Page 26 - FICTION
P. 26
THE TIMES ®
AUSTRALIA
I Wrote the
Story of My Life
But Never Once Did
I Stop to Read It
By Boris Glikman
I wrote the story of my life but never once did I stop tone to my novel, to not portray realism as fantasy,
to read it. to not turn tragedy into comedy.
Words, plots, characters gushed out of me, yet But recklessly I mixed passages of horror with pas-
never once did I take the time to see if the words sages of humour, blended magic realism with sur-
were apt, if the plot had inner consistency, if the realism and clumsily juxtaposed soaring poetry
characters were realistic and likeable. Not once with indifferent pedestrianism. Not once did I look
did I peruse the footnotes and attempt to research back to see if my story made any sense, leaving it
further the story I was writing. instead to others to try and make sense of the story
of my life.
Not once did I check for for the minor spelling and
grammar errors nor contemplated whether indeed And so preoccupied was I with the writing of this
the whole construction of my work-in-progress was book that I forgot all about existence and my life
fundamentally fawed from the very frst word on instead became this book itself. And now as I come
the very frst page. Never once did I pay heed to to the fnal page, I think to myself: Is there still time
the better advice of my elders, to keep a constant enough to begin the book anew?
26 Independent Media Inspiring Minds
AUSTRALIA
I Wrote the
Story of My Life
But Never Once Did
I Stop to Read It
By Boris Glikman
I wrote the story of my life but never once did I stop tone to my novel, to not portray realism as fantasy,
to read it. to not turn tragedy into comedy.
Words, plots, characters gushed out of me, yet But recklessly I mixed passages of horror with pas-
never once did I take the time to see if the words sages of humour, blended magic realism with sur-
were apt, if the plot had inner consistency, if the realism and clumsily juxtaposed soaring poetry
characters were realistic and likeable. Not once with indifferent pedestrianism. Not once did I look
did I peruse the footnotes and attempt to research back to see if my story made any sense, leaving it
further the story I was writing. instead to others to try and make sense of the story
of my life.
Not once did I check for for the minor spelling and
grammar errors nor contemplated whether indeed And so preoccupied was I with the writing of this
the whole construction of my work-in-progress was book that I forgot all about existence and my life
fundamentally fawed from the very frst word on instead became this book itself. And now as I come
the very frst page. Never once did I pay heed to to the fnal page, I think to myself: Is there still time
the better advice of my elders, to keep a constant enough to begin the book anew?
26 Independent Media Inspiring Minds
