La Nostra Avventura Italiana, #3

No Idea

We are parked with the campervan almost on the beach, in Falerna, Calabria. The rear doors are open, and we have a view from our bed of the Mediterranean Sea. It's a simple camping spot, but all facilities are there. Upon waking up, I take a long beach walk. I really want to run, but the heavy sand is too loose and sharp. The low sun is warm enough for my bare chest. Before I return, I do my exercises and meditate. The sea is like a mirror and tempts me, so I take a dip in the clear water...


La Nostra Avventura Italiana, #2

Where do we go from here?

It's the question we ask ourselves throughout our entire lives. Everything changes continuously and we must always anticipate these changes, even though we think we have certainties and stability. We plan endlessly.

Living like nomads is inherently changeable. Any place I hang my hat is home. We are in the Netherlands for six days, and have only time for quick visits here and there. We don’t want to be running around all the time. Soon we will depart for Rome, and the adventure...


Guest Blog for Gay Book Promotions

Studying anthropology at the university of Amsterdam, I enjoyed writing essays and received high grades. In his speech at my graduation, my tutor read a part of my thesis, highlighting how much he liked my writing, suggesting that I should seriously think about becoming an author.

That started me thinking. It was, of course, a wonderful thing to hear, but did I really have it in me? After some short stories, I wrote my novel Cajú. I spent much time in Brazil to do research, which eventually led ...


La Nostra Avventura Italiana, #1

"Doors Closing"

The alarm goes off at 4:30am, we rise in the dark and deflate the air mattress. Our house has been uncomfortably bare for days. All life has been drained from it. It's sold. What we want to keep in terms of belongings is in storage in Palm Springs until we know where it needs to be shipped. It's really happening: we bid farewell to our lovely home in Palm Springs. No turning back. The adventure can begin.

"Doors closing," said the woman's voice from the speaker in the elevator ...


What is my genre?

Often I get the question in which genre I write. In America, it’s easy. There’s a genre that’s not very well known but gaining popularity: Visionary Fiction. Most people take that answer for granted. Sometimes they ask what it is.

It can be difficult as a writer to determine which genre you belong to. Just stick a label on it and that's it. But my stories are not thrilling enough to be a thriller, not fantastic enough to be a fantasy novel, not romantic enough for romance and not Young Adult enough...


Spirit Guide

Does something like a spirit guide really exist? I had become curious after reading Elephant Songs: The transcendent journey of a reluctant psychic, by Michelle Frost. She tells us how she’s been accompanied by her spirit guide for all of her life, helping her on her way from where she was born in South-Africa to Scotland. She’s been gifted with clairvoyance from childhood and tries to deal with that the best way she can. The spirit guide helping her—and sometimes bothering or pestering her—is an...


Karma

“What’s happening now in America is just karma for what we’ve done to the Native Americans.”

I’ve heard this statement going around for a while—when it’s about politics—and it amazes me. We asked for it. A long suppressed national feeling of guilt has found a way out. We will suffer now. One of the biggest genocides in the history of mankind has been swept under the mat and left out of history books for generations. There can be no absolution. Karma, payback time, it’s a bitch. The Great Leader ...


Good Grief

“In the Lakota/Sioux tradition, a person who is grieving is considered most wakan, most holy. There's a sense that when someone is struck by the sudden lightning of loss, he or she stands on the threshold of the spirit world. The prayers of those who grieve are considered especially strong, and it is proper to ask them for their help. You might recall what it's like to be with someone who has grieved deeply. The person has no layer of protection, nothing left to defend. The mystery is looking out...


Pine Ridge, South Dakota (August 2018)

At 11 o'clock in the morning I land at Denver airport, pick up my rental car and drive north through Colorado and Nebraska. To my left, in the distance, are the Rocky Mountains, but once in Nebraska the country is empty, flat and boring, with straight roads. I am on my way to Pine Ridge, the Indian reservation of the Oglala Lakota, just across the South Dakota border, a six-hour drive. My contact person repeatedly advised me to arrive at least one hour before dark and I take that seriously. My GPS...