Writing in cemeteries... oh yes! The dead are always available. Their earthly story may be concluded, but their persisting presence affects us in ways we can barely begin to imagine.
You remind me that there are 1700 graves in Middletown, Connecticut marked only with numbers. The cemetery at the Connecticut General Hospital for the Insane gave no names for the inmates who died there because of the stigma associated with being insane.
As l walk around areas of London there are many things and interesting characters that catch my eye. So yes l agree with you that there is inspiration everywhere and it’s rarely polished but still a ragged idea just waiting!
Cemeteries are wonderful atmospheric places and as I’m sure you know we have many in London. Stoke Newington is a favourite on a hot day and l love reading the inscriptions and imagining the people. Brompton Cemetery is absolutely wonderful and l love the huge murder of crows that live there. Perched on various graves and looking like they could tell a story or two! I loved 10 seconds, such a good book bringing all the forgotten people together and the wonderful friendship between them. Tequila had me hooked from the first page. Thank you Elif for sharing your thoughts and writing your lovely books 🙏
I liked the novel very much. I thought it was a praise of Istanbul but not the city of tourist attractions, rather the city of the"nameless". The description of the secretive nocturnal funeral of the main character by the "water family" was very special indeed: conspiracy, suspense, darkness...
Beautifully said, thank you. One of the inspirations for my first novel was an image from a tv news film of the aftermath of the Japanese tsunami some years ago . Just one solitary figure standing motionless in the midst of utter devastation, where a whole town had been swept away - standing just where their home had once been. That image speaks to me of a whole world, and of one particular person bereft of everything
"Creativity is not hiding in some luxuriant, elegant, polished setting. Creativity is present in everything, and everywhere, but all too often, in the most undervalued and unloved places". So true. So meaningful to all. Thank you so much, Mrs. Shafak.
A very touching reflection Elif. Thank you for that. Inspiration. Yes, it is really about opening your heart—unguarded, vulnerable, receptive. It begins not with effort, but with permission: the quiet willingness to be touched, to be pierced, to be moved by something greater than your own mind. This might come from a phrase, a glint of light on the floor, a memory, a gesture, a sound—or from nothing at all but a breeze that brushes the edge of your awareness and says, wake up.
It is a two-way street, but not a transaction. You must first become a vessel, cleared of noise and ready to hold something unknown. This requires trust, patience, and a certain inner stillness. You must be willing to receive and to not immediately respond. To live with the spark in your chest, letting it kindle and grow warm. To protect it, even from your own ambition.
For the true gift of inspiration asks to be nurtured in silence before it can be shaped into expression. It is a seed. And seeds do not flourish in haste. They ask for dark soil, for time, for the slow work of transformation. Only then can the response arise—not as a reaction, but as a deep echo, a call returned, a whisper woven into the fabric of your own being.
This is why the artist, the poet, the contemplative, lives in a state of listening. To be inspired is to be breathed into, and in return, to breathe out something that was never entirely yours to begin with.
The unrealistic expectation that a beautiful scenery is a requirement for great writing can lead to disappointment. Therefore it’s very welcome that you and other authors speak of various conditions where ideas can spark.
I wrote recently on my sub stack about a writer at a conference who said she wrote in the basement with a blindfold on. In a way this is the opposite of thinking you can only write in a beautiful setting. In my experience, inspiration strikes at unexpected moments – not just in the basement.
Her hafta okuduğum sabırsızlıkla beklediğim her yazısında,tümünü okuduğum kitaplarında her defasında öğrendiğim,anladığım,aklımıza kalbimize dokunan,dünyayı daha yaşanabilir kılan,umudu hep yeniden vareden,çok uzakta olduğunu bilsek bile elini hep omzunuzda kalbini kalbinizde hissettiren Elif Şafak iyi ki var...Sevgiyle❤️
Cemeteries are peaceful, but I've always preferred the old ones with monuments and standing headstones. The more modern ones with small plaques flat on the ground seem stark and pointless. Thank you for another enjoyable essay.
Literature takes a habit of mind that has disappeared. It requires silence, some form of isolation, and sustained concentration in the presence of an enigmatic thing.
I remember you talking at Hay a few years back about a ‘garden of ideas’, where some flourish into stories and others just rest there feeding the soil. It was very inspiring to hear it as it is now reading your post. Thank you for another reminder that we don’t need much to start, just slowing down and doing it.
Elif, your post reminds me of a shrine I visited a in Kamakura, Japan called Hase Kanon. Will Kuan described it this way: “According to legend, children who are miscarried, stillborn, or die before their parents enter a limbo, or kind of hell, at the banks of a rocky river. Here they are forced to build towers from stones to atone for the sin of causing such grief, and to help add to their parents’ merit in the afterlife. Demons then turn up every night and destroy the towers, forcing the children to constantly rebuild. Jizo is the one Bosatsu who turned down enlightenment in order to provide an escape from this Sisyphean task, by hiding children in his robe sleeves and taking them to the Buddhist equivalent of heaven, a duty he has promised to fulfill endlessly.”
You have to wonder what angry grieving parent who lost a child this way would dream up such a cruel story as if the child was responsible for the parent's grief. I am going to retell this story. Watch for it soon on my substack. In fact, in the morning.
Yes I know that. I have spent the afternoon researching this legend and its history. It is very interesting. But it is a parent/child/life/death/grief/afterlife/compassion story. I have just now finished this post and will schedule it for first thing in the morning. I think it is pretty darn good.
Mrs. Shafak you are a genuine storyteller, a rare one. I am grateful I live in this lifetime and being able to read your stories🙏
Writing in cemeteries... oh yes! The dead are always available. Their earthly story may be concluded, but their persisting presence affects us in ways we can barely begin to imagine.
You remind me that there are 1700 graves in Middletown, Connecticut marked only with numbers. The cemetery at the Connecticut General Hospital for the Insane gave no names for the inmates who died there because of the stigma associated with being insane.
As l walk around areas of London there are many things and interesting characters that catch my eye. So yes l agree with you that there is inspiration everywhere and it’s rarely polished but still a ragged idea just waiting!
Cemeteries are wonderful atmospheric places and as I’m sure you know we have many in London. Stoke Newington is a favourite on a hot day and l love reading the inscriptions and imagining the people. Brompton Cemetery is absolutely wonderful and l love the huge murder of crows that live there. Perched on various graves and looking like they could tell a story or two! I loved 10 seconds, such a good book bringing all the forgotten people together and the wonderful friendship between them. Tequila had me hooked from the first page. Thank you Elif for sharing your thoughts and writing your lovely books 🙏
Beautifully put, Annie! From another Annie Macdonald ( now remarried, I’m Annie Walker)
Thank you Annie 🙏
I liked the novel very much. I thought it was a praise of Istanbul but not the city of tourist attractions, rather the city of the"nameless". The description of the secretive nocturnal funeral of the main character by the "water family" was very special indeed: conspiracy, suspense, darkness...
Beautifully said, thank you. One of the inspirations for my first novel was an image from a tv news film of the aftermath of the Japanese tsunami some years ago . Just one solitary figure standing motionless in the midst of utter devastation, where a whole town had been swept away - standing just where their home had once been. That image speaks to me of a whole world, and of one particular person bereft of everything
"Creativity is not hiding in some luxuriant, elegant, polished setting. Creativity is present in everything, and everywhere, but all too often, in the most undervalued and unloved places". So true. So meaningful to all. Thank you so much, Mrs. Shafak.
A very touching reflection Elif. Thank you for that. Inspiration. Yes, it is really about opening your heart—unguarded, vulnerable, receptive. It begins not with effort, but with permission: the quiet willingness to be touched, to be pierced, to be moved by something greater than your own mind. This might come from a phrase, a glint of light on the floor, a memory, a gesture, a sound—or from nothing at all but a breeze that brushes the edge of your awareness and says, wake up.
It is a two-way street, but not a transaction. You must first become a vessel, cleared of noise and ready to hold something unknown. This requires trust, patience, and a certain inner stillness. You must be willing to receive and to not immediately respond. To live with the spark in your chest, letting it kindle and grow warm. To protect it, even from your own ambition.
For the true gift of inspiration asks to be nurtured in silence before it can be shaped into expression. It is a seed. And seeds do not flourish in haste. They ask for dark soil, for time, for the slow work of transformation. Only then can the response arise—not as a reaction, but as a deep echo, a call returned, a whisper woven into the fabric of your own being.
This is why the artist, the poet, the contemplative, lives in a state of listening. To be inspired is to be breathed into, and in return, to breathe out something that was never entirely yours to begin with.
The unrealistic expectation that a beautiful scenery is a requirement for great writing can lead to disappointment. Therefore it’s very welcome that you and other authors speak of various conditions where ideas can spark.
I wrote recently on my sub stack about a writer at a conference who said she wrote in the basement with a blindfold on. In a way this is the opposite of thinking you can only write in a beautiful setting. In my experience, inspiration strikes at unexpected moments – not just in the basement.
Inspiration isn't the problem. Most of us are over-inspired : )
Her hafta okuduğum sabırsızlıkla beklediğim her yazısında,tümünü okuduğum kitaplarında her defasında öğrendiğim,anladığım,aklımıza kalbimize dokunan,dünyayı daha yaşanabilir kılan,umudu hep yeniden vareden,çok uzakta olduğunu bilsek bile elini hep omzunuzda kalbini kalbinizde hissettiren Elif Şafak iyi ki var...Sevgiyle❤️
Cemeteries are peaceful, but I've always preferred the old ones with monuments and standing headstones. The more modern ones with small plaques flat on the ground seem stark and pointless. Thank you for another enjoyable essay.
Here's a great quote on silence
Literature takes a habit of mind that has disappeared. It requires silence, some form of isolation, and sustained concentration in the presence of an enigmatic thing.
Philip Roth
I remember you talking at Hay a few years back about a ‘garden of ideas’, where some flourish into stories and others just rest there feeding the soil. It was very inspiring to hear it as it is now reading your post. Thank you for another reminder that we don’t need much to start, just slowing down and doing it.
Elif, your post reminds me of a shrine I visited a in Kamakura, Japan called Hase Kanon. Will Kuan described it this way: “According to legend, children who are miscarried, stillborn, or die before their parents enter a limbo, or kind of hell, at the banks of a rocky river. Here they are forced to build towers from stones to atone for the sin of causing such grief, and to help add to their parents’ merit in the afterlife. Demons then turn up every night and destroy the towers, forcing the children to constantly rebuild. Jizo is the one Bosatsu who turned down enlightenment in order to provide an escape from this Sisyphean task, by hiding children in his robe sleeves and taking them to the Buddhist equivalent of heaven, a duty he has promised to fulfill endlessly.”
This shrine is on my mind again.
You have to wonder what angry grieving parent who lost a child this way would dream up such a cruel story as if the child was responsible for the parent's grief. I am going to retell this story. Watch for it soon on my substack. In fact, in the morning.
I will watch for it! Just a quick note that this is a Buddhist belief, not a parenting story.
Yes I know that. I have spent the afternoon researching this legend and its history. It is very interesting. But it is a parent/child/life/death/grief/afterlife/compassion story. I have just now finished this post and will schedule it for first thing in the morning. I think it is pretty darn good.
Thank you ! 🥲