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Русский
| Nina's Bio |
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It’s hard to write about myself. I was born in Russia to a father from Ukraine, and my earliest years belong to an era when outsiders imagined our whole country as one long winter populated by roaming bears. The cold was real enough—but it was nothing a good coat couldn’t handle, and Russia has plenty of warm places too. What I have come to believe is that we fear animals far less than we fear people, particularly those who are armed with evil ideas and the means to impose them.
What happened during my childhood was a cheerful piece of communist theater, and we were its willing, proud audience. How could we not be? Patriotism came naturally enough under the circumstances—the long memory of wars and revolutions, a country hemmed in by vast and hostile borders, and the careful management of propaganda and information. It was not so hard to believe you were the best of the best when that was the only story you were told behind the Iron Curtain. Personally, I believe that every system has its own flavor of Hell. But as a child I had no interest in who was running the country. Everyone seemed more or less equal, life seemed simple, and that was enough. The hospitals were free, as well as education, libraries, and sports activities. Children participated in everything, spending much of their time in these activities or simply gathering in their neighborhood play yards. I was one of them. I had many chores in my youth, and one of my mother’s errands for me was my favorite. She would send me to the nearby grocery store for fresh bread, and as I carried the loaf home, I would tear off the heel and eat the warm crust in small pieces while it was still crackling. Any Russian will know exactly what I mean. I can almost taste it still. There are some things from childhood that time simply cannot improve upon. Back then we didn’t have much, but we were voracious readers, I think, surprised people who imagined us otherwise. Most blue-collar families proudly kept full sets of classic literature on their shelves. Mine was no different—I grew up surrounded by readers, and I cannot place the moment I became one, only that I always was. Stories came next, then short articles for a school newspaper and some poetry…. Oh, my, it feels strange to reach back that far. Long ago, while studying English, I came across a diagram of the human life cycle: birth, marriage, reproduction, and death. A clean circle—so simple! But where in that circle does one put study, love, mental and physical challenges, military service, hatred, jealousy, betrayal, divorce? Perhaps some people are fortunate enough to live the peaceful circle of life. The rest of us get a polygon—all those unexpected angles and sharp turns. However, I guess most Russians tend to describe their lives as a rollercoaster, and I think they mean it literally. Mine was no different. I finished college, earned my diploma, and built a career as a successful business manager. But it turned out that I was far less capable of managing my own life while facing the challenges and consequences of raising my children on my own. The collapse of the Soviet system — internal rot, external pressure, take your pick — swept my old career away with it. That upheaval is what delivered me to the United States. Though I believed I had left everything behind, I carried something less tangible and far more stubborn: a Russian sensibility that lingers in my syntax, my skepticism, my humor — even the way I measure silence between words. I write in English now, but the ghost of another grammar persists. For many years now, I have been happily married to my husband, Bill. He has a gift for calm and a steady hand on the wheel when the water grows rough. He is the light that has made the path ahead seem less daunting. His support has been absolute, there in every direction I might lean. Without him, I would not be the woman I am today, nor the writer I became in two languages. My debut novel, “Russian Roller Coaster Trilogy: Part 1 - A Wrong Choice”, was first published in Russia in 2006 under the title Don’t Disappear. It was adapted that same year into the successful TV miniseries Ticket to Harem. Here in America, “Don’t Disappear, Part 1” received a Pinnacle Achievement Award, as did each of the other two books in the original trilogy. While living in Texas, I completed a bachelor’s degree in psychology with a minor in criminal justice. Writing was the anchor I returned to, whether I was feeding our animals or digging the earth for a new garden bed feeling the excavator’s engine vibration in my bones. I suppose there is nothing particularly typical about writing a novel with dirt on your boots — but then, there has been very little of anything conventional about my life. Living has taught me to carry truth like a stone in my pocket—not for its weight, but for its certainty. And sometimes you must pack your knowledge into a mental backpack and make room for new scents, new ground—like a dog rolling in different smells to fit into a new reality. I no longer offer my precious time to those who give me no respect in return, not even for family. Time becomes far too valuable to spend begging for a place in someone else’s life. Each person walks their own road toward their purpose guided by their own energy and beliefs. There are no accidents. All things happen for a reason. And after all the countries, languages, sharp turns, and unexpected bumps along the way, I remain grateful for the road I traveled, and for every experience that shaped who I am today. God bless America and the world! ~ Yours truly, NG
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| DontDisappear.com |
