I came to Civitella having just finished a draft of a novel about a man who becomes a human trafficker to support his family. I didn’t know what I’d work on here, but next thing I knew I was writing a love story. Girl meets boy, falls in lust, falls in love, get...
Una faccia da ubriaco vasta proprio come la vita può contenere migliaia di alcoolisti può far sgorgare una marea in avanti fino alle orbite fino a tutti i tratti del volto spillano tempo non è la prima volta e nemmeno l’ultima essa intimidisce il silenzio Ad ogni...
We paint the bedroom walls Quixotic Plum.We paint the bedroom ceiling Foggy Day. You paint your nails and eyelids Powder Blue.We drive to photograph the flying buttresses of the flamboyant oil refineryand stay through dusk to catch the glimmering reflections of its...
War, violence, killing, poverty, absence of freedom and ugliness was my reality in Belgrade. Civitella was something totally different. That was magic place full of light where everything had a special aura, a place where you can touch and smell beauty. There I was...
I have been in Italy for just one week when together with a group of companions from the writer’s retreat where we are staying, we visit two small towns. We drive across a beautiful countryside filled with groves of olive trees, lines of cypress and poplar, occasional...
