"All this he saw, for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered."

Where am I?

Well, I’ve been silent, I know.
I’m in a good enough place to know that, just because no one asked, it doesn’t mean no one noticed. I know you did. ’cause you did, didn’t you?

It would be easy enough to say I’ve been busy with work, but that would be just a part of the story. Truth is, I’ve been really tired and I had to focus all my functionalities on two areas: working and writing. Working I can’t talk about: I have a huge NDA pending on my head, but I’ve been neglecting my Wednesday posts basically out of discouragement towards the Italian community. I think it’s time to go back to producing content in English and engage a wider audience. That’s all I’m going to say on the subject.

As a bonus, I’m coming down with the plague. It didn’t hit me too badly but still is like having your brain steamed, then boiled, then mashed with a fork, and then dripping down through your nostrils. No significant fever so far, no significant cough. Still, I feel miserable.

Like this.

When it comes to writing, I’ve been working on a novel and it’s being super refreshing.
I’m currently in the “holy shit it’s too lengthy” phase of the process, but that’s just normal: I usually throw down a draft, then expand it, and then polish it.
It’s a Gothic Novel set in 1701, on a Dutch ship bound for Japan, and it features blood-drinking witches, shapeshifters, ghosts and human monsters.
I’m currently working on the third draft and I’m starting to involve proofreaders/consultants in the process.

The fact that I’m writing fiction is no news: since I was a child, I’ve always had characters and situations rising to life in my head and I’ve always written them down, but I was taught never to be too serious about it and, after a first shy attempt at a young age, I never tried publishing anything. This time I decided things were going to be different, so I’ll start on the querying process soon, or at least as soon as I manage to find an agent and an editor I like.

There’s a ton of research in the background of this novel, and I’ve decided I’d like to publish some parts of it alongside some extracts from the novel, hoping you’ll enjoy that.
However, I’ve decided to do something I never tried before: I’m on Patreon.

The page has been ready for months, but I’ve been working on the courage to launch it. Depression comes, for me, with a good dose of recklessness, so I think this is the right way.

For Pride Month, I’ll publish a string of notes and they will be free to read. After that, if you feel like offering me a coffee I’ll see what I can do to entertain you.
This blog has never been good at creating a community, after Splinder’s demise: should we see what we can do over there?

Spooktober

Spooktober 27 – The Black Monk (2)

Chapter 3 After supper, when the visitors had gone, he went to his room and lay down on the sofa: he wanted to think about the monk. But a minute later Tanya came in. “Here, Andryusha; read father’s articles,” she said, giving him a bundle

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Spooktober

Spooktober 26 – The Black Monk (1)

Anton Chekhov (1860–1904) was a Russian physician, short-story writer and playwright, and I’m not particularly fond of him, though he’s widely regarded as one of the greatest masters of modern short fiction and who am I to argue? His work is celebrated for its psychological

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art and fashion

Beauty and Ugliness: an exhibition

A few pictures from the recently closed exhibition on Beauty and Ugliness as an aesthetic paradigma in which what’s ideal and what’s grotesque melt together as sides of the same coin. The exhibition featured works by Brueghel (lent from the other exhibition at Palazzo Reale),

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Spooktober 27 – The Black Monk (2)

Chapter 3 After supper, when the visitors had gone, he went to his room and lay down on the sofa: he wanted to think about the monk. But a minute later Tanya came in. “Here, Andryusha; read father’s articles,” she said, giving him a bundle

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