ABOUT

I was born in Istanbul, Turkey in 1974. I was graduated from Kadıköy High School and from Uludağ University, Faculty of Economics.

The excuses I had created throughout my twenty years of career not to sit and write my own story although I had always wanted to, died out the day I decided to resign from my job as a columnist.

I continued to put off writing with similar excuses of writers whom I worked with and gave advice to for years. The advice I gave to others did not work on me. “The cobbler’s son had no shoes.” I thought I needed an editor like me. Until I felt it in my bones that for a writer starting to write had nothing to do with an editor.

I sat and wrote. I knew what I would write. My goal was to put a smile on the reader’s face. I think this is not something to be underestimated. This is what’s most important for me. It was not easy to get rid of the patterns that I was used to, to abandon the flashy mind and word games and to simplify my language. I did not give what the literary circles in Turkey expected from me. I tried to write something that I expected from myself, that would make me happy to read.

Some of my favourite writers (Ursula LeGuin, Italo Calvino, Murakami, Leyla Erbil, Woody Allen, Neil Gaiman, Virginia Woolf, Susan Sontag, Hermann Hesse, Hemingway, Etgar Keret, Patti Smith, Stefan Zwieg, Umberto Eco, Ray Bradbury, Edgar Allan Poe) were somehow there with me in my writing process. I wrote this book under a huge tree while cats were rubbing against my legs, in Cyprus. The journey of my first book was as taleful, colourful and serene as the book itself.

The story of the book is universal. For this reason, it is carefully translated into English. And now it is ready for the people all over the world, who will love it.

The content supported by the illustrations has applicability on different platforms (such as pc games, mobile games). It is also adaptable to make a script or animation movies.

Alfonso Elola who is the illustrator of the book, and Brendan Freely and Yelda Türedi who translated it into English, are close relatives of the book.

WORKS

Some of my work history:

 

Varlık Journal (I made interviews and wrote blurbs)

Cumhuriyet Newspaper (as a redactor)

Okuyanus Publishing House (as a publishing coordinator)

Gözlem Publishing House (as an editor)

Özyürek Publishing House (as an editor of children’s books and consultant)

Dünya Publishing House (as a publishing coordinator)

Sabah Newspaper (as an editor and reporter)

Habertürk Newspaper (as an editor and columnist)

idefix.com (as a member of the jury selecting the books of the year)

egoistokur.com (my tales have been published)

My poems and interviews have been published in Varlık Journal.

My story has been published in the book called Deli Öyküler

My story has been published in the book called Kahramanlar Kitabı.

 

 

Some of the books I edited:

 

Clash of Civilizations / Samuel Huntington

Emotionally Weird / Kate Atkinson

Song of the Selkies / Cathie Dunsford

One Hundred Strokes of the Brush Before Bed / Melissa P.

Little Children/ Tom Perrotta

Comrade Loves of the Samurai /İhara Saikaku

Tuhaf Bir Kadın/ Leyla Erbil

Üç Başlı Ejderha/ Leyla Erbil

Bedava Gergedan /Orhan Cem Çetin

CONTACT



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CONTACT

THE STORY OF THE PLACE WHERE EVERYONEISTHEMSELVES

The story of a young man searching for the place he belongs to and the pieces he feels are missing. It's an adventure to listen to what everyone says to you on the way out, try to figure it out, and understand it on this.
Nada, who lives Beneath the Trees, goes to Above the Trees, to Under Water, to the Plains. Some of the companions we meet are the Weeping Willow, the blind wise owl, the Medium, the Shaman, the Queen, the fallen tree nymph, the jeweler woman and many more ... and the most important of all, Prana ... Falling in love and perhaps learning the most profound ways of questioning him.
Here is one of the stories he listens.

I lived in whereeveryoneisthemselves for a few years. When the subject comes up, people still ask what I saw in this strange land that so few people in the wide world have seen and no one knows how to get to. Yes, these were not things we're accustomed to seeing.

For example it was fun to describe some of my friends, I avoided introducing the strangest ones to each other because I liked describing them to each other in the finest detail. I was so sure I had no idea what "different" meant until I went to this land from the monotonous world of people, though I have no idea how and why I went there.

In this place where I lived for a few years there were poem fields, cake trees, book hives, fruit juice rivers, chocolate swamps, huge trees with different kinds of notebook pages, regions that were famous for their meatball bushes, beautiful caves that had different sauces hidden in their depths, forests where smelly cheeses were concealed in tree trunks, there were also forests where the trees had pens on their branches and colored inks in their roots. That's not all. Sleep hills famous for their huge pillows and the warm quilts that appeared out of nowhere to cover you when you were falling asleep. Not far from the sleep hills was the district of cute kittens that never grew up. The cats climbed all over you and helped you fall asleep with their purring.

There was nothing wrong with going to the forest famous for its notebooks and taking any notebook you wanted. No one would reproach you for taking too many notebooks or pens. No one questioned you. It meant you had something to write. Or maybe you just like paper and pens. This wasn't considered at all strange.

I got horn-rimmed glasses for my myopic eyes, a dressing gown and comfortable shoes from a large cave that had the most colorful and original clothes. Yes, as you can imagine I filled my pockets with paper and pens. I wrote down everything I saw immediately in case I woke up one day back in my normal boring life. In order not to forget. In order to remember.

The inhabitants of this world were not like ordinary people. For instance one of my closest friends had huge ears that fell down over his shoulders. I have no idea how his narrow shoulders carried his long arms. He often had to pass through the Pastrami Forest, when he did he ate pastrami the whole way and as a result he always smelled of pastrami. Normal people in the world I came from wouldn't want to even go near him, but I felt restless if I didn't hug him several times a day. He had big ears because he was an expert listener. You could tell him anything. He would listen. From the most nonsensical fears to the greatest regrets. He usually smelled of pastrami, but occasionally he bathed in a waterfall that had the most beautiful floral scents, just as a nice gesture to the people who told him things. I watched him a few times; he tied his huge ears under his chin so water wouldn't get in, then he bathed there for hours, singing as he did so.

I had an extraordinarily wise and handsome friend who was famous for his glasses and his books, he used a different pair of glasses for each book and each situation. He had hundreds of pockets in his huge body for all of his books and glasses. As he talked he searched his pockets, and was not at ease until he found the right glasses for the situation. According to him, different opinions required different perspectives. It was such a joy to learn hundreds of things from him every day. When he talked, he chose a quote from an appropriate book and started a discussion. It was impossible to keep up with him, or even to follow him for a long time .One of my greatest joys was to sit with him until my thick head couldn't absorb another word and I was drunk with knowledge. His body was huge, like a thick tree trunk. Because his skin was white, you could almost see what was in his pockets. Sometimes I helped him. "I think you're looking for the glasses you use in situations that are difficult to understand. They're in the far left front pocket, three from the bottom."?

I had a friend who was extraordinarily picky about food and who was famous for his mouths and noses. He ate so many different kinds of food that he had to plug a nose when it couldn't smell anymore and use another. Being able to taste was very important to him. He never felt it to be a problem to go to the farthest lands just to taste a soup or a cake he had never tried before. This was almost his profession. And you couldn't keep up with him either. We ate together, but because for him eating was a never-ending process he would still keep going after my stomach was bloated, my tongue could no longer taste and my nose could no longer smell.

While I was in everyonewasthemselves I ran on the hills that smelled of freshly washed laundry, lost myself in showingyouasyouare mirror land when I went to find the glasses that were best for me, planted words in poem fields, ate my fill in the forest famous for tree trunks that had lovely cheese filling and stuffed my pockets with breadthatnevergetscoldorstale. I constantly asked myself what I had done to be so lucky. Living there was so lovely. Even though I couldn't remember how or when I'd arrived, I knew that one day, suddenly, out of the blue, I would go back to my family, to the normal world. And that's what happened. One day I woke up in bed in my room in the normal world. My mother shed tears of happiness, my father gave me a big hug? I never felt a single moment of disquiet or unhappiness about having returned or having gone to everyoneisthemselvesplace. What happened was what was supposed to happen. Wherever I was, that was my home. As my friend with the glasses said: The foundation of life is peace at home.

ON THE STREETS

Peace at home? Yes, that's how it is. But for me, because of my endless questions, "home" was not peaceful. Where is a person's home? No one lives in the house where they were born and grew up. Is home a place we build with our own hands? Or is it the place we choose? The story the boy in pajamas told had touched and impressed me a great deal. This meant that the world contained more than Above and Beneath the Trees, the Front and the Back of the Mountains, Under the Water and the Sky. There were so many lands! There were so many places to see, so many people to meet? Such lovely places, such different people? I was grateful to be Above the Trees. I was grateful for my courage. More importantly, perhaps for the first time I was grateful to be "different". I might not be able to go to Whereeveryoneisthemselves even though I dearly wished to, but I'd had the chance to meet someone who'd been there. I cheered up. This story had made me question what was different. Different, for example, was what I was experiencing now. For the moment.