Yesterday I finished first draft of my new novel. Which means that during last 2 years I’ve written 3 new novels: ‘Wheel’, ‘Raccoon’ and ‘Experiment № 1′ (working title), — and rewritten 2 existing ones (‘Cocaine’ and ‘Earth without water’). Which in its turn means writing every day, no matter what, no days off, except for a couple of times I went abroad.
I’ve been in such a mode ever since returning from the trial against 3 men, who kidnapped and brutally murdered my son Vladimir in Moscow. Between 13 august 2002, the day my son has been murdered, and the end of the trial in the spring 2003, I haven’t written a word. But after about a month I decided to write, no matter what, just to stay sane, as far as it gets in such conditions.
And so it went on all this time. First I’ve written ‘Portrait of an unknown girl’, then for years I couldn’t finish any text I began to work on, no matter how big or short it was (I still have three unfinished novels from those times). At some point it got that bad that I thought: I have to quit, as for some reason I cannot write anymore. It was exactly 2 years ago. Then I’ve rewritten two existing novels. Then I’ve written two new novels in one year. And then I’ve written yet another novel, or actually finished its first draft with the working title ‘Experiment № 1′, as we know by now.
That was basically my life since 2003. Writing to stay sane.
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