ieva melgalve

I’ve been thinking about what literature really is, both its European and American versions (because the versions are different, and different a lot). And no, I haven’t come to a sufficient conclusion. However, I’m thinking that if literature is a healing thing, there are zillions of ways how you can heal yourself. I, for example, [...]

..or not. I am not having a writer’s block (just yesterday, after a day’s pause, five pages of comic script just semi-magically appeared and looked so fine, and I’m fine today too, thank you), and I’m not feeling afraid that the finished piece will be horrible, I am not afraid of being obscure, I am [...]

When I was a teenager I thought that I had to be, in many ways, broken to write. I was afraid to be happy or even content because (1) It would mess with my angsty self-image (2) I was afraid I wouldn’t have a reason to write. I rather enjoyed all the emotionally harsh things [...]

This has been a big day for me. I wrote a lot, especially the Keyman (who won’t be Keyman after all, but that’s beside the point), and did some 500+ words on Vega, and arrived at the short sharp understanding of what my NaNoWriMo novel will really be about, something that has bugged me for [...]

Vega got 697 words with a lead for today, so it’s fine. I’m trying not to dwell on how far behind on my weekly goal I was: today, a new week starts, and I hope it’ll be a productive one. Even with the things I must do to keep my RL moving forward… I need [...]

I did write tonight. 1295 words, totally head-splittingly intense, with me being creeped out and almost crying, and all that. Just like Vega, I hate everything that does this to me. Just like Vega, I wouldn’t exchange it for anything else.

..from my sick mind, straight onto the page, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m feeling nauseous now, which is sorta funny because nothing really happened, everybody is fine and so on, but still it’s as creepy as touching a dead man’s cool brow slightly wet with whatever they use to preserve the [...]

long time no see. I even thought you’ve lost me. Could you uncover your face? Tell me where it hurts? I know it hurts, I know I bleed, but I don’t know where have you wounded me. If I knew, I could put a patch on it, stitch it up, put it down. Are you [...]