“A Desk is a Dangerous Place…”
I’d like to begin by saying that my location is in East Europe, my profession is in linguistics, my primary field is Russian language and literature; my secondary emphasis is history and English language. This might be an appropriate point to apologize for my English; my excuse is that it is my second language, as the reader can understand reading my stories, and I fear that I've never quite mastered it as I should.
I am a free writer. My given name has several derivatives and diminutives that I use as my pen-names. My first novel with a working title of La Lune Blanche is gay romance. As my reader knows, my beloved main adult character Anthony Blanche is a namesake of the charming character from Evelyn Waugh’s novel which is not a mere coincidence. Reading and rereading the novel I got obsessed with this name. It gave me a creative impulse one day--it was great actuation--and I still feel thankful to it. The obsession helped and it still helps me to keep on creating. In 2005, the year when I first brought my novel to everybody’s notice on the Net, I exchanged e-mails with one poet from the UK, who said by the way that “words are like beautiful marble statues” for him. In reply, I said that words are like a doping for me. And with the doping of the name of Anthony Blanche I have lived since 2003, when I first heard of the name. On one website, dedicated to the novel Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh’s Anthony Blanche was called “nasty” (which is odd). Anthony Blanche from my book is yet “nastier”, but I love my dear main character, because he is nice to me, his poet, nice by permitting me to care about his enjoyments and writings in the cozy world of my novel. No, he is not my second self. I am not cruel like he; I dislike hurting. If I hurt somebody’s feelings, then it’s my clumsiness and not my intention. And he is never clumsy. I am a lifelong water-drinker, and he loves fine wines. But both of us are non-smokers, loving rainy weather, eroto-maniacs in a way, bourgeois, sober-minded, loving beautiful boys, youths and men, having much against narcotics, and devoted to the beautiful pagan religion. In the first volume of my novel as well as in the following volumes, there are novelettes and several imaginative poems written by Anthony Blanche. Those suggestive novelettes are about male love too. I’d love the book to be published and read, because it’s my firm belief that the stories written by my dear main character are not bad at all.
Vaulting my novelese,
abetting my hero’s sins,
sponging on marble idols
I create reality,
fluffy like catkin.
There is one more reason why I began writing my novel, controversial and exceptionable as some believe. Reading some gay-themed books years back, I felt unsatisfied, and I decided to write my own gay-themed story to show what I love in this genre. To show my preference, no more. I only show my aesthetic tastes and my imagery, but I don’t teach, far from it. My novel is a beautiful adult fiction, a fairy tale for adults, an erotic story, a love story, a bluest fable, literature of literature. “The Ageless Man’s nice diary of pleasure. Man has no age. His pleasure has no measure.” If the translation seems an incondite work, that’s right in a way. Although the novel was published on lulu.com some time ago, but I continue improving the translation, editing some annoying misprints as well as probable stylistic errors of the novelese, and so forth.
A few words more of my main character. He is a namesake of the famous and most charming character in the novel by Evelyn Waugh, which is not wonder because both of the men are compatriots, but my main character lives nowadays. My own beloved main character, whose stories I am determined to continue for the rest of my life, is a self-sufficient well-educated and good-looking gay man, but his creator is a straight woman, an emotionally and financially independent celibate woman, who enjoys her freedom, and this difference doesn’t lead to any conflicting views in my writings and it doesn’t break the novel’s harmony, but it can cause some misunderstandings and contradictions in minds of readers, and muddles and confusion in minds of my online friends, which misunderstandings are so many on the Internet as they are. Perhaps I could clear up something that looks obscure if anyone asks questions to me. For some reason, it seems to be established that the writer, who has something to say to the reader, should teach the readers or at least the young readers. But any educational mission never was mine. A reader myself, reading books written by the “white dead European men”, I may be regarded as a pupil of the writers or perhaps I am indeed (of some of them, but not Nabokov’s, because I dare not reckon myself as such and because Nabokov is known to have not his literary pupils), but I never felt like being taught when I read the books. The writers simply told their story, and the story could be profound and highly informative and not only beautiful, but most of them only entertained their reader being men of fashion and charming narrators more than teachers or philosophers, and it was my choice to take it or to leave it--which now is a piece of advice to my reader.
Publish me, pray publish me! I love my writings so much; I love myself so much… Publish me! Read me! Criticize me! Being aware of all strengths and weaknesses of my writings, I can reply to any critique. In Full Career, With the Blessings of…