literary nonfiction
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9 Short Stories by Egyptian Women, in Translation
arab authors, comparative literature, folklore, Islam, Islamic History, language, linguistics, literary fiction, literary nonfiction, literature, memoir, novels, ON WRITING, Reading Women Challenge, writingAfrica, anthropology, Arab, Arab literature, Arabia, Arabic, Art, author, comparative literature, Confession, culture, egypt, feminism, folklore, gastronomy, islam, journalism, literary, literary agent, literary fiction, literary nonfiction, literature, mena, middle east, Mythology, nonfiction, novelist, philosophy, poet, Poetry, world literature, writers life, Writing
Egyptian authors
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Meet Nicholas: or, Hello There! | Crafting My Author Biography
Novelist. Reader. Archaeologist. After high school I hit the road. A spontaneous bus ride to Mexico City led me into the hazy mountains, the deep emerald forests of Chiapas where I discovered the beautiful and heartbreaking world of the Maya (yes, they still exist) and found something deeply rooted, down in my heart of hearts:…
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Opening lines: A Story About Identity, Revolution, and What it Means to Be a Modern Human. A Work in Progress #LiteraryFiction
#WisdomWednesday, Adventure, Africa, American Road Trip, Arabic, Archaeology, Art, Author, Authors, backpacker, Backpacking, Blogging, Book Blog, books, existentialist, knausgaard, literature, memoir, nonfiction, rough draft, The Outsider, Travel, travel writing, travelblog, travelblogger, traveler, writingAdventure, Africa, Arabic, artist, Backpacking, Blogging, book review, book reviews, confessions, critique, editing, first lines, first page, heartache, hemingway, islam, knausgaard, literary agent, literary fiction, literary nonfiction, literature, love story, manuscript, memoir, Morocco, my struggle, opening lines, publishing, revolution, road book, roman a clef, romance, rough draft, travel journal, travel writing, true story, work in progress, writer, writers life
Excerpt from The Outsider: A Memoir? “The sky out my window is that fiery red which makes the heart swell with life and there it is again: that sensational expanding within my chest, rising to my throat, gripping and stinging my eyes.”
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The sky out my window is that fiery red which makes the heart swell with life and there it is again: that sensational expanding within my chest, rising to my throat, gripping and stinging my eyes. Oh, no. Not again. I bury face into the scarf. Traces of fig leaf and sandalwood bring her rushing…
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Am I fooling myself? Despite many attempts to complete my novel the writing continues to be obscured by vague details and scenes fall apart before closing. I understand how scenes work, and spend hours a day taking notes on published authors –what makes their work flow and read so beautifully?– but I can’t seem to…
Nicholas Andriani Rankin 