WHEN BLOOD LEARNS TO LOVE, An Essay from the Backroom of Creation
Photo: Ganiarov Publishers LLC WHEN BLOOD LEARNS TO LOVE An Essay from the Backroom of Creation No novel begins on a page. It begins earlier — in the tremor that provokes it. For years, I carried in silence a question that haunted me like a voice that refused to fade: Where does love come from when it is born from pain? That is my obsession — love in all its manifestations. It wasn’t a theoretical question, but a visceral one. I had seen how love, in its purest or most perverse forms, could destroy as much as it could redeem. And I knew then that I could only write about what hurt me to understand. That is how When Blood Learns to Love was born: from unease, from a nameless guilt, from the certainty that even tenderness can become an act of cruelty when it rests upon an unhealed wound. Every act of creation is a postponed confession. One does not write because one knows, but because one bleeds. When I began sketching the story, I wasn’t seeking to build a thriller or a plot driven by ...
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