Exclusive footage (sick!) of my first book & my new short story
just a few things to share
Once in a birch grove, I chanced upon a cat
In London, trees are still covered in rich gradients of yellow-orange-red wherever you look, a scenery that’s unusual for me to see in the end of November. I had no intention of writing an autumny story, but the second year in a row, it happened to me, the inspiration whispered something creatively arousing to my ear, and even though I wasn’t sitting and thinking, “I shall now write something featuring various components of the autumn because I feel very autumny, including yellow trees, mushroom picking, hot chocolate, etm.", no, none of that happened deliberately, consciously, but it did happen unconsciously. The environment has been benign for that and it, in a way, the second year in a row memed me to create something that would fit the external vibe. I’m a victim of the environment, the state of the psychofauna around and a humble and obedient servant of the language.
Last year I wrote For Whom Universe Caws, which was a great success (for me) and inspired others to create other pieces of art based on it. Such as here’s the artwork my brothercreated for that story:
It’s wonderfully beautiful and still one of my favourite works of his. We had many ideas based on the premise of that story in other mediums than writing but I won’t disclose any of that, not now, not until it’s finished. So, solely from the point of view of memetics, it was my most successful story so far, and one of my favourite stories of mine to date. I implore you do read the story and charge yourself with the trippy autumny vibes. It’s a story of a vagabond who made friends with a raven, one of the examples of what I call proesia.
This year I wrote a story in a similar setting and quite similar genre-wise. It’s also magic realism with some surrealist elements, it also features autumn, birches, mushrooms, animals, single character, “genuinely Slavic” (ascommented) vibes, and ends “weirdly”. I want to believe both stories happen in the same location and I’ve created a cozy mini-universe! Nevertheless, they are orthogonal in style and prose and talk about different themes and topics. The story is called Once in a birch grove, I chanced upon a cat, same as its first sentence, because I couldn’t come up with a title. You can read it here:
Both stories feature a golden birch grove, even a whole forest of such trees, which to me imbues some mythical symbolism I can’t fully explain or comprehend. It’s, again, something subconscious, dream-like, and could be influenced by the country of my origin, though the area I’m from exactly didn’t have large birch groves, only single birchs. It might be a part of a vague childhood memories I’ve been reflecting upon recently, or it might be just a meme, a notion that a birch is something inherently Russian to the extent that “hugging a birch” is an equivalent of “touching grass” and supposed to elevate your spirit and connect you to your homeland wherever you are curing your nostalghia via global communication birchnet (GCB)3, but for me it’s more of a meme because I reckon I don’t long for the homeland, for now it’s associated with oppression and war more than anything else. Perhaps, it, the birch wood, as like a big part of my identity and psyche4 refers to one of the World of Warcraft locations, Crystalsong Forest, another place where I spent a good bunch of my childhood, a non-existent virtual place, for which I perhaps have more longing than for many real places. Look and listen:
Sublime, peaceful, a piece of art5, innit? Oh, well, now I want to play the game again.
Once in my letterbox, I chanced upon my book
I’ve finally had a courage6 to order a proof copy of my first short story collection that I promised to published a year ago. It felt but surreal. It still does. It’s laying at the moment on my desk next to my keyboard and I doubt it’s a physical object. I reckon it possesses some metaphysical qualities. Here’s an exclusive ASMR footage for you (sound on!):
I can touch it and you’ll be able to do that soon if you wish (and pay money for it7). There’re a few things I’d like to change in it, and I’m waiting for the hardcover version with illustrations made in colour before I hit publish and make it available to the world, but yeah, it’s already real, even though I could say it’s rendered in 3d and you wouldn’t be able to verify it, but believe me — it is more than real. So, congratulations to me, I guess? I’m (almost) an author now, which is, well, the next level in this writing game.
Thanks for reading, hit like, that heart button, share with your family/friends/followers, subscribe if you haven’t yet, do all those social media things. It is essential and is the real form of gratitude. Being honest, it doesn’t make me happy enough at this moment but it will do so once I become world-famous, and, moreover, it’ll give you a right to say “oh I was subscribed to Vanya’s Substack in the 20s! What a time!” Don’t miss that chance. Just don’t.
It’s very exclusive, I just can’t emphasise enough how exclusive it is.
This sentence is false. I can’t footnote a footnote but the previous sentence is neither true nor false. It’s in truthful superposition.
You can only connect to it only wearing a ushanka and being intoxicated with at least 6oz of vodka, some recommend 7.5oz for a guaranteed effect.
Including, but not limited to, my incredible knowledge of English.
If you disagree then you’re wrong.
I could explain why’s that but I won’t. It’s a private matter.
Society-endorsed form of thought prostitution.