Life Across The Sun
Well, I am supposedly a writer/novelist, but lately I’ve been going through a long never-ending writer’s block and this is too scary. I knew I
Well, I am supposedly a writer/novelist, but lately I’ve been going through a long never-ending writer’s block and this is too scary. I knew I
Tehran, Summer 1987 In the first years of war nothing looked like any of the images we’d seen in the movies. Tehran’s trees didn’t grow
I would like to invite all my dear Iranian.com friends to my final reading at the Hammer Museum! Let’s celebrate PEN USA 2011 Emerging Voices
“You are so sweet,” I was always told. Now I am convinced they were right. I AM sweet, really sweet. Even sweeter than it should.
Istanbul, winter 1983 “Come back tomorrow,” the police officer at the gate of the US embassy shouted. People grumbled and dispersed, to go back home,
I am writing this blog to invite you, my dear talented Iranian.com writers and poets, to apply for the 2012 PEN USA Emerging Voices fellowship.
When Ari Siletz offered me the opportunity of reading and writing a review for Jasmin Darznik’s first memoir, The Good Daughter, A memoir of My
An exerpt from The Suicide Note… I read it Friday night for my first public reading organized by PEN USA: I looked around. There was
Many of you might not know about him, but for me it’s hard to talk about him without getting emotional, even though I have never
Many of you might not know about him, but for me it’s hard to talk about him without getting emotional, even though I have never
Nothing moved. I was going to be late, I thought, looking at the smoke rising above the crash scene, only a couple of hundred meters
Father’s day is approaching… and as you know, I have this special thing for Fathers, since my own father isn’t here anymore. So, in spite
… I lit the cigarette and watched the full moon descending over the city. I couldn’t stop thinking about Mohsen and his last love. That
If Salman Rushdi hadn’t forgotten to set his alarm clock, we would have never met. But that party was such a hot party and he
It was the last summer we spent in Tehran. Everyone was supposed to leave Earth, for good. Mother and Alephba had already spent more than
Whatever has ever happened before this moment is irrelevant. Orhan Pamuk walked into the stage and the excitement of hearing him reading from his new
There are good days and bad days, even good years and bad years. But then, there are years like the year my son was born.
For the “Iran, a reflection” Series همه میدانند که زمین می چرخد که هوا بی رنگ است که ستاره به سحر شک دارد همه میدانند
اینجا کجاست که گرمایش سرد است که آفتابش ابریست جایی که باد پرده اتاق را از پشت پنجره بسته اینگونه میلرزاند وقتی باران و مه
“I don’t feel your arm anymore,” my coworker shouted. “Please! Don’t move. You’re killing me.” It was so cold that every one of his breaths
A page from my old diaries of war…written while hiding in the closet of my room during the blackouts. It was originally written as prose,
Swaying from this moment to another, I’m going from age to age, looking back with resentment or thrill, to define this singular instant that carries
Mehrabad airport is crowded. Everybody seems in a rush to leave Iran. The air is dry. It’s the end of September, but the heat belongs
The moon vanished behind the moving clouds. The cold breeze and the lifeless view facing our hotel room reminded me of the prison. Sahar and
I keep sneezing. My throat, my eyes, my face itches. How am I going to look when I get there? The cold and the rain