Half the novel* is finished! Six out of twelve chapters are now safely stored on my laptop.
Here’s a fresh draft of the cover. Pssst—don’t tell anyone that the calligraphy is just a cropped “Ulan-Bataar” in Mongolian script… It’s only a placeholder. Why Mongolian? You’ll find out once you read the book.
And now, a glimpse from Chapter 12: Weaving the Self:
“My years at the Institute of Architecture were dreadful. If I had the choice, I would never repeat them. Drawing finally vanished from my life altogether, and now it feels as though it were only a dream. A bad dream—yet even that dream bore its fruit.
I learned design. My husband and I can now create all our own materials and books without relying on anyone else. A sense of proportion and beauty woke in me. And most importantly, that endless, torturous schooling became an unexpected preparation for my path as a Namkha weaver. It taught me endurance—the ability to keep working when no strength was left, in any state, sick or well.
Back then there was a meme: a skeleton slumped over a drafting board, captioned _“Death is not an excuse.”_ It wasn’t a joke—it was the truth. You could finish a project and be carried straight into intensive care, but the work had to be done. That is why, even though my surface may look polished now, underneath it is stitched with scars from many battles. Study was the training ground for them.”