Exploring a Fascinating Journey from HR Squirrel to Writer
💙Dear Community, I am happy to present a talented Romanian storyteller whose first novel is already touching hearts. I appreciate your support, generosity, and being here. It’s quite important to us. Please let us know if you would rather not be tagged in any upcoming stories. And if you haven’t already, please follow our pub. Your presence here makes all the difference. Sincere gratitude. 💙🤍💜🤍💙🤍💜🤍💙🤍💜🤍💙
Intro
A.B. Zar has emerged from the pandemic’s creative wave, which united voices from various global locations and backgrounds.
Even if the stories may differ, many of you may have traveled this same path.
But A. B. Zar went further, fusing science fiction themes with her own whimsical twist — this is expressed in the fairy Stella and her fiction.
Three years after I read Zar’s book for the first time, I can now identify Zar in Stella.
Her novel, VESS, first published in Romanian, then in German, will soon be available in English.
So, stay tuned to discover more about her and her work.
And… don’t forget to follow her profile on Medium.
Personal Motto: I reinvent myself as often as needed — or simply whenever I want…
1. That Special Moment
One fine day, you started writing poems/stories. How did it happen exactly?
ABZ: I was going through a rough patch — not financially, but my self-confidence was shaken.
Gradually, I pulled myself together and realized that everything important to me was already within me.
Only I could bring it to the surface, that something that would make me stand tall in my own eyes.
I knew then that I wanted to write a book…
2. Art Is Work
What does your work as a writer consist of? What are the biggest challenges of the present?
ABZ: Immersing yourself in the scenes you create isn’t exactly easy.
Then there’s the discipline it takes to sit in front of the computer, driven by the desire to write. Sometimes, you peer into the drawer of your imagination, only to find it empty.
Panic sets in; your mind races, but the drawer remains empty, just a trace of dust.
Nothing… empty!
You breathe, blink, close your eyes, and your mind finally finds what it’s searching for.
At first, it’s just a thin layer, then it grows thicker — you’re not sure what it is, but soon you’re sinking into the writing, transported to another world.
You lose track of time and place; nothing matters except why you’re there.
3. Without Projects, There Is No Future
What are your representative projects? What projects are you working on?
ABZ: VESS was and will always be my first book, and nothing can take its place.
I’ve begun writing my second novel, featuring characters from VESS.
As a first for you, I’ll reveal the name — Impala.
My HR career will follow an upward trajectory as part of my reinvention (😊).
Most likely, I’ll be stepping into the HR field as a legal entity too.
For the first time, I’m introducing “Squirrel”, an HR consulting company that recruits, advises, and offers training in HR.
4. The Scent of Creation
Describe a scent that immediately transports you to a moment of inspiration or creativity. What emotions does it evoke, and how does it influence your creative process?
ABZ: The smell of freshly peeled fruit, anything raw, lemon blossom.
Do you know how wormwood smells?
What about wild strawberries?
These are the scents that inspire me.
5. Ink and Intimacy
If your writing style were a tactile experience, what texture would it be? How does the act of putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard make you feel on a deeply personal level?
ABZ: It makes me feel good, but that’s mainly because I’ve already managed to publish a book — it’s as if I’ve earned the readers’ approval, and with it comes a sense of responsibility.
6. The Harmony of Silence
Think about a moment when silence spoke louder than words in your creative journey. What were the circumstances, and how did it shape your understanding of your craft?
ABZ: I think you’re being too subtle for me…
My craft doesn’t have moments of silence, I hope!
All my words speak!
I’m quite talkative, and silence isn’t something I enjoy.
Sure, if you’re about to say something foolish, it’s better to stay quiet, but I know that’s not the answer you’re looking for.
My grandmother used to say, “Look at this little one… she’ll break out in hives if you don’t let her talk!”
VESS has the character “Nimic” (Nothing), who is a mix between silence and… nothing!
7. The Palette of Dreams
Imagine your creative mind as a painter’s palette. What colors dominate your artistic spectrum, and how do they represent the different facets of your imagination?
ABZ: My favorite colors are red and green, opposites in terms of what they express: red is love, fire, blood, and sacrifice, movement, searching; green is calm, new, pure, clear, youthful.
Then there’s yellow and blue — these distinctive colors I associate with the light of happy days.
After all, planet VESS has four districts: Green, Red, Blue, and Silver — each representing what is most important to its inhabitants.
8. The Quill of Vulnerability
If your creative expression were a handwritten letter to your inner self, what truths and vulnerabilities would it unveil? How does the act of exposing your innermost thoughts contribute to your artistic identity?
ABZ: I consider myself vulnerable from head to toe, but it’s important who we allow to see us as we truly are.
Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have cared what anyone said or did concerning me.
Now, I’m more mindful… of my circle.
My characters reveal and expose all that is intimate.
I find it intriguing for a reader to discover hidden thoughts that can transform into actions…
9. Symphony of Shadows
Consider a character or theme in your work that embodies the shadows of your own psyche. What does this shadow teach you about your fears, desires, or unexplored dimensions of your creativity?
Is that the case?
ABZ: Tissa Bacatta is one of the characters I love dearly.
I think I’ve managed to capture her good sides, but especially her bad ones, and yet the reader still places her in the drawer of positive characters.
Then there’s “Man of All Times” — to me, he’s one of the best exercises in imagination — a wretched divinity in search of the most fleeting state — Happiness!
I am the Man of All Time.
I am immortal and this punishment was imposed on me ten thousand years ago on my first birthday.
In my lifetime, I grew up, learned, created, made mistakes, forgave, gave life, and took life, punished without being punished, thought, and reflected, lied, and was lied to, searched, and was searched, received everything imaginable, except for one thing: HAPPINESS.
Throughout time, I first tried to understand what happiness is, and invented many definitions for this word; people have described it to me, and I saw in their eyes that they truly experienced this feeling, it existed in that small human soul, a man that I created.
How could I animate a human and make him happy without my help?
I live in my Clouds and cannot accept that those who exist because of me can enjoy HAPPINESS, and I cannot.
I am ten thousand years old and have never been happy.
People live a hundred years and many of them are happy their whole lives. I am simply envious of their happiness, envy because I cannot have it.
I feel strong when people worship me, I reward everyone for it, but why can’t at least one person or something give me a little bit of happiness?
People, how do you feel when you create something, and it is superior to you?
What does this shadow teach you about your fears, desires, or unexplored dimensions of your creativity?
Is that the case?
ABZ: I’ve learned that all the good in this world is within us, and it’s up to us to decide how much of it we reveal to those around us, regardless of who they are.
I also believe that self-control is an act of self-respect; facing your fears is a matter of courage, control, and, not least, education.
It’s that moment when you take a step forward, and no one around you seems to care, but you care, and you’re proud of yourself and of that step.
10. Echoes of Childhood Whispers
Recall a childhood memory that resonates with you as a writer. How do the echoes of your early experiences manifest in your work today?
ABZ: I had an absolutely wonderful childhood!
Summers at my grandparents’, playful pranks, and surprises, trading slices of bread with lard for a piece of chewing gum, jumping rope, hopscotch, elastics, ‘The country needs soldiers”, “Thick milk”, and countless other pastimes that have since been replaced by computer games, clubs, or simply lost their appeal.
These moments, in some way, shaped my imagination — or so I say since they say you’re born with it.
I wrote even as a schoolgirl, scribbling down whatever crossed my mind.
You know the saying — paper can take anything.
The surprise came when I realized that others enjoyed what I wrote.
My first “taste-testers” were my grandparents; I still remember the indulgent look in their eyes after reading the wild imaginings of a child.
They never tried to argue with “the crazy one.”
11. Melodies of Memory
If your memories were composed as a musical score, what instrument would represent your most cherished creative recollections? How does the melody of your past influence the composition of your present work?
ABZ: I love the piano, the saxophone, and music in general.
As a child, I listened to disco; then I moved on to classical music — I never missed a season. Now, I enjoy jazz.
Music blends beautifully with creative writing; it stirs creativity and keeps it alive.
A melody pairs perfectly with a specific event, and that song becomes linked to that moment.
So, when you hear the tune, you recall the memory.
12. The Dance of Words
If your writing style were a dance, what would be the rhythm and tempo?
ABZ: I wouldn’t stick to just one rhythm, though tango is one dance that excites me — a step forward, two steps back.
It’s more than just sensuality… and yet, when each step means something, you move forward simply and steadily until the end, where everything concludes harmoniously.
My narrative doesn’t leave loose ends; it circles back, re-establishes rhythm, reveals, displays, reinvents, continues, and wraps up each chapter.
How does the cadence of your sentences mirror the beating of your creative heart?
ABZ: Each sentence, with all its phrases, aims to capture the reader’s attention, and that can only come from the heart.
If you don’t write from the heart, the sentences are just neatly arranged letters forming words, but they must touch the reader’s heart.
That only happens if you write from yours.
13. Admiration Exercises
Which writers do you admire? What are your favorite books?
ABZ: I admire many.
I find joy in reading English literature — Somerset Maugham, J.R.R. Tolkien, Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters, and Thomas Hardy.
I also love detective fiction, romances, adventures, or anything that grabs me from the start. Romanian writers have their place in my sleepless nights, too — Ionel Teodoreanu, Constantin Chiriță, Radu Tudoran, Radu Paraschivescu. And of course, you’re on that list too… (☺)
Favorite books… The Lord of the Rings — I’d love for Peter Jackson to make a movie out of my book too — The Plague, VESS (☺), and… nothing else comes to mind right now!
14. An Indiscreet Question
With which influential author or inspirational figure from life, past or present, would you most like to share a cup of tea and a captivating conversation?
ABZ: With Radu Paraschivescu, with you, with Somerset Maugham, and, if it doesn’t sound too strange, with Simon Sinek — the inspirational leadership speaker.
15. A Story in Ten Words
VESS, a splash of color, will always remain what it was.
16. A Favorite Fragment from Your Works
ABZ: Tissa Bacatta — the fragment where Tissa subjects her earthly prisoners to her tortures:
The three Earthlings blinked often and found themselves sitting close together but couldn’t speak. They looked at each other sadly and didn’t know what would happen next.
Their clothes hung tattered and dirty, they didn’t even have the strength to reach out and feel that they were alive.
They breathed heavily and their blood flowed from several wounds.
The place was frightening, many plants grew around them hourly, stones gathered near them, wanting to be heard or to tell their own story, air or wind that blew with short, lost whistles in different tones from screams to lamentations, whispers, panting and ridiculous sighs that were not supposed to be there in the morbid scene, but above all it was the terrible yew tree.
All three remembered.
There was no torture tool there; but as they entered the cave and thought they had escaped, the leaves that they had left behind gathered at the entrance and made it impossible for them to get out.
They were shocked to see a yew tree in the middle of the cave.
Gigantic, thick, green, full of life in the darkness of the hideout; it shone as if you were looking through the fog. And it was almost a being.
The wind moved its branches and then they saw it.
The branches grew and widened, fluttered with their poison beads, many green hands full of needles, that moved with the vegetation of the abyss, slowly, almost like a caress, approached them, began to press them, and pushed through their clothes. At first, weakly, then stronger and stronger, stabbing and penetrating the skin, pushing, biting into the flesh, and stepping on them, they fed on their blood drops; then, Tissa Bacatta continued the torture by dripping painful and paralyzing poison into their bodies until they began to scream, fight, curse, fall, and in vain they tried to get up to hit them, bite them, tear them to pieces until finally they ran out of breath.
Then it stopped, they took a deep breath, looked at each other, and imagined how they would die.
They fell to their knees and began to pray quietly, murmuring words, and when no more words came out of their mouths, they finished their silent prayer in their minds, out of fear that their companion would feel their weakness, with closed eyes and folded hands, counting their fingers to know that they were all there.
No one was missing, but not for long.
The cruelty began anew.
Like in a nightmare, extended by the black intensity of a stormy night, they saw the stones they were stepping on rise and looked at them.
They walked past them, floating and colliding with a prolonged, terrifying noise.
They closed and opened their eyes believing it was all a vision, then closed their eyes not to cry and began to scream again. In pain.
The stones circled them and occasionally struck. They hit where they saw movement, where someone was moving. The stones struck until their bodies could only writhe and their screams were silenced.
Then they could breathe again and look at each other with pity.
They blinked and sighed, and this seemed to them suddenly the most important moment of their lives.
They could almost smile.
They sighed again, as if they had passed another test and realized they were still whole.
It was as if sleep was creeping into their faces, that’s how they saw it.
Like a light, almost warm breeze, the wind blew towards them.
Then they knew it was not over yet.
The warm wind turned cold, then colder and very cold, and then it lashed their faces and naked bodies, stripped of their clothing and full of bleeding wounds.
It froze the wrinkled and painful skin, beat down on the wounds as if trying to stop the bleeding, and blew cold and frost on their bodies that could no longer resist.
And when they thought the ice would take their lives, they felt warmth again; first warm, then very warm, almost like home on Earth when the sea breeze blew and then warmer, hot, very hot, until the skin swelled like a bee sting and turned into a swarm of stinging bees. And the skin melted and hardened and burned.
They curled up, wrapped themselves in a final embrace, without looking, horrified that they would no longer see, without hate, crying from pain, slowly, without weakness, and strength and courage… before a new, terrible fear.
They fell out of breath, their brains still moving, working in their skulls, and trying to repair the synapses they believed to be wrong, that they were in the wrong place, unable to move.
They lay in strange positions, full of blood and longing for death; thus, they finally fell asleep.
17. Contact Information
How can you be contacted?
Email: amaliabaiu@yahoo.com
18. Blog/Author Page/Social Media Profile
Where can we read your stories? What about in German or English?
ABZ: You can find the book on Amazon in German, and the English version will be available soon. In Romanian, it’s available in bookstores or directly from me — just reach out (😊)..
View at Medium.comView at Medium.com
19. What exactly would you like to convey to a fellow writer/editor/screenwriter/film producer?
Present your writings in a few words.
ABZ: VESS would make a great movie script — I firmly believe it has everything needed for the big screen.
Two planets inhabited by fascinating characters, a deity that sketches and shapes lives, a being torn from Darkness and brought into Light to redeem souls, love, friendship, hope, suspense, and a fierce battle for survival… there’s a lot more, but I don’t want to get carried away (😊).
20. Embers of Endings
Envision the conclusion of a significant project. How do you feel as you pen the final words or brush the last strokes? What is the emotional resonance of completion, and how does it influence your anticipation for the next artistic endeavor?
ABZ: At peace, calm — like that sweet, deep sleep that envelops you after a job well done.
I feel emotions and a sense of responsibility because responsibility comes from the uncertainty of how readers will react.
And yet, if those who read my work are left with smiles on their faces, the nectar of the writing on their lips, and their favorite taste lingering on their tongues, then I know they enjoyed it — and that feeling is BEYOND WORDS!
Dear Cherished Writers and Friends, please, clap, engage, and… stay tuned for the next story…! But, most importantly, a profound thank you to each one of you. Your unwavering support has been invaluable.
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Julia Kalman 