The idea for a story like Iris Woke Up was born on a bus. I pictured Percy, a child, as the protagonist, who kept waking up to the same nightmare over and over. I would have given his name a nice Greek equivalent; it would have been Perseus.
I played the story in my head, one scene at a time, and it didn’t work out. How much do I really know about being a little boy in Greece? I gave up on the story and moved on to other projects, some published and some unreleased. The idea resurfaced unexpectedly in early 2018. It was the old story but a new one, too. Same, but different. This time, a teenage girl was in the picture, replacing Percy. At first, I had trouble finding a short, memorable name with a nice Greek equivalent to it. I cannot recall how I got ‘Iris,’ but it's the perfect name in retrospect. Besides, Percy kind of reminds me of the lightning thief.
In 2018, I began my penitent journey as a miserably fulfilled PhD student, studying Santorini’s volcano (among other Greek ones), and that’s when I decided to use the island in the story. I could have chosen an imaginary place, a town named Katsiki (meaning goat in Greek). Perhaps that would have been wiser. My similes and metaphors could have had deeper meanings, too, but I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint many readers who expect this from me. I’ll be frank: It’s just a story.
Some parts were inspired by things I’ve seen or heard throughout the years. Things that have no connection to each other somehow found a way to connect with the rest of the thoughts that roamed inside my head at random parts of the day when I should have been doing other things, like studying or sleeping. What is a story, if not just a series of thoughts put into order to create some place magical where we can all get lost for a day or two, for an hour or two?
With that said, maybe Iris Woke Up isn’t just a story. Perhaps no story is just a story. It’s a gateway. A getaway. It’s an escape from whatever haunts us in our lives outside of the pages. The demons we have tucked in a drawer away from public judgment. The ghosts of past lives, reminding us of who we could have been. The hollow feeling that stems from indulging in worthless schemes. But who is to say what is worthless and what isn’t?
If you asked me, I’d say that Iris Woke Up is just a story, like all the other stories I’ve written in the past. But then again, to me, it is not just a story. Read on and draw your own conclusions.
The illustrations were also birthed from a random wandering inside the alleys of my mind. I had just finished reading Rupi Kaur’s the sun and her flowers and thought to myself, I want to do something like this. No, not poetry. Illustrations. I want to give it a try and fail and try again and fail again. I took a drawing class about a million years ago but am no artist. Iris Woke Up, however, feels very personal to me (like all my writing endeavors anyway) to let another person into this world. Maybe I’m having trouble delegating. Nevertheless, I sat down on a Tuesday afternoon and sketched and sketched until I could sketch no more and decided to go for it. Is it just me, or are all enlightenments made on a Tuesday afternoon?
Dear reader, I hope you pardon my weak lines and expressionless faces. I tried my best to capture the emotions that have lingered ever since Iris visited my thoughts.
Dear reader, I hope you enjoy it.
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