If I don't write, I am unable to breathe, my heart doesn't beat, and I can't eat or drink. Obviously, this is an exaggeration. I could very well live without writing a single word. I could stop waking up at five in the morning, stop making coffee, stop adding a little butter on toast, stop grinding Amigo instant coffee until it gets a light-yellow foam, as it has to. Instead, I could make some black tea, lose myself inside the picture painted in the window and take a deep breath of the dense and cold morning air. But I prefer writing.
Ionuț Morariu
I sincerely admit. All my live I've hated literature and writers seemed to me the most depraved species of parasites. But life takes you on paths you wouldn't ever think of walking. Fair, right? So, look. I ended up writing for a living. I come up and write on paper stories about relatives, neighbours, friends. Each brainstorm brings me a piece of meat in my soup and keeps my teeth inside my mouth. But instead of seeing my talent, my cellmates call me an informer. Informer my ass. They're jealous I get to earn my living by writing.
Mihaela Scânteie
My boss noticed me that the company office in the city I worked in was closing down. There wasn't any remote option, so I lost my job. I looked for work. That's how I started writing. Astrosex horoscope for a french magazine. I found the contract on Fiverr. I was paid by the article. My e-mail was flooded by questions about sexual compatibility between zodiac signs. Some were detalied regarding orgasmic positions and good sex toys. On Monday I'm leaving for France, I have my first meeting with a reader.
(Translated by Maria-Ilinca Darie / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.