It's hard for a good deed to be late... Dear gentlemen and lovely ladies, I must tell you news that has long been expected, but no less wild. It may make some of you happy for a moment, others will be a little upset, and others will probably not care. So, I will write a novel... WHY NOT Yes, I know this is not the best solution, but there were reasons for it. For whatever genre I haven’t written before, whatever genre I haven’t delved into, as they say in such cases, I haven’t touched the novel. Articles and stories, explanatory notes, testimonies and even excuse me SMS, but this... But the Human Enemy says that in life you have to try everything. But if it is still possible to somehow brush aside the mocking demon, which by definition is the father of all lies, then although it is possible to brush aside the voices of many wise and kind people, it is not somehow not entirely pleasant, and I allowed myself to be convinced. For they told me, and repeated many times, that I’ll stop writing reviews of other people’s novels and entertaining the ladies with tall tales. They are told lies about the secrets of the unconscious and the secrets of male psychology every day even without me. It’s time for me to become more serious and prepare for death, that is, to do something for eternity. Timeless, serious, and not your usual bullshit. So why not...?... MANUSCRIPTS BURN BEAUTIFULLY The last time I wrote a novel was when I was eight years old. It could hardly be called a novel in the full sense, because what kind of novel can you write at the age of eight, having read a couple of books and only recently mastered writing? Besides, it happened in the summer, so... Then I lived at my grandmother’s dacha, and had already written several stories and fairy tales, and kept them in a secret notebook... and I also had a friend who was also writing a book. He lived next door and was a tireless storyteller. Subsequently, he became a history teacher, but never wrote a single book, although he tried many times. Today he is an alcoholic, and will no longer write anything. But then, then... Then I was always competing with him, trying to at least somehow surpass his fantasies, perfect, light as birds and slightly bad. The competition ended with my parents, having listened to a couple of my stories, interrupting me and forbidding me to be friends with him anymore. Apparently, what they heard made them seriously worry about my mental health. Then my stories stopped, the ban was lifted each time, and we again captivated each other with stories, completely incredible and crazy. And then one day he began to write a book. The history of two world wars. He invited me to participate and write a book together, the two of us... but for some reason I didn’t like this idea, and the whole direction of the text... Then I began to write my book. It was a real adventure novel. Its hero, a young boy - naturally, you, my enlightened and educated readers, understood that I wrote about my childhood dreams - finds himself in the center of extreme events. He runs away from home - just like that, for the love of adventure, for no reason. He quietly makes his way to the airfield, boards the plane and flies away, but the plane crashes over the southern sea, and he ends up on an island with pirates... Naturally, all this was not as smooth as I’m telling you now, but I already had a huge thick notebook, on the cover of which I wrote that it was a novel, and the title, and of course the name of the author... Of course, I couldn’t resist. I told my grandmother everything, probably on the second day, I was infinitely proud, and with expression I read to her selected passages of the novel... and completely lost sight of her serious face. This morning I spent a long time looking for my novel. Or rather, he was where he left it, in the desk cabinet, that huge and thick notebook with the title on the cover... But there were no pages with my story in it. The notebook seemed to have lost a little weight, exactly by the pages that were covered with text, and some completely elusive signs suggested that he was still there, he was just recently, right here, but for some reason he disappeared. I ran and asked her. Without changing her face, with the same infinitely affectionate and wise gaze, she said that she burned them. She carefully tore out the scribbled pages, quietly while I was sleeping, and burned them instove. My grandmother burned my novel, my book, as if it had never existed. Smiling, she said that now I can write something else if I want. Now you are reading this and you cannot believe your eyes. Then I couldn’t believe it either. It was... It wasn't evil or resentment, it was beyond good and evil, beyond logic, reality and common sense. It was strange. It was as if I suddenly found myself in a book. As if he himself was a character in one of his own very strange stories. It was as if I was living in an adventure novel that suddenly turned into an incredible and wild fairy tale. She behaved perfectly, and I am not at all sure that I could have behaved with such dignity if I had been in her place at that moment. I wasn't throwing hysterics, no, I was just... I was just very surprised. It was as if the sun had been turned off. She was not an illiterate village woman, she taught at the university. I know for sure that she loved books. That was incredible. This was my first encounter with the incredible in my life. The first, but far from the last. The incredible is always here, nearby, behind a thin paper wall. Then, as I thought about it, I realized something important about the nature of reality. A reality that has no obligations to us and can turn into anything at any moment... but that was later. Now, being psychologically sophisticated people who have read a lot, you and I can come up with any scientific explanation. Maybe she was just protecting me. Perhaps she didn’t want me to become a writer... because she knew too well the fate of writers. Those of them who wrote what they wanted. I remember how, when I was very little, I caught snippets of arguments that they had with my grandfather, arguments about strange and scary books that were passed from hand to hand by people of their circle, passed on in great secrecy, looking at the door. It was impossible to pronounce any titles or names... but I remembered. They fell silent every time, stopping the argument in the middle, when they realized that I heard, or could hear. I heard it almost always. I heard and understood that something was wrong with the world. Many years later I found out what was wrong with the world. Then I learned that not a single grandmother and not a single mother would want the fate of Russian writers for their loved ones. Those who really were. So, I'm not offended at all. On the contrary, I am delighted. Also... you don’t have to be a psychoanalyst to start worrying when a boy dreams of running away from home and wandering to distant lands. It is better to nip the trouble at the very root, to interrupt the very process of thinking, so as not to repent and not engage in a vain search. Thousands of children leave home every year. Not everyone is found alive; this cannot be returned. Or maybe she wanted to burn me. Unconsciously, sincerely believing that he loves. And instead of me, she had to burn my imaginary life. This also happens often, it happens to very nice and kind people. What does it matter, after all these years... WHAT NOW Why am I telling you this. Firstly, because I decided so, and I’m old enough to do as I want and not have to explain anything to anyone. Secondly, this story will subsequently be included in my novel, the one that I will write now. It will be told on his own behalf by one of his heroes. He will be completely different from me, just like everyone else, but still... Thirdly, because I really want to tell you something. And I prefer to talk about this using my own example, because if I talk about it using the example of others or abstractly and theoretically, you will not believe it. I will now outline these things in detail. 1. It doesn't matter what happened before. The past has no power over you. The past has no power over you, even if it did. It doesn’t matter who, when and how did it to you, in your childhood or yesterday, a year, twenty, or fifty years ago. What matters is what you decide to do with it. You and only you can decide what to turn your life into. You are completely free. Consider that I have freed you, right now, with this word. Yes, she burned my book. But I continued to write, I wrote all my life, I was published for the first time in a newspaper when I was still very young, and Iand I've been writing ever since. And that guy, my friend, no one burned his book. No one stopped him from saying what he wanted, no one forbade him to fantasize and be friends with me. But he chose to choose the world of alcoholic hallucinations and lives in it. It doesn’t matter who, when or what forbade you. You can change your mind at any moment. Yes, you have often heard something different. But you are absolutely free. Go and do what you want. 2. It doesn’t matter how many injuries you have received or what they were. It doesn't matter how many times you've been hurt. Naturally, you can be proud of your wounds, you can flaunt them and claim that they are the only thing stopping you from achieving all your desired goals. But you are in your own way. And you can stop at any moment. Once upon a time, a scientist, very smart and brave, his name was Dr. Freud, made a mistake. He discovered that in every suffering, sick and damaged person one can always find trauma in the past. He suggested that trauma was the root of everything. He made a mistake. He did not know that we can find exactly the same, and often much more severe, traumas in the past of those who are completely healthy, effective and capable of happiness. One out of ten who went through the war suffers from neurosis. But nine are healthy, although they received no less injuries. They are happy and live life to the fullest. Be proud of your wounds, but leave them in the past. 3. Always take risks, do something new, or die. Old age is not age. Old age is when you forbid yourself to change. This is when you stop playing with possibilities, exploring life, learning, and starting to do things you've never done. Life is when you are free. Decide whether to be an old man and wait for death - or to live. Once upon a time I couldn’t write, because children’s games cannot be seriously considered novels and stories. Then I learned. Once upon a time I didn’t know how to work with a computer or use the Internet. Yes, and you once didn’t know how to do many things. Then you learned and I learned. Remember how amazing this feeling is - when a world that was recently closed to you suddenly turns into a completely different, previously unknown side. Remember and do it again. There is no reason to deny yourself this feeling. Feel brave again and discover a new world. Live, or make room. 4. Act without expecting gratitude. Don't expect flowers. Don't think that the world will thank you. Or your lot will be eternal disappointment, loss of strength and an endless series of grievances. Do what you want, and let the feeling of pride and self-righteousness be your reward. You will never be able to please everyone anyway. You will receive the most attacks, ridicule and reproaches if you do something truly new, strong and courageous. They will curse you, they will laugh at you and write denunciations against you, secretly envying you. So, if you find yourself in such a situation, know that you are on the right track. If your novel is burned, if it is banned, if they throw mud at you and poison you, if they threaten you and want to intimidate you, you undoubtedly have something to be proud of. You can assume that these are their flowers. It’s just that this is how they grew up. So people give you what they have. Don't expect anything different, learn to be proud of it. 5. Study yourself, boldly explore your life. There is no greater joy than discovering something new in yourself. Every discovery in yourself makes you infinitely richer, stronger and deeper. I have returned many times to research the old story that I told you. Each time I discovered something different in myself, and I will discover it more than once. There is no point in seeking final knowledge, the latest and only correct interpretations. Nothing is finished or completed while you are alive, and maybe even when you have already died. It all starts right here. Therefore, do not try to forget anything. Life itself erases too much for us to help it with this. Every memory carries knowledge that is so liberating and powerful that it makes it sweeter than honey. Every hour, every moment, chance meeting or event, even if at first painful and ambiguous, makes us richer. It's up to you to decide how to use this wealth. 6.Hurry skillfully, do not rush your horses. There are technologies that can erase memory. Technologies of change that can immediately transform you into a different person, simply by exchanging your memories for others. I tried them on myself and I know what I'm talking about. Don't be afraid of them, but don't rush to use them either. It will be much better to follow step by step, to explore your personality in more traditional ways, because each of us already has everything we need for happiness. And there is absolutely nothing superfluous in us. Look for what is there. Otherwise, if you get to advanced psychotechnologies, the changes will be led by your same old and unexplored, and often not yet fully healed, personality. Then you will have to go back. But if you choose the extreme route, don't be afraid. Nothing is over, and you can always turn everything to your advantage. Just measure seven times. 7. Roast Grandma We often chase the chimera. We spend our lives always trying to prove something to them. People who were once very important to us. To those who loved and protected us when there was essentially nothing to love for. To those we loved. You have already proven everything to them. You don't owe anyone anything. It is impossible for us to know why certain people treated us the way they did. This will remain an unsolved mystery, but you have the strength to bear it. There is no point in making empty guesses. You became what you were able to become, and you will become what you turn into, and it doesn’t matter whether they like it or not. You have lived your life as it was, and you can change it. It's up to you to decide what you change. So do it your way. The past is in the past, but you can always go back there. For this we have imagination and memory. You already have everything you need. Do what you want... AND ELSE... Now I’ll go and write what I want. Not the same text, but completely different. I think it’s time to fry your grandmother. In the meantime, fry yours. See you later... PS I told you this old story... Since then, I have forgotten and remembered this time several times, and have already learned from it, as it seemed to me, everything. One day I decided to learn how to write better, not as I was taught, to create my own personal and unique style. Then I changed the past. I erased those memories, but not completely, not completely, but only pushed them aside. And he created others next to them. Another parallel world. There, in these new memories of mine, I finished writing that novel. And everyone admired him. Grandmother was happy, grandfather was proud of me. Nothing stopped me from writing as I wanted. The past didn't bother me. But my manner and style have not changed. I remained myself. The same as he was, although with a different past. Then I put everything back in place and began to think differently. To live differently, you need to find a different way of thinking. You can change everything by remaining yourself. We ourselves are the best thing about us. Everything is already here. Everything we needed was always within us. Each of us has a certain inclination, the ability to do something that we can do better than others, or simply do well. And enjoy it. Find it in yourself. Everything is in you... NOTES Future novel - tell me, what's the use of boasting about what you didn't do...? Once upon a time, a very long time ago, they explained to me that a self-respecting person does not boast about what he has not yet done and is silent about his plans. I followed this for many years and I was right. But today I decided to do something different. Simply because I've never done this before. And see what happens. Besides, I want to prove to you that the evil eye does not exist. You can't jinx the future. And I also have to tell you, I did it on purpose, that is, as they sometimes say, consciously. So as not to refuse, turning it into a joke. Like, the boy said it, the boy did it. Or at least I honestly tried to do it before leaving it forever. After all, you understand that it takes at least a year to write a novel, but you can write for two, five, ten, twenty or any number of years and still get stuck. Moreover, I decided that I would write exclusively in winter. Or let’s say, in the winter, or at least in the fall, so as not to regret the sultry summer that was missed and wasted on a trifle, and I still won’t give up writing articles. Moreover, my computer can.…