Пока ты спала. Из книги "Аня и ее крылышки" RU/EN

 

Стихи, вошедшие в сказку "Аня и ее крылышки", на русском и английском языках.

Читает автор Наталия Лялина. Иллюстрации - Андрей Лялин.

Рассказываю о наших двуязычных детских книгах на Фестивале книг (2018)

 

Еще и двух лет не прошло, а кажется, это было так давно! В октябре 2018-го мне посчастливилось участвовать в Фестивале книг, который несколько лет подряд проводила библиотека города Пьюалап. Наряду с национально и даже всемирно известными авторами в нем принимали участие и местные таланты - писатели, работающие в самых разных жанрах. Я выступила на фестивале с рассказом о наших двуязычных детских книгах, о процессе их создания, о коллаборации с моим братом - талантливым художником Андреем Лялиным, благодаря которому мои герои ожили! Я получила огромное удовольствие от встречи! Мне вообще нравится работать с аудиторией, будь это "Русская сказка" в библиотеке, классная комната в моем языковом центре, выступление перед учениками средней школы или перед другими писателями. Раньше я всегда ужасно боялась публичных выступлений - это один из самых распространенных человеческих страхов, как говорят. Я и теперь волнуюсь, но как только начинаю говорить о том, что знаю и люблю - волнение проходит. Люблю отвечать на вопросы аудитории, люблю видеть открытые лица, горящие глаза. Это заряжает энергией! Моя увлеченность передается вам, а ваша - мне, и это прекрасный круговорот энергии в природе. Сейчас, на пороге осени, начинаю скучать по работе с людьми. Какой непростой выпал нам всем год. Очень хочется, чтобы никакие беды не коснулись вас и ваших близких, чтобы мы все скоро начали встречаться в библиотеках, читать книжки, ходить в познавательные походы и вообще делать свои любимые дела. Мира, здоровья, радости вам, друзья!

Dreams Come True: Truth About the Universe, Bilingual Writing and Independent Artists

On a mild northwestern day, one just like today, exactly three years ago, Justin and I were taking a walk by the sea, and guess what happened... He found this adorable little seal, painted on a rock (sweet local tradition). It both amused and amazed me because it was absolutely perfect for the moment! Do you know why? Because at the time, my brother Andrei and I were working on our new children's book, named SUPERSEAL ("Супертюлень"). As many creatives know, a creative life isn't just all fun and faith. It's also full of darkness and doubts. Am I good enough? Are my ideas and work good enough? Will people understand it? Will they appreciate it? And, of course, the underlying question of all: IS THE UNIVERSE OKAY? 

NEW BOOK REVIEW // РЕЦЕНЗИЯ НА "КРЫЛЫШКИ" И "СУПЕРТЮЛЕНЯ"

Dear friends // Дорогие друзья!

While we are still under the spell of our very first meeting with our Russian speaking readers, the visitors of the first ever Educational Fair "Скоро в школу!" (Back to School), our dear friend Ivana wrote a WONDERFUL review of our books - ANYA AND HER WINGS (English edition) and SUPERSEAL (bilingual edition). Please read Ivana's review HERE, as well as other excellent book recommendations on her blog IN LOVE WITH BOOKS! Ivana is my old blogging friend, and we share quite a few interests and passions: we both love language, art, literature, culture, and we both love fashion and personal style. Ivana, like myself, holds Master of Arts in Language and Literature, and she is crazy about books! Her interests in literature are broad, she reads everything from modern novels to classics (one of her recent reviews was dedicated to My Universities by Maxim Gorky). I find her reviews very fine-tuned and insightful. She speaks a few languages fluently and is a professional translator, but she also is a hobby artist who just loves creating - drawings, paintings, collages and more! Ivana lives in one of the most beautiful places in the world and writes a lot about the countries where she lives and travels, Serbia and Bosnia and Herzegovina. So if you are looking for vacation ideas, make sure to check out Ivana's recommendations - she posts a lot of useful information. She is one of the most insightful and soulful people I've met on and off line, and I am looking forward to meeting her personally some day! You can read more about Ivana's art and style in her other blog - A LITTLE PLACE TO CALL MY OWN.

Большая честь для нас с Андреем получить восхитительный отзыв о нашей работе от Иваны, автора блога о книгах IN LOVE WITH BOOKS! Если вы читаете на английском, то добро пожаловать - отзыв о книгах "Аня и ее крылышки" и "Супертюлень" ЗДЕСЬ. Ивана - настоящий книголюб и не раз поражала меня широтой своих книжных интересов и глубоким знанием предмета. Она может с легкостью проанализировать как современные новинки, так и классику, в том числе русскую и советскую, например, недавно она писала о "Моих университетах" Горького (здесь) - неожиданно, не правда ли? Помимо того, что у Иваны филологическое образование (как и у меня и многих моих российских друзей) и она говорит на нескольких языках и работает профессиональным переводчиком, она также художник в душе и обожает моду, у нее индивидуальный, женственный личный стиль, а ее работы (графика, масло, смешанная техника, коллажи) всегда удивляют свежестью взгляда! Я обожаю эту утонченную, творческую девушку с философским взглядом на мир, и мне кажется, мы в чем-то очень похожи. С надеждой смотрю в будущее - когда-то мы обязательно встретимся уже не на просторах интернета, а лицом к лицу! Помимо всего перечисленного, во втором блоге Иваны вы найдете много полезных рекомендаций, как спланировать свое путешествие в Сплит (Хорватия) или Мостар (Босния и Герцеговина) - два красивейших города и две красивейшие страны, в которых Ивана живет и путешествует. От души вам рекомендую как первый (см. выше), так и второй ее блог A LITTLE PLACE TO CALL MY OWN.

SUPERSEAL: Our New Book! // СУПЕРТЮЛЕНЬ: Наша новая книжка!

Illustration by Andrei Lialin, all rights reserved

Если помните, месяц назад я открыла вам БОЛЬШОЙ СЕКРЕТ - нашу новую работу совместно с художником Андреем Лялиным (если вы не читали, то прочтите ЗДЕСЬ). Итак, настал день объявить название нашей новой истории и ее главного героя - "СУПЕРТЮЛЕНЬ"! Или, на английском, SUPERSEAL, потому что книжка, как вы уже догадались, двуязычная!

"СУПЕРТЮЛЕНЬ" - это первая история нашей новой двуязычной серии "СКАЗКИ УЮТНОЙ БУХТЫ" (COZY COVE STORIES), все тексты в каждой книге будут на двуях языках: русском и английском. В отличие от "Аниных историй", следующих традициям русских народных сказок и русской детской литературы, новая серия книг делается нами в лучших традициях американских детских picture books - книг с множеством иллюстраций и небольшими, легкими для чтения текстами.

Мы пишем книжки для любознательного читателя от 3 до 103 лет, умеющего видеть в жизни чудеса (ну а если вам 104 или 105, очень может быть, что и вы еще не выросли из сказок!). А если вы умеете или хотели бы научиться читать на двух языках, наши книжки вам в этом помогут! Читайте самостоятельно, читайте с друзьями, читайте в классе, читайте всей семьей! 

В ближайшем будущем я постараюсь сообщать подробности о нашей новой книге, и уж конечно извещу вас сразу же, как только книжка выйдет в свет!

***

If you remember, I revealed a BIG SECRET just a month ago, about my new work in collaboration with the artist Andrei Lialin (read in English HERE, in Russian HERE.) Today, I am finally ready to announce the title of our new book: SUPERSEAL! Or "Супертюлень" in Russian, because as you probably have guessed by now, the book is BILINGUAL!

And another big secret I want to reveal today: SUPERSEAL is the first story of the new bilingual book series, COZY COVE STORIES. All the texts are in both the Russian and English languages. Unlike Anya Stories, which follow the tradition of Russian fairy tales and Russian children's literature, our new book series is being made in the best traditions of American children's picture books - richly illustrated books with easy for reading texts.

We create books for a curious reader from 3 to 103 years old who can see magic in life (and if you are 104 or 105, you might have not overgrown fairy tales just yet!). And if you can read or would like to learn reading in two languages, our books can be very helpful! Read independently, read with friends, read in a classroom, read with the whole family!

I will keep you posted about the details of our new books, and will inform you immediately when it is published. Stay tuned!

Find my books at

AMAZON or INDIE BOOKSELLERS 

in Seattle, Tacoma, Federal Way, Washington

SUPERSEAL, my new book, is coming in 2017!

Connect on

INSTAGRAM     FACEBOOK     YOUTUBE

ANYA AND HER WINGS: A STORY OF SPIRIT / "Аня и её крылышки": История духа

Happy International Women's Day to my friends - and to all women!

ANYA AND HER WINGS isn't a social or political statement, but a spiritual one, as the essence of fairy tales is a message of Spirit. It happens to be a story of a little girl, because when I wrote it, my inspiration was my little daughter. Anya in my book is very much like my daughter and myself, and any of you, my dear friends and readers, who​​ as she goes into the big wide world, looks deeply into herself in search of HER INNER FREEDOM. It is the story of regaining our own inner strength, freedom and power to live the life that we want and choose for ourselves. It is the story of realizing that after all searching, we find that we've always had WINGS, that they never disappeared, no matter how scared and wingless we have felt, and it is up to us to discover and use our wings. ​

And even though on the surface it seems like a female story, the truth is that our Spirit doesn't have a gender, and we all are equal and we all are together. My strong desire and belief is that ANYA AND HER WINGS, the book Andrei and I worked for many years, is needed and will be loved equally by girls and boys, as well as women and men everywhere in the world, because Spirit not only has no gender, it also has no age and no boundaries.

This is one of my most ​favorite​ and amazing​ ​of ​Andrei Lialin's illustrations ​for ANYA AND HER WINGS, which isn't actually in the book, but it will definitely make its way ​in​to our book series.

НА РУССКОМ ЯЗЫКЕ:

Our Books at FANTASIUM, comic and game shop in Federal Way, WA!

Our books are now available at FANTASIUM, comic and game shop in Federal Way, Washington. If you aren't a comic book or games fan, you probably don't consider visiting comic book stores much - they are simply aren't on your radar. But Justin, my husband, is a D&D master, fan and enthusiast, so when this shop opened a couple of years ago, he was very excited. It really is a wonderful store, well stocked, well organized and very friendly and welcoming. They have a shelf dedicated to children's literature. so our books fit right in. All the three books are now on that shelf - Anya and Her Wings the English edition, the original story in Russian ("Аня и ее крылышки"), as well as our unique bilingual companion book Anya and Her Wings: Color and Create!

Do check out all other places where you can find our books on the newly updated page MY BOOKS!

It's Good To Be Me

It's good to be me.
Not because of achievements, not because of anything that is considered "cool" in society. From the world's point of view, I don't have anything. What do I own? My dresses? 250 ponds on my frame? Some gray hair?
But I am cool with me just the way I am.
I am kind.
I am compassionate.
I am fun.
I am intelligent.
I am open-minded.
I am accepting.
I have a broad views of life.
I am talented.
I live from my heart.
I speak from my heart.
I do things because I believe in them, not because they bring me the world recognition, not because they bring me money, not because they bring me acceptance from my peers.
I knew some sincere friendships, and I knew some sever deceptions.
I know loneliness, but I also know true love.
I believe in miracles, and I believe that truth is simple.
I believe that I can be what I want to be. Fortunately, my desire is not to become a ballerina.
Not that I don't want the success and recognition - I do, as much as the next person.
But they never affect my life decisions, not once.
If I was able to leave all the material possessions and financial gain and start my life from scratch, with a little child on my hands, in a foreign country, having nothing but love and trust to support me, I can do anything.
I don't judge others. I don't always agree with their choices, but I don't have to - their life, their choices. I don't want to judge, no more than I want to be judged.
It's fun to be me - to love rain and fairy tales, to believe that anything is possible, to know that everything I need is always within me, that I am able to create, that I don't have to be loud, competitive and aggressive to be good at what I want to be good.
It's fun to be me - to be able of deep feelings and daring dreams, and unique view of what life is all about.

#62 Killer Samovar (Poem)

62

Write about a nonsense, anything you heard or read or came up with yourself. (May Doctor Seuss help you!)

OPTIONAL: Work on your fiction and share.

The Killer Samovar 

Based on true story

I went to the kitchen

The house was asleep

But I wasn’t sleepy -

I fancied something to eat.

I know! 

I should wait till next morning

When all are awake,

But I was so fortunate

To find me some cake.

I opened the fridge,

And there was my beauty.

Jump into my shoes -

What’d be your duty?

“Stop! Do not move!”

I heard a voice from the sky.

And before my response

Something heavy did fly.

It fell on me once,

It fell on me twice,

It fell on me head 

The whole three times.

I could not believe it,

Once I was back on my feet.

You, the pot from my land!

How you dare to contradict?

I rubbed the knob on my head,

Put that heavy thing where it belong,

And stretched arms to my sweetie -

I could not wait for so long!

The vicious attacker 

Flew and struck me once more.

"There’s nothing in the fridge,

Not for you, you moron!"

It fell on me twice,

It fell on me thrice,

It fell on me head

The whole four times.

I stayed down on the floor

Right there on my knees.

The house was asleep,

Not aware of my caprice.

"I want the darn cake!"

I cried (it was loud).

The Samovar stroke me again,

For crying outloud!

It fell on me twice,

It fell one me thrice,

It fell on me head

The whole five times.

Here in my coffin

I’m peacefully now.

In a pretty make up

And my favorite dress with a bow.

“She died for a cake,”

My obituary states.

I’m peaceful… I’m speechless…

The killer escapes.

It fell on me twice,

It fell on me thrice,

It fell on me head

The whole six times.

The moral of this story

Is simple as hell.

Don’t put heavy items of metal

On the upper shelf.

* * *

Rise and Write 57-63. Week 9

#59. Doctor

59

Write about a doctor – a real one, a fictional one, a good one, a bad or spooky one.

When I was in 4th grade, I was constantly playing doctors and hospitals and thought that I wanted to become a doctor when I grow up. I played doctors and hospitals because doctors and hospitals played a significant role in my early years - I spent a month in a hospital in 3rd grade, and another month in 4th grade, and for a few years I would be under doctor's constant care - once a month I had to get up early in the morning, rain, shine or snow, and before breakfast, when it's still dark outside and most people are still in their bed, go to a hospital to have a blood test. Was it fun? Nope. It never was fun. There is very little that I felt positive about those experiences. But I did have a couple of heroes, or rather she-roes. One was my pediatrician whom I thought was one of the most beautiful women in the world. She always looked beautiful with make-up and manicure, and her hair cut and colored in a fashionable manner. She was what we call these days a curvy woman, nobody would dare to call her fat. When she left (we had many house calls), she always left a trace of feminine perfume behind. She was kind to me. She probably was one of my first girl-crushes, in the most innocent ways - I wanted to be just like her. I remember that there was a very kind and friendly woman doctor in one of my prolonged stays in a hospital in Krasnoyarsk too. I remember her much less, not in all those little details, but she was very nice and made my stay much better. There was also a nurse who'd come to give me shots when bed rest was required. She had the kindest face and the gentlest hands - I never even felt the needle which many children (and some adults) are scared of. Her shots were light and unnoticeable. Three times a day, every day for weeks in a row, Natalya Aleksandrovna would visit me at home. Always with a kind smile, always with a kind word, and with a needle which I don't remember.

Rise and Write 57-63. Week 9

#58 Apples

58

Write about an apple. Do you love eating apples or apple deserts? Do you find apples symbolic for school, fall or anything else?

OPTIONAL: Work on your fiction and share.

I have to open my dark secret - I don't like apples, and never really liked them. There is one vivid memory from my childhood. I think I was not older than 6 - my father brought home an enormous red apple, which was fragrant, juicy and sweet. I was stunned - never before had I tried an apple that had such characteristics, and I have to say I still did not find another one quite like that. I also remember that when I spent a month in a hospital (if not longer), when I was 9 or 10, my parents would bring me home food and some treats (hospital food is never good, is it?), and there were apples which I did not like. But I guess at some point I tried to bite both apple and a cookie, a simple biscuit, and I really liked the taste. Only now I am aware of many apple deserts that are popular in different cuisines around the world - back then I did not know about then, and sort of by accident, or from lack of variety, I invented one. These days, I sometimes make apple deserts. Our family latest favorite desert is English Flapjack - which is not at all a pancake as Americans might think. Flapjack is made with oats, butter and brown sugar, sort of  an oat bar really. In my recipe, it is made with apples, and I also add honey to it. It's one of my most favorite ways to eat apples.

Rise and Write 57-63. Week 9

#57. Gait

57

Write about a gait. Maybe you watched one particularly unusual stride from a street café recently, or write about your own gait.

OPTIONAL: Work on your fiction and share.

It's a little difficult to come back to daily writings after a long-ish period of silence. I compare our daily writings with the daily exercise routine before participating in a marathon. If you decide to run a long distance and all you've done before is exercising from time to time, almost randomly, you know that you need to work on your stamina first - you need to build up your strength little by little. This is what it is about - building a writer's stamina. Not about being perfect or genius in your every piece. It's all about work and about honesty with yourself. 

Write about a gait, eh? The first thing that comes to my mind is a line from a popular 1980s Russian song which goes something like this... "With your flying gait, you came out of May, and disappear into the whiteness of January..." Yes, it's a love song, and it's about a short passionate affair, and it is sad, though disco music does not suggest sadness - it just never does. I always, as a little girl, imagined a beautiful young woman in a flying white dress and high heels, probably silver ones, her face not visible, but more beautiful than one can describe, disappearing into smoke and light. And it's all because of one phrase - "your flying gait". The power of word!

Rise and Write 57-63. Week 9

#56 Sorry

56

Write about feeling sorry for something you have done or something you have not done. Remember that you can always use your character!

OPTIONAL: Work on your fiction and share.

Maybe there is something. Back then, I felt hurt that my understanding of love did not meet with his. I felt hurt, I felt devastated. I thought it was all his fault. But it was not his fault that our understanding did not match. He did not know back then. And I also did not know. Nobody's fault. And I am sorry. I only hope that he will find someone whose understanding of love will match his, so they can live and love one another happily ever after.

And maybe there is something else. Back then, I felt hurt that my understanding of friendship did not meet with hers. I felt hurt, I felt devastated. I thought it was all her fault. But it was not her fault that our understanding did not match. She did not know back then. And I also did not know. Nobody's fault. And I am sorry. I only hope that she will find someone whose understanding of friendship will match hers, so they can live and be friends with one another happily ever after.

Rise and Write 50-56. Week 8

#55 Suitcase

55

Write about a suitcase. Is it a brand new thing from a department store, a charming vintage or a ragged old thing that saw the world? Describe its smell, shape, feel…

OPTIONAL: Work on your fiction and share.

Two suitcases, not pretty ones, not even plain traditional ones, rather two duffle bags - one enormous bag and one reasonably medium sized, were my luggage on my way to a new continent. How to explain to someone whose furthermost move was from one house to another house, or even from one city to another city? How to explain that you have to fit your whole life, short or long one, or a reasonably medium sized one like mine was, in a couple of suitcases, not necessarily pretty ones or traditional ones, or two duffle bags, such as mine? How to explain that whatever you chose to bring with you, you'd better truly love and cherish, if it fits your bag, and whatever does not fit, will stay out of your life from now on? A few items of clothing, a few most beloved books, a few photographs of your childhood and people you love... A few items that won't mean anything to anybody else, but mean so much to you, as those items you won't be able to buy in Walmart where you'll be taken on the second day of your new life to replenish a few practical things that you left behind - a hair dryer, a nail polish remover, those important little things that you won't bring with you to cross the ocean, but can't live without when you're in your 20s. The duffle bags looked enormous and weighed enormously when you were in the first airport where your father saw you off and you both tried very hard to not shed a tear, and in the second airport, a bigger one, where they still spoke your mother tongue, and in the third airport where everything looked like out of the movie and people spoke a language you've never heard before, and in the forth airport, after the longest flight of your life, where people had a skin color that you've never seen before. The duffle bags, looking so enormous in all those airports, suddenly looked tiny at home, in a small room where the one with whom you chose to continue your life journey brought you. In the little room where you unpacked all the things carefully chosen to stay with you on the new continent, the duffle bags were emptied, folded and tucked away, and all you had left were those few items of clothing, few most beloved books and few photographs of your previous life. The enormous duffle bags rapidly became a little pile of familiar things which traveled with you from your childhood home to a new world. Everything else in the tiny room and beyond it, in the house, on the street, in the town and the whole new continent, was unknown.

Rise and Write 50-56. Week 8

Write, Rewrite (Poem)

You wrote a story,

But did not get it right.

What a trifle - rewrite!

It does not work again, nonetheless,

But you will not write any less.

If not the third one, then sure the thirtieth rewrite

Will get your story just right,

If not the thirties, then three hundredth will do.

Keep writing, without further ado.

If only we learned to write

Before we learned to love,

We'd know then!

In Russian here.

#54 Changing Season

54

Write about changing seasons, that very particular time in the year cycle when it is not Autumn yet, but already passed Summer…

OPTIONAL: Work on your fiction and share.

Such times are the dearest to my heart. There is something touching, real, transparent in between the seasons. The air is clearer and crisper, the temperatures are milder and more comfortable, and the feelings such in between times evoke in me are of ending something old and tired and beginning something new and fresh. Changes are both exciting, inspiring, full of hope, and at the same time a little intimidating, or perhaps vulnerable. Times in between seasons are like times in between periods of one's life. Those who have ever had an aspiration to change their life, sure know how vulnerable those periods are - half of the time we just want to hide from the world, as it is not what it used to be any more, though not what we want it to be yet. 

Rise and Write 50-56. Week 8

#53. Countryside (Excerpt)

53

Write about a village, real rural countryside. Do you idealize it as many writers and poets have done? Or, as Agatha Christie, see its dark side?

OPTIONAL: Work on your fiction and share.

In the Village

Marusya felt a little bit alien in this world. Everything looked differently, sounded differently, smelled differently here. There was no traffic noise, as if automobiles were not invented yet - though it was 1980s if you trusted the calendar. There were a few motorbikes here and there, but they did not make a huge difference, not what traffic did even in such a small town as hers, let alone big city traffic. This strange silence was filled with birds chirping, the sound of wind playing with trees, dogs barking, and everyone, even people she'd never met before, saying this long heavy Russian hello - zdravstvuite. The way to her grandparents' home was filled with this silence - it was a wide bumpy country road, a dirt road which was dry and dusty in summer, wet and mushy in fall and spring, and white in winter, with tall snowdrifts on each side of the road - as tall as Marusya and even taller. The thick forest surrounded the few old wooden houses, restrooms outside - small wooden buildings with a terrifying hole in the ground, no matter what's the season, the only place to pee, unless it was dark at night, then it was okay to do it just outside of the house door. Everything in the house smelled differently from Marusya's familiar apartment smell. Towels, bed sheets, blankets - it all smelled somehow a little wet, and when she encountered this smell somewhere else, it would brings her back to the grandma's home. Only later in life she realized it was the smell of mold which was hard to get rid of in a wooden house, covering its people and stuff from rain and snow the huge chunk of the year. That was probably the main reason why babushka painted the house once a year - to get rid of the smell and darkening corners. The paint was typically light blue on the walls and white on the ceiling.

about 10 min or so

Rise and Write 50-56. Week 8

#52 Door

52

Write about a door – wooden, glass, heavy, tall, Dutch door, garage door or a magic door (Open, Sesame)…

OPTIONAL: Work on your fiction and share.

I am opening the heavy door, part wood, part glass. I am letting someone out, they hold it back for me in exchange, we smile and thank each other. This door has so much potential to let me in the new world - the world of "real writers" as I call it. I don't have to be a "real writer" as I walk through the door. I don't even have to be a "real writer" once I'm in. What I do have to decide for myself, whether or not I want to become a real writer once I leave this space through the same heavy door, part wood, part glass, holding it for someone else, perhaps another writer, and most probably reader. I don't have to decide it forever. Perhaps I'm not ready yet to leave this door as a real writer. Perhaps all I can handle now is to be an aspiring writer, a writer who mostly dreams and reads books about writing, and goes to writer's conferences. It really is all totally up to me whether I decide to stay a writer who goes to writer's conferences and feels pretty good about herself for a week or two after the conferences, okay, maybe a month or two after the conference and meeting real writers ... or to become a real writer, the one who writes, not just writes, but who writes every day, who writes from her heart, who is not afraid to write with mistakes, and who is not afraid to set a goal, a writing goal, and reach it, the best she can. Only one door to the writer's world, one door in and the same one out - no, not this heavy one, part wood and part glass, but the one inside of me. No matter how much praise, how much criticism, how much ignoring there is on my way once I passed this door - it is up to me, always and only, to leave through this door or to stay. 

about 5 min 

Rise and Write 50-56. Week 8

#51 Queen

51

Write about a queen. Is she a real figure in history or a fantasy character from your favorite fairy tale? Is there some thing about her you find admirable or enviable? Is there something that you dislike about her or her status?

OPTIONAL: Work on your fiction and share.

I grew up in times when, in my part of the world at least, kings and queens were either historical figures, often interpreted negatively, or fictional figures, also very often negative or at least ambiguous, or folklore figures, often comical. There were of course some queens, like the one in Alexandre Dumas' books about musketeers and the wonderful Soviet musical movie D'Artagnan and Three Musketeers, the Queen Anna, played by a very talented and feminine Russian actress Alisa Freindlich, whom we adored. But even Queen Anna-Alisa seemed just too far from our ordinary life, and her romance with Lord Buckingham seemed to me as a kid far less real and interesting than the romance between her faithful servant Constance and my childhood hero d'Artagnan.
Queen Anna: "I did not say yes, my lord."
Lord Buckingham: "You did not say no."

Rise and Write 50-56. Week 8

#50 Grandpa's Fingers

50

Write about fingers (or toes). Do they belong to your character? Are they lean and long “artistic” fingers, or short and chubby? All of them in place? What are they good at?

OPTIONAL: Work on your fiction and share.

I remember as a child, I was struck by the fingers of my grandfather, to be precise, by the lack of them. I can't even remember how many of them were missing - quite a few. It always creeped me out just a bit - a bit because I adored my dedushka! He was a very gentle, kind man, and even though suffered, as many men in Russia, from alcoholism, was not aggressive or cruel at all. He would do his day job (when I knew him, he was taking care of horses in the local collective farm), spent lots of time on the steep rocky bank of the Angara River where he'd watch boats, big and little, ships, ferries and tugboats - he became almost a part of the scenery, so much that grandma, his wife said that Angara became an orphan when dedushka died. When I grew up, I thought about what happened to dedushka's fingers, and many village men's fingers which were missing. And one thing I came up with was they chopped them when were tipsy because they never stopped doing the traditional countryside work, such as chopping firewood or building and rebuilding houses, barns and banyas, and they were almost always tipsy. I am a city kid, so the men who I grew up with in cities did not have such a problem. The other guess is they lost their fingers at the field of war or, in my dedushka's case, in the years spent in prison - no, he wasn't a criminal, though the Soviet government liked to make their citizens criminals for the most innocent things they have done (helping out a poor family, feeding them in hungry years, would be such a crime; you did not have to do any crime at all, just to born in a "wrong" family - you were a criminal by birth). Grandpa's missing fingers are like many of Russian history's missing pages - pages about which the truth we will never know because those who experienced them are mostly gone by now, and even when they were alive, their destiny taught them to keep their mouth shot.

12 min

Rise and Write 50-56. Week 8