So, where is the punchline? I would say the punchline is that because this love is so utterly and immensely forbidden, it is a red-hot searing and all consuming love. The one where your knees go weak. And that’s the nice bit of this story. Somehow, because a more adult theme is played, and because the protagonists don’t exactly do as they’re told (they both don’t, Amor does not obey his mother and Psyche does not do as told by Amor) and so you don’t really expect a good ending.

You think that Amor and Psyche have tried the patience of the ancient gods a little too hard and therefore, they might be punished and they might be cast asunder. But this does not happen, stop, it does – but the ending is still one that unites the couple, never mind the hair rasing twists in this story: This tale ends well. And the reader is amidst the action. He is carried with the frenzy, it is not boring, not in one moment. It simply works. The reader wants the couple to reunite, even though they have been playing against the rules. And they do reunite.

But it does not end where all our children’s fairy tales end, in a dreamy, soft coloured, plush, marshmallow, sugary sweet candy world. It ends well, it is a nice tale, but a twisted one. So far so good. No?

The thing is… Lately, I have been thinking about the need for logic, for exactness, for accuracy, for a plot which is logical and also for authenticity. In terms of being a writer, I really prefer to go a long way to be pretty accurate to being so-so and wishy-washy. But when it comes to artistic freedom, I also like to have a fair portion of that too. So, isn’t that a bit too much to ask for? Can you have both?

Can you have authentic tales with a fairy tale ending? Can the human imagination take this or is it simply too long a stretch? I think it can. I will show you how this one goes.

First, I would like to come back to Amor and Psyche which is a fantastic example of how a tale can manipulate the reader as long as the underlying story or the concept is a good one. The concept underneath the story is pretty clear cut: immortals don’t normally mix with mortals. Don’t mess with Venus. She is one to dish out straight away. An enraged Venus always spells BIG trouble back at the Olymp. But there is something that can overrule this.

What could that be? What concept could be overriding Venus if not LOVE itself?

Yes, of course, Amor falls for Psyche as well. He does not obey his mother, whose plan was that she wanted to marry Psyche to an ugly and horrible demon. Only because Psyche was a wee bit more beautiful than she was and therefore Venus basically wanted to get rid of her. Sounds all too human? It certainly is. The depiction of the gods and godesses in ancient times bear witness of the nature of a perfectly human character. So, in effect, Venus wants to get her throne back as the most beautiful goddess and as a woman. How so? Since Psyche was so incredibly beautiful, people stopped being devoted to Venus, worshipping her. This in turn of course did not wash well with her.

Seeing Psyche, all these people adored and worshipped her instead, this mortal child, which enraged her.

Amor, Venus’s son, with an order by Venus sets out to obey his mother and tries to marry Psyche off to an ugly demon so she would be basically out of the picture. What did Amor do? …

He spoke to the god of winds and had the trustful and obeying Psyche (about to marry the demon) swept away by winds and brought to his little hide-away where he could meet up secretly with Psyche since her beauty had also swept him away. … Because he did not want anyone to know about his little tête-a-tête he only saw her at night when she would not see him at all. Um, so far, so good.

He hid away with Psyche at night, not disclosing his identity to her in fear she might talk to other people and they would be found out.

However, Psyche’s envious and down right bad sisters tried the naive Psyche by telling her into thinking that she did not marry a man but a snake instead. Accordingly, she waited upon him one night and held an oil lamp and a sword above his body to find out who he was. A drop of hot oil fell down and burned Amor who woke up and in turn was enraged with Psyche who did not do as told. He went away and left her alone which made her desolate and only added onto her feeling to miss him awfully. So far so bad.

Venus also found out since the sisters were also present and blabbered out the secret. I don’t want to record the whole story here but the tale continues with some really hair-raising story turns…  And yet, it ends well. Even though there is a long way around, there are some severe obstacles, the thorns indeed help to make the rose more beautiful. And so, I guess, Amor and Psyche is a typical example of why some stories even though they are not credible, in a strict sense, may still work for the reader.

There is a huge twist needed here to reunite our lovers again. But it does happen… Read for yourself. This is a link to an English translation of the Latin original by William Adlington http://www.sacred-texts.com/cla/cap/index.htm

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And guess what? Now I am totally intrigued. Could this concept also work the other way around?… Can you imagine to have a story that ends really badly for a hero and still have lots of hair-raising story turns without losing your readership and / or losing your credibility? How much can a reader take in terms of wild story turns or why do some stories work and some others simply don’t?

(To be continued)

Ok, you may say now that it is light-hearted to open up a new blog just for the sake of pre-publishing a story. Well, I found it better than to enclose the catalan story in here since this blog is chiefly written in English and I would it to remain that way. I think for me it will hopefully prove the right step at the right time. Please feel free to share this and tell anyone you know who might want to read a creative story in catalan.

It is nothing new that writing in a language which is not your own does have it difficulties. But at the same time I know there is this story inside of me and I really want to get the thing off my chest. It started with a harmless two pager that I wrote up when I was 21 or 22. Ever since then, I have been thinking up the same story over and over again, in different scenarios and with different characters. Somehow, it never felt quite right for some reason or other. Now, here we are, May 2012, the shape is fitting, the timing is right and the story is ready to see the light of day. The story has grown a bit more complex, it right now has 21 chapters, of some planned 30 chapters (+/-1). Even in a language which is not my own. I hope you will enjoy taking a fast-paced ride through a universe which may be unknown to most of you. Cos that’s what it is and what you can expect: a story built around the protagonist’s character. He is somewhat sympathetic, somewhat meandering, somewhat a modern tramp, despite all his shortcomings, you need to feel sympathy for him, and then, he is most certainly an anti-hero, trapped in a world he does not find the emergency exit door. We are thrown right into a downright dark story, a tour de force of set in Ibiza in the Balearic Isles. Pau, a late twenty-something, sucked up into the negativity of dealing and stealing, which does not help him really since he is a clean heroin junkie. We watch and witness him being caught up between his girlfriend, a new hit of heroin, another crazy night with his friends, being pushed around by the police and some underworld thugs with pretty violent manners. We watch Pau descend ever deeper and deeper into a downward spiral, oscillating between life and death more than once.

The only question that can remain is this: will he be able to put an end to both the nightmares and the real life danger close at hand, will he  step wisely, and what’s more will this turn happen early enough?

For those of you interested and willing to read the blog and the story in catalan language, even with some grammar and lexical blunders, here is the new blog URL:

http://veig-i-escric.blogspot.com.es/

Let me know please if you like the character and the story-line around him. Yes, it is a film noir type thing.

So, shoot me…  Image

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