Freedom, comrade!

The picture above was stolen from the eminent www.englishrussia.com and is dedicated to my awesome comrade Malin in honor of her leaving Madeira for the Home Land on the 28th. It’s been a long road to travel, but you did it and today you come full circle! I believe in you. You inspire me. You can do anything that you set your mind to, because, after all, you’re not only the super Economist from Bengtsfors – you are a wonderful woman too!

*

And now for something completely different:

What is a good person?
What makes a person good?
What makes a person bad?
You think you are kind.
But you are not, and people tell you so.
How many times can you beg forgiveness?
After all, that’s not what you are today.
Yesterday you were different.
Today you are new, fresh, washed clean.
Or so you think, anyway.
How come we hurt the ones we love the most?
How come we hurt the ones we need the most?
There can be no going back, you said once.
So you built a fence around the past.
And pretended that it disappeared.
But did it really? Or was it you?
But they hate you so much! They hated you!
Hate is the wrong word. They never understood you.
Did they even try?
Don’t put the blame on other people.
Why should you not? They put the blame on you!
Because that’s no way to heal.
Accept who you once were and try to forgive.
Forgive yourself and then others can to.
Oh, I know, you hate it so much.
You don’t even want to think about it.
It hurts to open your eyes when you’ve been blind.
It wasn’t your fault that things were as they were.
You did you best with what you had.
Really?
You think it’s just one of grown up people’s pretty lies?
But then you’re still there!
Still a teenager!
Still a child!

How could anyone ever love me?
How do you even dare to love me?

С днём защитника Отечества! [Happy Defender of the Fatherland Day!]

Days like these make me very happy to be living in Russia. Today is a holiday in Russia; the day when flirting with any given man [on the street, in university, on the internet] is legitimate and can not be interpreted wrong in any way, because it is the “Man Day”. Translated literally from the Russian it would be something like “Day of the Defender of the Fatherland”, and I imagine that it was invented as a way of thanking the Army for protecting the borders. In just two weeks or so another very pleasant holiday is coming up, which is a spin off on this one [or the way around, what do I know] – Women’s Day, on the 8th of March. That day is also a day off, the day when all women, I presume, get flowers and chocolate.

The last week passed me by barely discernible and rather swiftly. I wanted to update during the week so as not to turn into a person who only writes once a week because something special has happened or because something else has happened or just because some new thoughts have entered into mind. But honestly, I didn’t have the time to sit down at my computer to do anything but work on different things. I have come to realize that even though it’s only been two weeks of university so far, I have already managed to go and do just what I promised myself that I would not do this semester – become so completely absorbed in studies and work that I hardly have time to breathe before going to bed at night. During the fall it was just exactly this behavior that wrecked my health and over and over again forced me to sleep one or two hours in the afternoon. Since I did not desire to go down like that once again, for this semester I made different plans – I decided to be a better person, to have more energy and in order to get that, I was to spend at least one hour a day working out [as if I would ever have one whole free hour over…] in a park and also spend more time with people, instead of just pouring myself into my work. I think the problem is purely a problem of character, my character to be specific, which has met very few souls on the Earth who rival the joys and pleasures I get from books [my own as well as the works of other eminent people]. Therefore I have now, officially, declared a war against my own person, and I don’t know who will defeat whom, since deep down it is me versus me. However, I am not the kind to let such illogical wonderings get the best of me, and I will fight this to the end and hopefully, come out as a more sociable creature in the end.

Yesterday, Thursday, I met up with Irochka and then went with her to a coffee shop where she drank tea and I drank glögg. I know that it must be a sin to drink glögg in February, but as long as it is as cold as it is now, more or less minus 25, I claim myself to have the right to indulge myself. The glögg at the coffee shop was made from some cheap wine and far to bitter for my taste, but I gulped it down anyway, since I love that drink. Not merely because I am secretly a patriot and consider this drink being Swedish [and not German, thank you very much!] but because it warms while also providing a soft buzz. Then later the same night, Misha came over and we drank tea for a couple of hours together. That was very nice. Then I was so tired that I couldn’t think, so I rejected my computer and all the work that was anticipating my fingers inside of it and opted for watching TV instead. It was one of those two occasions a year when I watch television, and yesterday I had the unfortunate luck of catching a concert for the military with Putin in the audience. I told Midori to watch it with me, and she did for a while, because I told her this is culture, this is Russian culture, this is what we know nothing about and therefore should make the most of it on the rare occurrences that it is right under our noses. Since she’s sick she couldn’t focus for very long and I could not take more than an hour of the strangely stupid jokes made by the hosts – an old officer with glittering decorations and a blonde chick with a plunging neckline. I am actually okay with this holiday, not only because I have a thing for men in uniforms and had an affair with a handsome officer in Omsk when I was 19, but mostly because I love men and pity them enough [after all, they’re not women] to let them have their own day.

Last weekend I finished a short story which is based on an idea that I have had for almost two years now, but never before found the right way to put it into the fitting context. It turned out a little lengthy, roughly seven pages, and the climax of the plot arrives far too late. Furthermore the dialogue often is excessive in repeating itself and the time of the day, or any kind of logical time frame, in the story is difficult to pinpoint, not only for the reader but also for myself. Normally I don’t ever get this critical with my short stories, since I just write them and let that be that, but this time I decided that I would write it in three languages as a way of practicing not only my Russian, but my artistic craft as well. This means that I’ve been sitting with it for many hours now and so have come to find more faults and flaws with it by the minute, but I hope that no one but myself will ever read it that closely and so, perhaps, think it to be okay. I’m going to post it on my website next week when all the three versions are done, even though I don’t think people will read it. Actually, it would be better if people didn’t read it, since it deals with a very sensitive subject [Judgment Day] and could be claimed by most people to portray Jesus in a far from flattering light. That is only the first idea; there is also another idea, which concerns time and my constant fear of not having enough of it, which is not political or religious in any way. Jennifer read my English version and she said she liked it, and since she is the most fundamental of fundamental missionaries out there, I think it’s got to be a good sign. In a moment Olga is coming over to help me with the Russian version of it, since I promised my teacher of Russian literature at university, Tatiana, that I would give it to her next week. I’m nervous. She’s constantly telling me that I should be a writer, but all she’s read are my essays on different literary subjects, and I’m afraid she might change her mind.

Overall my life right now is a struggle.

On Tuesday, I think, if my memory serves me right, I sent a letter to a student magazine here in Yekaterinburg that is read by students allover town, not only at our university. I put everything plainly and asked if they were interested in publishing my articles, but I didn’t really expect anything to happen. I mean, I have sent out such letters to so many magazines and papers in the past year and a half, that I know not to have any high hopes anymore. To my surprise they answered me the next day and invited me to their staff meeting on Tuesday to discuss the next number and any ideas that I might have. I don’t have any ideas, probably I’ll have to come up with some, but I’m going anyway. It’s the first time that I have ever been invited to an editorial meeting at a real magazine, so it must be a good sign, I think. Even though I feel like a complete failure at everything [I sent a superb, in my opinion, article on feminism in Russia to Moscow Times a week ago and they haven’t said a word about it yet] but I don’t want succumb to this feeling, I want to keep looking ahead of me. I don’t know if I’ll get that scholarship and so be able to stay here at university one more year, no matter how badly I want it, which is why I am planning on sending my resume to Moscow Times in May. This would be perfect to put on it – I was on the staff of a student magazine in Russia!

I took the step which I didn’t want to take, but had to take because of an alarming lack of time, this week – I left the student theater. Egor was really sad and upset when I told him, and to be honest, I think he’s the one I’ll miss the most. He invited me to have a cup of coffee at behind the stage and we talked for a while, and even though I know I’m welcome back whenever I would like to, I don’t really see myself spending much time there anymore. That makes me very sad. I love theater. I loved all those late nights when we had classes during the fall, I liked to spend time with all those amazingly gifted young people, and it hurts me that I can’t be a part of it anymore. The reason for me leaving was in part due to the fact that the foreigners at university will put on their own play this spring, which needs to be done for the 10th of May, when our faculty [Russian as a Foreign Language] turns 30 years. This of course means that I have a mountain of work which needs to be completed by May, including my Dostoevsky essay. Also Tatiana is expecting me to help her out not only with teaching the foreigners how to play, but also choosing a play and then putting it on. I’m looking forward to it, kind of.

Yeah, how about my essay on Dostoevsky… Two weeks ago I completed the first ten pages and gave them to Aleksey, then one week after that we had a meeting where we discussed it. I should probably keep things short about what happened then, not because I don’t want to dwell on it, because I really want to, but I don’t think it’s all that relevant. So he told me: “You have to re-write everything. Nothing can stay. And also you have a problem with Russian language, you don’t write scientific, you write like a writer, or maybe a journalist, and that’s no good. Make a new plan.” I couldn’t believe what he was telling me, I had spent so much time on it and thought I was on the right track, finally, but no, I wasn’t. I started to cry. I cried for an hour. He tried to comfort me by telling me to look at things differently, but realized that he was running on empty, so he called up the university library. On the phone he sounded like any man would sound if he had a woman on his hands who was crying unstoppable on account on some dead Russian writer – panic-stricken. He sent me there and everyone was so nice to me, they helped me with finding all the right books and then made copies of the pages which I needed. They let me sit in the back, in their own office, and told me that this place would be mine for as long as I needed it. I started all over again and now I know that this is going to be so much harder than I ever thought – nobody has yet to write something on my subject and so I have to do everything on my own. I get tired just by thinking about it….

Comrades, that is all I’ve got for the time being. Olga will be here any minute and she’ll probably, like always, do her best to cheer me up. Did I mention that she’s one of Natasha’s students and that she’s also studying Swedish? Well, if I hadn’t, then I’m mentioning it right now. Too bad I have nothing to offer her with the coffee since I am on the orthodox fast since Monday. Yeah, the first week of the fast is always the worst, which could be one of the reasons why I’m not in such good spirits. I know it’s silly, and I know I’ll get over it in a couple of days, but right now I just so damn badly want some chocolate and kefir and milk and cheese! Anything but nuts and those damn corn doodles that I’ve been eating all week long! I guess this means that the next time you’ll read something high-spirited or happy or even content on this blog will be in the middle of April – two months from now. Sorry about that.

P.S. I am aware of the fact that I am posting this on Saturday and not Friday, which is due to the fact that Olga came over and then stayed here until late at night. We had a great time, drank and talked and translated, and I get more and more convinced that if I will ever get one true friend out of my time in Yekaterinburg, it will be her. Anyway, this is just a small note, almost to myself, to explain why I couldn’t post right away! D.S.

Patience

The Napoleon Dynamite key chain that Jennifer got me from the U.S. If you press the buttons, you'll hear such classic lines as "Lucky!" and "Such an idiot!". Next to it the teddy bear that Egor gave me for New Year's.

In current events this week, this is what didn’t happen:

I did not stumble against a black SUV on Lenin prospect hard enough to trigger the alarm. I did not then, since the alarm already was beeping loud enough for people in Perm to hear, crush one of the windows with a pair of scissors that I bought at IKEA. I do not carry IKEA bought scissors with me while on my way to university, FYO. The police did not find me at the SUV with the crushed window three seconds later because there are police fellows at every street corner in Russia. They did not arrest me. I did not end up in jail where they beat me bloody with different sticks (of different colors and sizes, pretty damn imaginable let me tell you) and then put me in a cell with two lesbian bank robbers wearing black hats and rough Siberian winter boots. I was not turned on so much by the Siberian winter boots that I had sex with the two of them all night long. Next morning I was not released and freed of all charges on account of the SUV being owned by one of Yekaterinburg’s most renowned Mafia bosses and the police did not laugh: “He had it coming. Anyone would’ve done it, even my grandmother. You can just ask her!”

Other things that also failed to happen this week were:

1. Global warming, which could have saved me from getting a cold while sitting in the poorly heated classrooms of the Ural State University when it was minus 20 outside.[Now I have a terrible cold and that’s why I can sit like this, home on an ordinary week day, and update my blog.]

2. Six Swedish publishing companies did not fall to my knees begging me to let them publish my book. And frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.

3. No mystery boy wearing nothing but pink boxer shorts appeared outside of my door to congratulate me on Valentines Day by dancing and then rubbing himself with chocolate. However, I did receive a pink flower from Betsy, a Kinderegg from Midori and lots of love via the internet from wonderful friends and family; my mother, sister, Gulnara and Malin. In addition to receiving love I also gave out a lot during the day. Since I did not buy any gifts (except for making a card with Midori to give to the cutest boy of the dormitory, Misha) I just walked around and waved my hands while shouting: “Love! Here comes love! Love! Special prize just for you!”

4. Fyodor Dostoevsky did not return from the dead just to give me a peck on the cheek and thank me for finally finishing the first pages of my essay on him and his time in Omsk. I handed the first ten pages over to Aleksey on Monday and while I did this I also made an ass of myself. I had to save the situation somewhat and therefore I wrote him a pathetic mail where I explained that I’m very serious though maybe he didn’t get that and please, if I got it all wrong, tell me now and then I’ll make things alright. He answered: “Don’t worry. I’ll read it. See you next Monday. Aleksey.” This made me feel even more like a pathetic nerd.

5. My skin did not clear up. I still look like a freaking teenager.

6. Justin Timberlake failed to bring sexy back to Yekaterinburg. However, Betsy Hoody, my roommate, is doing her best to fix this problem as she is constantly, while working as a volunteer at a women crisis center, bringing sexy back. This morning she flew to London for the week. It’s going to be a hard and lonely week without her, now that there are only three of us twenty-somethings Russophiles left here.

Since we’re on the topic of current events, this is what DID happen during the past week:

1. I got new inspiration just like a mail in my inbox during the weekend when Annemarie finished reading the dogs. Actually, that was just what it was. A mail in the inbox with book in which she had written extensive comments and criticism. Anyway, I’m not going to linger too long of this subject, since I’ve decided to have patience [see the title of this post] and let my book take the time that it needs to be written. All I can tell you is that it’s going to be great. Fucking great, comrades.

2. University started up with two or three or more classes everyday this week and I did my best until I completely passed out on Thursday afternoon. Hopefully I can beat this cold during the weekend and then be fit for fight again by Monday. It felt good to be back, it felt good to walk around in the hallways and say “privet” to my left and “privet” to my right as I crossed paths with old friends and lovers. I ran into my ex Aleksey and he actually smiled (!) when he saw me. After our brief encounter at the stairs (which saved me from feeling impossible small next to him – ha! Sweden – Russia 1-0) I ran straight for the bathroom to check my make-up. Sometimes being a girl is the silliest thing. Even though it really doesn’t matter how I look in front of him, I would’ve liked to look damn good, which is why I checked my face. Luckily things were in order, somewhat, even though I look just like I was the one to turn 14 yesterday, not my sister Johanna.

3. My sister Johanna turned 14 on February 15th and is now finally what they in Sweden call a “fjortis”. It’s the golden age for teenagers if there ever was one. Happy Birthday, sweetie! I miss you! And we’ll see each other soon – as soon as I can get over this fixation on Russia I’ve got going on.

4. God’s been good to me. I realized that God loves me very much since He has given me so much that my weak mind fails to take everything in. I mean, look at things as they are and try to tell me if I should be thankful or not – sunshine. Snow. Russia. Ural Mountains. Johnny Cash in my mp3 player. On my way to university. One week till the fast begins which means I can still eat chocolate. Living with Midori has turned into a constant slumber party where two girls are talking till two a.m. about everything, everybody and just nothing in particular. I don’t know what I’ll be doing in a year’s time; I don’t even know where I will go after July first. I don’t know what’s going to happen with me. I don’t know who I will grow up to be. I only know one thing, and that’s good enough for me right now – I believe in God.

Midori Turns 21!

Friday the 9th of February my roommate Midori, a native of Kyoto, Japan, turned 21. We celebrated her all day long all of us, that being the four of us who live together – Betsy, Jen and me, plus our Russian brother in the dormitory Misha. Misha is a young boy of 19 from a northern small town in the Sverdlovsk District who during the fall spent much time with us and won Midori’s heart, though only in the platonic sense of the word. On Friday he was the one to take us to the outskirts of the city to ski. I hadn’t skied since I was fifteen and of course I didn’t expect to remember anything. Betsy was roughly in the same spot as I was, whereas Jennifer and Midori had never before even stood on a pair of skies. Misha, being from the north where the Ural Mountains are actually mountains, could of course ski, and so he took us for a twenty minute walk into the woods. And that’s when I saw something that I had never seen before in Russia – hills! I’m not talking about hills that look like those in Norway, but at least it wasn’t Siberian Steppe flat. This was also the first time Yekaterinburg has ever proved to be better than Omsk. In Omsk there were no hills, Yekaterinburg has quite a few. And as it turned out, we all can ski, all the four of us! I had only to put on the skiing boots to feel it all coming back to me, and although it was a little scary when I was going up the slopes, I knew I could do it. I didn’t know it in my head – I knew it in my legs. Midori fell once and so did Jennifer, but they both got up again and we continued our great snow adventure. It was an awesome experience. Now I finally understand all those people who can’t wait to go to the mountains to ski in winter, those who pay ridiculous amounts of money to travel to the Alps or Norway just to go up and down and up and down snowy hills. I finally got it. The view from the top of the mountain wasn’t very gorgeous, not at all actually, just a scenery full of grey high rise buildings and smoke coming out of factory chimneys – but! But it was beautiful because it was a view that belonged to me, that represented all that I love, and most of all, where I am right now in my life. This is where I am, in Yekaterinburg, in the most western part of Asia, in Russia, and this is what I’ve got. I live with three amazing young women in their twenties. And we have a little brother with whom we all are in love; although we haven’t figured out yet with which one of us HE is in love. He’s a mystery that one. A handsome mystery with amazing hands…

This week I’ve tried my best at being cultural. I spent at least three days at the library and on Wednesday night the four of us went to see the ballet “Romeo and Juliet”. I liked it even though Jennifer claimed it was like High School ballet, but that might be because I can’t really tell if it’s actually that bad since we don’t put on ballet shows in Swedish schools, only theatrical plays. Midori loved it, and I think Betsy enjoyed it too. I don’t particularly care for ballet, my thing is opera, but in general I like the whole experience of going to the Opera House: putting on nice clothes and shoes, getting my hair done and then mingling with other people in their Sunday best. On Friday night, when we had the birthday party for Midori (with American pizza and cake from Taiwan at her own request) we all dressed up very nicely in skirts and I like that. I like making an effort to look good when the occasion is special and deserves it.

Friday was a very good day for me. I’ve been feeling down ever since I came back here from Sweden and I don’t know why. Of course I realize that there are quite a few things that could have triggered my bad mood, but whenever I analyze the situation (and thank you very much but I do) I arrive at the conclusion that it couldn’t be any of them, not really. Yes, I did get my book turned down and I don’t have any hope left when it comes to the other six publishing companies. But is that what’s bugging me? No, because I have amazing friends that have supported me, offered me help, told me their point of view and been there for me, proving once again that I am not what I write and what I write is not me. You have to keep the artist and the art at an arm’s length from each other. My friends are one of my biggest blessings in life; I thank God from them everyday. Katya even compared me to Balzac, which I think she only did to cheer me up, but that’s really enough for me. So if it’s not the book, then I am probably down and out because of my studies and the fact that I didn’t really get everything done that I should’ve when I was home? And my Russian is bad and the start of a new term only a few days away? Yes, that could be it, had I not actually done my best at university in Sweden. Sometimes I trick myself, and I’m very good at it too, into thinking all kinds of stuff that I’m not really thinking. So I started a campaign in my head where I’m fighting these thoughts, which in fact means fighting myself. I think that’s why I’ve been having such strange dreams lately, you know, the kind of dreams where you wake up and you’re not sure if it’s real or not. When I woke up today I remembered two dreams I had during the night (that’s very strange too) and I know one of them must be a dream, because in that one I was kissing a boy at university that I have almost only spoken two words to. But the other involved money and made me very angry in my sleep, I remember this, and I’m still kind of mad. I can’t believe people can be so serious about the most trivial! You see, I’m still not sure if it was a dream or not. Also my skin has been behaving badly ever since I came back from Sweden. That’s because of the change from good, clean, soft water to bad, dirty, hard water. It also affects my hair, but you can’t really tell if I just start washing it more often. But the skin – I look like a freaking teenager! So I’ve tried everything and today I finally broke open a bottle of vodka. Not to drown my sorrows, but to splash my face with. Usually this period of break-outs due to change of climate only lasts two weeks, so in another four days I should be back to normal. Don’t worry in other words; I’ll still keep my “good looks”. Hehe.

The weather has been really wonderful this week, not too cold (about minus 8) and sunshine almost everyday. That did improve my terrible mood somewhat, especially when I went for a walk with Irina and we ended up at IKEA as always. I asked them if they would employ me and they gave me this number to call. Maybe I will. Everything’s getting so expensive in Russia and I need a job. Maybe I am feeling so down right now just because I know that real life is waiting for me around the corner? But then again, I have always known that. Maybe I’m down because I’m not very inspired at the moment? Though it has been worse, and at least now I know what I’m doing and what I want to do. I guess that’s where the whole problem lies, where it’s always been and will remain until the end of time – I know what I want to do and I also know that it’s not what I’m doing at the moment. I want to write and I’m studying Russian literature. Don’t get me wrong, I love my studies and I find them very useful, not only in my writing but also in my reading, but the idea of doing one thing that you don’t like and at the same time one thing that you love – it’s bound to fall sooner or later. Therefore I decided to get down to the root of my love for literature. This is will do by researching Dostoevsky’s time in Siberia. Yes, this is really cheesy, and I think most of you think just like I do about this, that I’m just kidding myself – but let me! Allow me! Who am I hurting? Nobody! Well, maybe the entire worldwide Fyodor loving community, but that’s beside the point… I think? Anyway, what I am trying to say here is that I will focus on my essay for the upcoming two weeks. I have actually already written four pages. Not much? That’s actually HUGE progress because I started in January 2006 and didn’t write a single word in a whole year. On Monday I’ll give my first notes [of the essay] to my scientific leader, that dear sweet mister Aleksey, and I’ll have to tell him about how I completely failed in literature. That’s the worst part about finding out that my book was bad – I had already told way too many people it was good.

You learn from your mistakes. I know that’s what I’m doing. Every day.

I don’t want to come off as depressed. Not because there is something bad about being depressed, no, that’s a natural part of being human and should be respected as such, but I know I’m really not depressed. Right now I’m in a stage of changing. It’s almost like when you’re a kid and you’re growing, moving from one set of clothes to another. That’s what I’m going through now, though mentally, changing from one frame of mind to another. This will not change the core of who I am, but it will probably change the outer surface of me and the way I look at life. And where I am right now you could compare to a kid still trying to get in last year’s winter boots. They just don’t fit, but I haven’t had time to buy new yet. But I will.

Though, I must warn you, changing will not remove my love for Alfred Yankovic. That’s a life long obsession and will stay with me, no matter how far I should be permitted to travel.

Happy birthday, Midori!

One Down, Six To Go

I received a letter from House of Writers just an hour before I went to the airport on Tuesday. Here is the translation of it from the original Swedish. If it’s not correct, badly translated or hard to understand, that is completely my bad and I shit you not when I say I take all responsibility for this. Here you go:

“Dear [ya’ll know my name]!

Fast answer from our proofreader. I hope it can be helpful.

Free analysis

“Why Russian Dogs?” [mistake: only because I opened my attached introduction letter with this question, they assumed it was also the title of the book. They would’ve known my book actually goes by the name of “Russian Dogs”, had they actually taken the time to look at the title page…] is a script which after a long descriptive introduction gets a high tempo. Elva and Elton meet in Siberia. The reader understands that they have a common past. They have lived together as siblings, and later as husband and wife, they have given birth to and lost a child. Today Elton is a poet and a volunteer. Elva works as a teacher but should be a pianist. Their past is unclear and moves in many countries, between scarred people and tragedy. Even the present in Siberia has many threads and many faces. Elva is now married to her fifth husband, Ivor [mistake: his name is Igor, which any attentive reader would’ve got since he is everything but a minor character in the book]. Elton and Elva are drawn to each other and a dramatic passion of jealousy which ends with the death of Ivor takes place. After this the script approaches its conclusion.

The script switches from present to past. In the beginning it is complete chapters as flashbacks, later these are thrown into the text. Overall this works, but in some cases it becomes too shattered and messy. The script is told underneath these movements forward and back in time, by harsh break ups and sudden impulses, in general this makes the reading shaky.

The people are drawn stereotypical but expressively. The writer uses torn expressions to describe characters and make nature descriptions. That part of the action which is set to the present takes place only during a few days and we never really get to know any of the people. We learn their social patterns, but not who they are as individuals. We read about them and appreciate their openheartedness but we’re not inflicted by them. A lot in the plot also feels unbelievable. There are big words and dramatic situations depicted with far too many adjectives. Often it is a nice read but afterwards it’s hard to say what the script was really about and it leaves the reader blank.

The first chapter is messy. There nothing really happens expect for a couple of people that go to the prison in order to give a concert. The characters are presented but without leaving any impressions. Had I stopped reading there I would’ve not have received anything. The two first chapters are however ended in an exciting manner and with sentences that draw you in. The first chapters are also the chapters where the writer has very many adjectives, (take for example the following sentence from page 15 “(---) lips that were full of old, rusty, new, shimmering expectations.” Here the commas are misplaced and the sentenced contains far too adjectives, the result being that it doesn’t say anything), the parts are even in length and nothing really sticks out. In chapter three the writer raises my interest by taking me back in time. This is the chapter when a child flees Europe and meets USA. The chapter draws you in and here the prose works well. I get curious and want to know more.

Overall the script is irregular. It says everything and nothing. It is hard to get a hold of any kind of foundation. And yet it takes a hold of you, the light and flowing meets tragic and deep sorrow and I gladly read about these people. Everything rushes on in a hurried tempo and afterwards I hardly remember anything. This is because nothing really makes an impression, nothing surprises me and nothing burns more than anything else.

The script reminds of Harlequin-novels. [Think Danielle Steel!] There is big drama and shallow depictions, which can be a nice read but such a thing that you can easily put it away. Had the sex scenes [mistake: there was only ONE sex scene, if that at all, probably no more than a small passage. I wonder why they paid so much attention to it…] been more explicit it would’ve been even better for this genre. I do not put any values in this, literature as literature, but that is one parallel which I make. In other words the script lacks credence. It came with an attached letter which promised much, but it just didn’t live up to the expectations. It is fast and easy to read prose. It is a passionate plot. It gives an impression of Siberia which makes you want to go there, meet the people, take part in their lives. This is also the greatest plus with the script – the feeling for the people in Siberia, the feeling for their mentality and parts of their everyday life. This feels believable and genuine. It is a loving and open drawing of Siberia. But that is not enough in order to lift the script.

In its present form is “Why Russian Dogs?” [“Russian Dogs”] not a script that I would recommend for House of Writers to publish. The writer needs to work in more credence in the script, root the characters more and make more sense of the plot.

With kind greetings,

[name censored].”

I did not publish this here just because I wish to dwell in my own sorrow and re-live that immense pain that came through all of my body three days ago and just wouldn’t let me go for over 24 hours. I publish this because I know some of my closest friends have helped me out during the year 2006 while I was working with this book, and I want to be honest with them so that in the future maybe they can be just as honest with me. I am not saying that they weren’t honest with me when they, after reading my book, gave me helpful comments and insightful tips. Hell no! Without such great people in my life like Malin, Håkan, my mother, Agneta, Annemarie and many more, I would never even have made it this far with this book. This is for you. And for me. Going over this horrible letter once more made me realize many things. At first it hurt me to the point at which I could hardly stand up straight. I shit you not. I couldn’t focus on anything. Not even saying goodbye to my mother and father which I do not know when I’ll see again. Which was awful. But I just couldn’t. Too much inside of me fell down, right onto all of those dreams I had built deep down in my soul. Everything came crashing down, literally, and I just didn’t know how to handle it. At first I screamed: “Fuck them! Fuck! They know nothing! They don’t even know what the fuck is the name of my book! They didn’t even pay that much attention! Fuck them! Fuck this!” But then, as my kind, dear mother pointed out to me in the car going to Landvetter, why was it that they didn’t even pay attention? Instead of calling someone else stupid when they don’t understand you, maybe you should flip it and turn the tables and ask yourself – why didn’t I come across clear to them? What was it that I did wrong? What was it that I missed? And most of all – how did I write this book in such a way that they think it’s really nothing special at all? Because let’s just stop for a moment and let me consider the fact that they might be right and that in all my tries at making a good book, I might have strived too hard for perfection and actually killed that special spirit that it had when I first started out with it. I had a message when I wrote this book. It burned underneath my fingers. I wanted to write this book. But somewhere along that long, hard, lonely road that took me almost an entire year to travel, I lost my way and sacrificed too much in order to create something that would sell. Let’s be honest – I knew from the start that if I could sell this book, then I would have enough money in order to stay in Russia and start my next novel. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when this happened, but it sure as hell did happen. My focus went from the book and out into the world. And nobody should write a book for the world. Then it’s nothing but like he put it – some kind of fast and easy to read Danielle Steel. I want to be different, better than that. This was not the kind of book I wanted to write. I thought I wrote another book. I was sure of it. And I know it’s still there inside of me. I just need to find it.

It’s official. I’m joining the AAA. Anonymous Adjective Addicts. I need to rid myself of this bad habit I have got going on. It does me no good, it hurts my books and it keeps me down in my career. Gosh, I’m speaking just like any addict would do...

In general I’m very tired now and have nothing to tell from Yekaterinburg. All I can say is that these three weeks did Midori good, and she’s like a new version of herself, an updated, improved, edgier version. Midori has grown up since she was forced to live here alone. I think it did her good and we actually already had quite a few interesting conversations together. We watched “Little Miss Sunshine”, which is an amazing movie that everyone should see. Even if you’re not huge Proust fan! I can’t wait for Sunday, when Jennifer and Betsy return from Moscow by train. It’s going to be good to be a family again, to sit and eat together in the kitchen at night, to get up early for university in the morning… I think this time apart was the best thing that ever happened to us. Oh my, I shit you not – two months ago I would’ve rather killed myself than write this. People change. People can actually change. Good Lord, I am tired. I woke up at noon today and all I can think of is what a loser I am. I am a loser in every sense of the word. I was thinking of coming clear here on m blog, and explain just why I am a loser, but I think that’s not necessary. I think anyone that reads this gets that I’m the original loser. Weird Al made the song “White and nerdy” about me. And maybe I should just come to terms with this and just give it up – nothing I do will ever be a success. Damn, and I so badly wanted to success. To tell you the truth – I wanted to be on the cover of Russian VOUGE. In fact to be on any cover of VOUGE would be the ultimate thing in this world.Yes, it’s a common dream for girls, I know, but let me have it. Every since Jewel made the cover I have known that you can be smart and pretty and on the cover of VOUGE. Which is being everything.

God, save me from this madness. Give me some peace. Of mind.