On Writing

Today after three long years my husband has finished his first book. He had the idea for it for more than 20 years and started writing it down back in Beijing. I remember how interesting it was to hear him talking about its plot. The amount of details he had been carrying around and able to recall at his fingertips was astounding. Twists and turns of the plot, appearances and quirks of the character, he had it all. The only thing he lacked was time to unload all this on paper consistently. I cannot really tell what finally did the trick – bad weather of Iceland, darkness, or my nagging, but somewhere in January he really gave it a go. Evening after evening coming from work he secluded himself in his office and wrote. His ability to concentrate and steel-will when it comes to studying, be it exams or chess tournaments always impresses me and his approach to writing wasn’t much different.
Somewhere in March he read to us his first chapters, and reading new ones in the evening became the favourite family entertainment. The kids have been so excited – under false pretenses they love to wander into his room and glance on the screen and then run out whispering, “He is writing the battle scene now” or “He kill this guy, can you imagine.”

Now we finally will discover how it will all end!