Favourite pieces from 2022
Hi there! As the year is nearing its end, I want to share a recap of Fictitious, this blog/newsletter that I launched in May. Writing and publishing essays and stories has made my life a bit more interesting, and I can only hope that some of the things I’ve written made you think or feel.
In 2023, there will be slight changes to the format, and posts like this (recaps/compilations/assembled musings) will become rare. Instead, I’ll be focusing on publishing longer essays and stories as standalone pieces, with as little padding as possible. I’ve noticed (and shared this observation with several fellow writers privately) how easy it is to turn a newsletter into a low-effort, routine and predictable product. I’d like to avoid that at all costs.
I’m not yet set on the schedule, but I intend to write and publish at least a piece a week, alternating between fiction, reviews, and essays. The Ray Bradbury Challenge is on hold for now, but I might reboot it at some point (probably once I have a backlog of stuff I read and reviewed, as I’ve found reading against a deadline a hugely unpleasant ordeal).
In the NY, I also want to experiment more with form and topics. If you yourself have any ideas for collaboration, I would definitely be game.
Finally, I’d like to thank all those of you who read my stuff, give me feedback, and share your thoughts. I appreciate you giving your time to me, and I promise to repay you by writing more stuff!
The pieces I enjoyed writing the most
Inspired by a not-so-engaging tour guide in Montenegro, this piece called I told you and now you know (a phrase the guide repeated after every factoid) pushed me to think more about why so many tour guides can’t tell a good story. The ripple effect is my plan of becoming a licensed tour guide in 2023 myself.
Probably my most (or even only) controversial piece, The consequences of not punching a Nazi is one of several essays discussing the morality of certain choices, in this case - seeing a literal Nazi (SS tattoos and all) walking a WWII exhibit and doing nothing about it.
That sweet analog smell was the first in a series of posts about the things I saw, read or experienced as a kid. This one was about the long-forgotten medium that the filmoscope was. I really enjoyed writing about the stuff that connects me to certain periods of my childhood, and since that first post came out, I wrote about a 800+ page “encyclopedias for boys”, a 1974 Soviet sci-fi kids movie, and the reason why the sight of an old lady struggling with a big bag still sends shivers down my spine.
Although two of the pieces predate the blog, I’m especially proud of the three short stories I published this year: No duplicates, Gathering amber and Pulling no punch cards. They all sit somewhere on the speculative/sci-fi spectrum, a spectrum I’d like to expand next year.
I also wrote the first installment in what will be a series of observational essays revolving around things we rarely notice, like people on our commute. Called Commuters, the piece is a condensed and slightly edited collection of thoughts on people on the buses and trolleybuses of Vilnius. If you read Lithuanian, the piece, published by the Literatūra ir menas literary magazine, is also available in translation.
And the title of my favourite piece of 2022 goes to Shadowboxer in the dark. It’s a story about my neighbour, who likes to do crunches outdoors in sub-zero temperatures. It’s also about doing your own thing. And this is what I wish you all in 2023. Do your own thing!
Thank you for such great reads, Oleg! All the very best for 2023!