Showing posts with label Asya Pekurovskaya. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Asya Pekurovskaya. Show all posts

Saturday, May 25, 2013

An Interview With Author, Asya Pekurovskaya!!

Where are you from?

I was born and raised in Saint Petersburg, Russia. 


What inspired you to write your first book?

My first book was a memoir titled When my Time Came to Chant with S.D. It was a story of my married life in a Russian bohemian gang of late sixties. My leading character was my husband, Sergey Dovlatov, a fib master and an author of considerable renown in Russia. I was inspired to write the memoir by his untimely death. 


Do you write full-time or part-time? How do you balance your writing life with your family/work life?

I write full time no less than 12 hours a day, and the only way I can balance my family life with writing is by parting with my husband for about half a year. We happen to live both in the US and Germany. 


What jobs have you held that influence your stories?

During the first decade of my American life I was getting my PhD at Stanford and teaching Literature and literary theories at Reed College. For the second decade I plunged into the world of commerce. There I managed to secure myself financially, thus enabling myself to write obligation free.  None of these experiences were admitted to my stories.   


Do you have a specific writing style?

Although I write both non–fiction and fiction (screen plays, poetry and children stories), I like to think I have a specific writing style. Two things support my belief. I tend to break away from a strict notion of genre and I write in two languages (English and Russian) thus transplanting the oddities of one mode of expression into the other and vice versa.  


How did you come up with the titles?

I do not find title pick is a matter of great significance. Books are rarely selected by titles. Most influential authors that come to mind failed to create enticing titles: Don Quixote by Cervantes, Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, Ulysses by James Joyce, The Great Gatsby by Scott Fitzgerald, Inspector General by Nikolaj Gogol, The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann. On the other hand, Catch 22, for example, seems to be a formidable title yet it kept its author (Joseph Heller) waiting forever before he enjoyed even a moderate success with readers. My title, Spark the Stone Man must be a mediocre one although I hope the books are not.


Is there a message in your books that you want readers to grasp?

The only message I would like my readers to grasp, is the one I created for myself: DON’T OPEN NEW WORLDS, OPEN YOUR EYES.


How much of your books are realistic?

My books are totally realistic in a sense that their characters (both fictional and non–fictional) mirror myself. It is me who is both real and non–real, both guileless and guileful.


Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?

Not really.


What books have most influenced your life?

There are so many magnificent authors that affected me one way or another that I am not sure I can give justice to them even in part. William Faulkner, Henri Miller, Andrey Bely, Lawrence Stern, Marcel Proust, Franz Kafka, D.H.Lawrence, Jonathan Frazer, Gary Shteyngart, Neil Gaiman, August Burroughs, are among the few I profoundly enjoyed reading.


If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?

Nikolaj Gogol (1809-1852).


What book are you reading now?

The Basic Problems of Phenomenology by Martin Heidegger and Three Tales of My Father’s Dragon by Ruth Stiles Gannett.

Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?

Yes, mainly Russian authors, Tender Theater by Nikolay Kononov, for example.


What are your current projects?

I am revising and translating my book published in 2010 by Aletheia Publishers in Russia. It is titled the Hermetic World of Immanuel Kant: Beyond Hearing and Vision.  I am also finishing my children’s series titled Spark’s Further Exploits (mainly writing poems both in Russian and English).


Name one entity that you feel supported you outside of family members.

A company called Novel Laureate School Visits supports me by having selected my children’s series as a gift to Nobel laureates visiting American public schools, and most talented students that attend the American public schools.


Do you see writing as a career?

Rather a lifestyle.


If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?

I perpetually rewrite my books. I do so even after I publish them. In a way, I feel I am more an editor than a content creator.


Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?

That is an embarrassing recollection. As I was surrounded by writers, I once pushed myself into writing a story, too. Should I manage to finish it, it would have been a contrived piece of rubbish. Luckily I was unable to bring it to completion and discarded.  And it took me twenty years before I could sit down to write something which I was compelled to write. 


Can you share a little of your current work with us?

With my non–fiction project I am now writing an introductory note to Kant’s Critique of Practical Reason. As this chapter follows my detailed reading of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason I have devised an untried alternative. I wrote a fictional story of a man named Josef K. who lived in a fictitious world built on Kantian moral principles (arguably adopted by the Nazi state) by Franz Kafka. Joseph K. is actually both Kant and Kafka enacting the plot of The Process in such a way that Kant leads a nocturnal life and Kafka’s character acts in the day time. 
 For my children project I am working with a wonderful composer who writes music to my little poems and also supplants me with musical scores for which I create new poems. This is a novel and most enchanting experience for me.
 

Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?

Two things: starting a story and finishing it.


Do you have to travel much concerning your book(s)?

I do not leave my desk to create stories thus hoping to mimic the style of Marcel Proust.


Who designed the covers?

The covers of my children series are designed by an amazing animation artist, Olga Titova. She has received a British Academy Award and was nominated for an Oscar, alas, for the texts written by Shakespeare and Chaucer. She is also the one who brings to light the slightest inconsistencies in my plots.


What was the hardest part of writing your book?

It is easier for me to create enticing scoundrels than enticing stars. 
 

Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?

I learned that negative comments, regardless of how irrelevant they seem to be, can be construed as view points worthy of consideration and positive comments, no matter how unobliging they seem to be, can always be construed as a critique and used for further improvement.


Do you have any advice for other writers?

I feel there is no writing for fun, as writing is a condition which, once it grips you, will never release. 


Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

Please, don’t be lax about my writing.


What were the challenges (research, literary, psychological, and logistical) in bringing it to life?

To get inside some characters’ minds. 


What do you think about e-publishing versus technical publishing?

I like e–publishing especially because technical publishing tends to create rigid rules that kill ingenious writing.


Do you have an agent or publisher? How did you go about finding one?

My books written in Russian were published effortlessly. For publishing my children’s books I created a publishing company, Pekasus, and engaged five people in the process. My several attempts to sell translation rights have failed. However, I have not really attempted to do so in a systematic fashion. When all six books are published in a hard cover and e-pub formats and equipped with musical scores and professionally narrated CDs, I will do the marketing full scale. 


If you could live anywhere, where would it be?

Perhaps, Japan.

If you could have any super power, what would it be?

I want to be able to turn into animals and insects at my whim. 

For More on Asya:
 http://www.an-animation.com/


 

Monday, May 20, 2013

Writing Challenge With Author, Asya Pekurovskaya!!

The Challenge:
In 2500 words or less, create a fairy tale!

The Result:
Tess, The Daughter of the Dwarves' King
By, Asya Pekurovskaya

There are days when everything crops up as stated by your wishes. The sun sends its gentle rays your way.  The buds of cherry tree branches develop into flowers right before your eyes, and the critters tip off their knitted hats, greeting you with reverence.

            Tim hurried up. Yet on his way he had to shake the paw of Ben, the crocodile, bow Humphrey the cat and catch up with the mouse Bertha, who dropped a velvet purse with blue lapis lazulites.

            In his pocket he carried a map of the area. In his backpack there was his favorite, ball- shaped donut filled with cherry jam.

            From time to time an idea popped up in his head that it would be marvelous to eat that donut right now. But apart from donut, he had nothing to eat. Yet he had a long way to go.

            You probably want to know where he was going.

            But, sad to say, he did not really know that himself. That is, he knew, of course, that he ought to find a colossal diamond, which was stored in the underground kingdom of the dwarves. But he had not the slightest idea of how to get there.

            He thought of the map, to be sure. However... although he had already learned to read and could read long book titles such as: "Get your spoonful of boon/ "With the fibs from Medoon," he had never had a chance to read a map.

            But things you have never done before, better not to start now, especially if they have an impact on your cherished journey.

            And Tim started to look for a passer-by who had had to deal with the map before.
           
            “I should have asked the crocodile Ben. He lives on the lake and promenades in the cherry alley every day. If he did not know how to read a map, he would have already get lost.

            Tim went after the crocodile, mentally, needless to say, and assured himself the crocodile had already made it home and, after putting on his bathing suit, taken a dip freestyle to the other shore.

            But the time to think about Ben, the crocodile, run out very quickly. Right before Tim’s eyes a butterfly fluttered in a strange pirouette.

            The butterfly moved its proboscis, then turned it into a tube and started spinning it like a ballerina.

            Tim stared at the butterfly, forgetting everything, including his backpack in which a donut was waiting for him filled with cherry jam. And the butterfly seems to catch sight of him, as well.

            And here is what happened next.

            Apparently, very tired, the butterfly–ballerina perched on an open flower of the cherry tree and stretched her antennas which turned to be delicate arms, in Tim’s direction.

            When the butterfly–ballerina’s arms reached out to Tim, they gently took his both hands and lifted off the ground.

            And they flew, picking up speed.

            “But I have absolutely no time for a flight. I am not promenading, I am escorting myself,” said Tim and looked displeased at his companion.

            “Why did you decide that I was promenading?” the butterfly–ballerina replied.

            “Yet our ways may not cross,” Tim said and immediately regretted it. After all, he wanted his ways to always cross with the ways of this beautiful butterfly–ballerina.

            “Why do they not cross?” the butterfly corrected him. “You're Tim, are not you? And if you guess my name, I will help you find the underground kingdom of the dwarves, and even show you the way to the magic diamond that ...”

            “But how do you know about the magic diamond? This is my very private secret,” interrupted Tim.

            “Akh, you do not think it straight and loose time,” the butterfly ballerina said in a melancholy voice.

            But instead of stopping to loose time, that is, instead of guessing the name of his companion, Tim started to carelessly compose a poem about her.

            And here is what he devised:

            To create a butterfly
            Someone modeled on the sly
            A dynamic flying shirt
            Trendy pants, TP, for short,
            Borrowed petals, light and awesome
            From the most entrancing blossom.

            And to demonstrate her gown,
            Baby circled twice her town:
            Paid a visit to her mates,
            Garbed both chic and up to date.

            Munched her breakfast at the daisies,
            Lunched with indolent and lazy
            Clovers. Then she turned her keel
            To bluebells for an evening meal.
           
            To complete her trying cruise
            Got prepared for a snooze:
            Funneled her fatigued proboscis,
            Mutely closed her wings, don’t ask us
            Why...

            But then something happened, causing Tim to immediately regret his careless distraction.

            His companion had disappeared, and he flew down rapidly, like a stone.

            He certainly got hurt, but not as much so as not to see that he landed downright on a flower bed, caught between two amazing, utterly exotic plants ...

            “What a pity the butterfly–ballerina will not see this beauty!” flashed through his mind. And when he got up to look more closely at the flowers, they seem to have bowed their heads towards him and kept gazing at him in response.

            Once again, Tim reminisced about the butterfly–ballerina. Only now did he realize that she looked at him the same way as these flowers, that is, not with her eyes, which he had not even noticed, but with her entire body.

            Only the entire body of this mysterious plant did not embrace its wings and proboscis like the body of butterfly–ballerina. All it had were leaves that were looking up, like pointed spears, and petals of pink and lilac color resembling those of a lily.

            As he glued his eyes to the remarkable plant, Tim noticed, in the very convergence of petals, yet another yellow flower, around which a fence of pistils grew which had all the hallmarks of a very dark lilac flower.

            “I've never seen flowers with such colorful eyes. But what if these are not flowers at all, but enchanted dwarves?”  Tim guessed. And as soon as he made this guess he noticed a brass plate, which denoted something in an unknown language.

            “Who could conceive hanging a sign that can not be read?” Tim said out loud.

            But as he expressed his astonishment, he detected a miniature table, on top of which someone dumped .... No, to grasp that was beyond Tim’s fancy. But it was exactly so. The plausible dwarf seem to have forgotten his ... reading glasses, on the table.

            “May I...?” Tim asked the dwarf, and, without waiting for an answer, reached for the glasses.

            The plausible owner of the magic glasses dropped no word in reply.

            “I can see you don’t mind,” Tim said and rushed to put on the glasses. But as soon as he mounted them on his nose, everything transformed around him.

            The sky acquired a pale lilac color, yet the flowers grew blue and white and started to emit some captivating smells. It even occurred to Tom  that flattering among the flowers was a silhouette of his beautiful butterfly–ballerina.

            And when he finally saw the brass plate, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The inscription read: “Passiflora, the flower of suffering.”

            “The flower of suffering,” Tim repeated like an echo, and the glasses flew from his nose.“Flowers can not cause suffering. And if there is an enchanted dwarf hiding in a flower, one needs to make sure he was no longer there.”

            But as soon as Tim pieced together the future fate of the enchanted and the plausible dwarf, a fence began to grow around them. And something was very strange.

            The space inside the fence was arranged in such a way that the bed with the Passiflora flowers was stretching along the path and turning right, whereas next to the bed there appeared a new path that curved left and stretched all the way to the summit.

            “If I do not follow the Passifora flowers I will avoid suffering,  Tim thought.

            “Then change your course to the left,”  Tim heard the same voice.

            He looked around. Not a soul was seen on all sides.
           
            “How will I climb this huge mountain? Besides, the kingdom of the dwarves is in the dungeon,” Tim replied.

            “So, you have already made your choice,” the voice continued calmly.

            “I made no choice. I am at a crossroads. Do not you see?

            An alarming silence fell over them.

            “Someone is trying me. It could be the glasses that returned from their exile. They must be magical,” Tim thought.

            “Akh, you do not think it straight and loose time,” the voice warned him.

            “Somewhere I have heard this warning,” Tim thought. 

            But it was too late. He fell down again, and when he landed, he immediately recognized the area.

            It was impossible not to recognize it. After all, Tim saw himself walking down the road that led from his own home.

            He was in a rush. Yet he had to shake the paw of Ben, the crocodile, bow Humphrey the cat and catch the mouse Bertha, who dropped a velvet purse with blue lapis lazulites.

            And when he fumbled the area map in his pocket and assured himself that his favorite, ball–shaped donut filled with cherry jam was still in his backpack, a very unhappy thought flashed in his mind.

            “I will never get to the underground kingdom of the dwarves and get a magic diamond. Instead of going forward, I came right back.

            “But you still have one more chance,” Tim heard the familiar voice.

            “How wonderful it is that magic glasses have not left me,” Tim thought.

            “If you prepare a new challenge for me, I will listen, I will waste no time and I will not miss anything. I even will agree to take the path to the left, although climbing a vertical trail is very difficult, almost imposs ...

            “We’ll check it now,” the glasses interrupted Tim, “Did you chat with the daughter of the Dwarves’ King?”

            “I conversed with the butterfly–ballerina. Is she the daughter...?”


            “You talked to her, not knowing her name, and did not even try to guess it,” the glasses hurried to continue, ignoring Tim’s question. “It was not polite and also quite annoying. After all, from your figuring out her name depended your joint destiny. Now the princess is imprisoned in the tower, and you have lost access to the diamond, which is locked in her casket.”

            “This is terrible! She needs help!  Promptly! But how could I reveal her name? Names are plentiful, and they are all different ... Her name is Tess!” Tim blurted.

            If he was told a moment ago that he could effortlessly guess the name of the unknown princess, he would have never believed it.

            “But who said I really had guessed her name?” flashed through Tim’s head.

            “Well, you guessed it right.  Now, there is very little you have to do. You will have to liberate the princess and find the key to her casket. Remember: the key is placed on the wrong side of one of the copper mirrors in the Kingdom of dwarves.

For More On Asya Pekurovskaya: