Matan Shiram – The Space I Write In

Note: Hyperlinks that end with an asterisk lead to Hebrew web pages.

matan

Matan is a journalist, a blogger* and a beginner screenplay writer. He writes about Cinema and Music for Globes Economic Newspaper*. Matan lives and writes in Hod HaSharon, Israel. (Photo taken by Liron Breier)

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1. Art Room

Welcome to my art room. The space I imagine in, let my thoughts wander, scribble warped characters and nonexistent landscapes onto a page, and mainly write. In my art room I do not work. I create. I work in my workroom, where I write my newspaper articles for Globes. This separation is necessary especially because it’s supposedly the same action – thinking that leads to writing, which sometimes includes characteristics similar to those of building a story. Seeing as I’m aware of my tendency to slip away into the realms of my imagination while writing an article, (some say while doing anything and everything else as well), I am prepared for all sorts of stimulations from my inner metaphoric world to interfere, and so I often find myself telling myself: No! You’re in your workroom now. Concentrate!

 

2. Closet of Thoughts

Like my clothes, my thoughts are scattered (thankfully not in the same closet). As you can see, my closet of thoughts is not a metaphoric closet. In it are pages, notebooks, notes that were ripped out of notebooks, a corkboard overflowing with ideas and fragments of stories and also sharpened pencils, black inked pens, rulers in different shapes and sizes and various kinds of stationary. The reason for this is that I have two main weaknesses: a weakness for stationary and a weakness for stationary shops.

Every now and then I’ll open one of the closet doors and pull out a thought I forgot I ever had, or quotes I collected over the years –something to help me when in need of some empowerment. For example, the following quote, I can’t remember who said it: “You’re considered weird until you succeed”, or this wonderful quote by Rainer Maria Rilke: “In the deepest hour of the night, confess to yourself that you would die if you were forbidden to write.” (Letters to a Young Poet).

 

3. Balcony

The front balcony of my house overlooks a small street, but for me it feels like the street overlooks my balcony. This feeling disturbs me, and I admit that because of it, it took me a long time to discover the magic of my balcony. I usually sit there during the remainder of the night, watching a live picture of night turning into day, listening to the world while it sleeps. Countryside quietness that is only disturbed by a passing truck, a newspaper delivery man distributing morning additions, a few insomniac birds, and (4) my dogs, who bark at the newspaper delivery man. On the balcony, during these hours, there are no distractions. They allow me to reflect deeply upon the events of the day that has just ended, the undercurrent of behaviors that have collected in my memory, an experience of some sort, that sitting calmly on my balcony allows me to continue, expanding its initial existence. There, on that balcony, stories find themselves being born.

 

5. Saxophone

Playing the saxophone enables me to express my inner gaps, that some may define as inner conflicts.The sharp transitions from joyfulness and humor to heaviness and sorrow, from earnestness and self-importance to total goofiness, from trying to silence an inner pain to wanting to shout my inside out. From the subtle to the wild. I like subtlety and not refinement, and I believe in harmony that is rooted in disharmony. For this reason people tend to be surprised when they discover that I don’t like jazz (they seem as surprised by my vegetarianism). Jazz bores me. My music is somewhere between the blues and rock, between George Gershwin and Pearl Jam or Nirvana. When I play I close my eyes and wander through all sorts of places in which I will never really get to play – like the Barbie Music Club in Tel Aviv, or the New York City Subway, and I allow myself to create different characters inside me, some of them find their way to the page.

 

 

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Inbal Ganor – The Space I Write In

אני

Inbal Ganor is a screenplay writer and editor. She did her Bachelors and Masters at the Tel Aviv University’s Film and Television Department, where she went on to teach screenplay writing. Inbal lives and writes in Tel Aviv.

Capture1. Cafés

At home I get up, walk back and forth, open the fridge door, look inside, close the fridge door. In a café I am bolted to my seat in a representable and obedient way, ashamed to even go on Facebook. The people around me, the motion, the buzz – bring back my inner serenity; I am part of the human brotherhood, everything is ok.

I tend to choose cafés in which it’s ok to sit for hours, very unpopular cafés and if possible a little musty.

There’s no heat wave outside, I’m not in a busy Tel Aviv street, Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath are sitting at the table next to mine, with their laptops open, sipping double espressos.

2. Books

Anything that can give me inspiration, throw me into a different world, a different time, into someone else’s existence and experiences. During writing periods I find I prefer reading non-fiction: sociology, psychiatry, religion, holocaust, psychology, holocaust and psychology. And more.

3. Music

I like having a soundtrack accompanying me and influencing my mood, the characters’ mood and the atmosphere as a whole. The disadvantage of this is that sometimes when I finish what I was working on, I can’t listen to that music ever again.

4. iPhone Notes

If ideas, fragments, dreams I dreamt, or maybe a story someone told me that affected me in some way pop into my mind – I quickly write them down in shorthand on an iPhone note. Sometimes I even manage to make the connection between what I wrote and whatever the hell it was I was thinking at the time.

5. The Lives of Others

Thankfully, most of the people around me are interesting characters with interesting points of view, and there’s nothing I love more than hearing people tell about their everyday dramas and the dramas of the people in their lives. If they’re funny, it’s even better.

6. Wisława Szymborska

This poster I once made (instead of working) at a workplace I no longer work at, goes with me wherever I move. Her presence, her naughty gaze and defiant cigarette, make me feel good. People who carry themselves gracefully and not too gravely, make me happy. Even if I don’t get to meet them personally. And I haven’t even said a word about her writing (who am I, what am I).