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Writing a book is an insurmountable task
I have stories to tell. And I like writing. In fact, I have a book in the works.
“In the works” is an overstatement. Or maybe an understatement. This coming year it will be ten years since I started writing my book. I finished most of quickly, within a year, give or take.
But then I stalled. Really stalled.
The working title is “a Russian”.
It’s a memoir. I feel awkward about the very idea of writing a memoir when I’m still young, but then I’m sure that my life story so far can provide an interesting glimpse into my generation — the one that got to experience the final years of the Soviet Union and then had the opportunity to experience the West.
My experience of the West was of an extreme kind — many years of full-blown education and also work. But I also stayed close to Russia. It was home, despite my travels. I never emigrated, until I did… In 2013. But before that, I had many stretches where I lived in the country and experienced it intimately. I witnessed how it changed. I changed too. I came of age — literally and figuratively.
So I drafted my memoir. It’s one hundred thousand words long. Maybe too long. Maybe not.
