During each residency, guests will publish blog entries through which the interested public will be able to track their journey through the locations included in the project.

Ulysses's Shelter 1 (2018/2019) residents: Christos Armando Gezos, Greece, poetry; Lena Kallergi, Greece, poetry; Vasileia Oikonomou, Greece, poetry; Thanos Gogos, Greece, poetry; Lara Mitraković, Croatia, poetry; Jasmina Mujkić, Croatia, poetry; Goran Čolakhodžić, Croatia, poetry; Antej Jelenić, Croatia, poetry; Urška Kramberger, Slovenia, poetry; Denis Škofič, Slovenia, poetry; Aljaž Koprivnikar, Slovenia, poetry; Katja Gorečan, Slovenia, poetry.
Ulysses's Shelter 2 (2020/2022) residents: Maja Klarić, Croatia, poetry; Maja Ručević, Croatia, translation; Dino Pešut, Croatia, prose; Marija Andrijašević, Croatia; prose & poetry; Katja Grcić, Croatia, poetry; Josip Ivanović, Croatia, translation; Eluned Gramich, Wales, prose; Steven Hitchins, Wales, poetry; Lloyd Markham, Wales, prose; Elan Grug Muse, Wales, prose; Dylan Moore, Wales, prose & non-fiction travel writing; Morgan Owen, Wales, poetry; Maša Seničić, Serbia, poetry; Nataša Srdić, Serbia, translation; Danilo Lučić, Serbia, prose; Goran Stamenić, Serbia, prose; Katarina Mitrović, Serbia, poetry & prose; Vitomirka Trebovac, Serbia, poetry & prose; Dejan Koban, Slovenia, poetry; Davorin Lenko, Slovenia, prose; Katja Zakrajšek, Slovenia, translation; Tomo Podstenšek, Slovenia, prose, novel & short stories; Uroš Prah, Slovenia, poetry & translation; Ana Svetel, Slovenia, poetry & prose; Thomas Tsalapatis, Greece, prose; Marilena Papaioanou, Greece, prose; Dimitris Karakitsos, Greece, poetry; Filia Kanellopoulou, Greece, poetry; Nikolas Koutsodontis, Greece, poetry; Iakovos Anyfantakis, Greece, prose.
Ulysses's Shelter 3 (2022/2023) residents: Sven Popović, Croatia, prose, translation; Marina Gudelj, Croatia, prose; Tibor Hrs Pandur, Slovenia, poetry & translation; Ajda Bračič, Slovenia, pose; Sergej Harlamov, Slovenia, poetry; Tonia Tzirita Zacharatou, Greece, poetry; Marios Chatziprokopiou, Greece, poetry; Ivana Maksić, Serbia, poetry; Ognjen Aksentijević, Serbia, poetry & prose; Jake Butttigieg, Malta, poetry, prose & translation; Matthew Schembri, Malta, poetry, prose & translation; Jan Škrob, Czech Republic, poetry & translation; Marek Torčik, Czech Republic, poetry & prose; Esyllt Angharad Lewis, Wales, translation & prose; Ruqaya Izzidien, Wales, translation.


Ajda Bračič: Woolf and Witggenstein went skinny dipping.

Woolf and Witggenstein went skinny dipping.

Conversations from Caernarfon and North Wales, May 2023


»There's a squirrel out there. «

»Where? «

»In the garden, on the bird feeder. «

»Oh my god! It's really not afraid of us at all. «

»No, he's been up there for some time while I was making coffee. «

»Look, there is another one by the garden wall. «

»This one looks a bit more cautious. I think it's waiting for the main guy to finish feeding. «

»It's also smaller. «

»Are you going to write today? «

»Maybe. I was thinking of maybe going to a cafe in town and trying to work there. «

»Good idea. I will probably just stay here. «

»Meet for lunch?

»Sure. «

»Ok, I'll text you. «




»The thing about autofiction is that it is quite simple to write because you sort of already know the plot. You just have to structure it. «

»True. But it takes much more effort to write about personal experiences. Especially when they're traumatizing. «

»Yes, it does feel strenuous. You must relive it, feel it all again. Whereas with pure fiction, there is a lot more research, I believe. Research can also be strenuous. «

»But is anything ever pure fiction? I think maybe to a certain degree it is all based on personal experience. You are always feeding off yourself. «

»Yes, but autofiction acknowledges it directly. «

»I guess it gives credit to reality. But I find the game that the author and the reader play, the guessing game of what really happened and what didn't, to be very enticing as well. «

»I would like to move away from it in my next novel. I'd like to try something completely different. «

»What is your novel about? «

»Well, that's the question, isn't it? «

»It is indeed. The question of all questions. I hate it as well, I'm sorry. «

»Don't worry. I guess it's just natural to ask such a thing. «

»You don't have to answer. «

»If I do, you will have to as well. «

»Let's just agree to not ask it. «

»Deal. «




»The one thing that has been stuck in my mind since we came here is: if I die here, will they send my body back? I know the answer, but still. «

»I'm glad I'm not the only one having intrusive thoughts. «

»Do you want another pint? «

»I'm afraid I do. «




»Well, there is this one young author in my country who hasn't even published a book yet, but for over four years she has been marketing it. We all already know what it's about and people already love it, because of the image projected by the author. They haven't even read it yet! «

»There is so much of that, isn't there? And we're talking about the death of the author. That, I believe, is pure nonsense. «

»If you want people to read your work, you really need to create this stupid persona, but be very clever about it. Not too humble – not too brash. «

»I know. But publishing is a difficult business, trust me. You sell the name as much as the content. No wonder there's so much shit being produced. «

»It's all very targeted, I think. And no matter how difficult we make the job for ourselves and how authentic we try to be, in the end our books will be labelled as 'literary fiction' or 'fiction' or 'cerebral' or 'poetic', and put on a designated shelf, and valued accordingly. «

»And monetised. And awarded a prize - if we're lucky. «

»An award just means you were in the right place at the right time. And maybe it makes more people read your books. «

»But you do want people to read your books, right? «

»I do, of course. I just feel an aversion to being sold. «

»Well, it's lucky your book is not selling too well, then! «

»Ha-ha! «




»The length of it all is what is really difficult for me. I am very interested in what might happen between the reader and the characters in a longer text, but writing it just seems overwhelming. I start and stop, change my mind, begin again. It's a vicious cycle. Do you ever change your mind? «

»All the time. I had been writing my book for over four years, and I don't even think that's very long.«

»Did you do the whole 'first draft-second draft-final draft' thing? «

»Is that a thing? «

»Well, I admit when I feel like a fake or a failure, I will often type into Google 'how to write a novel'. The drafts thing is one of the strategies that comes up a lot. «

»Yeah, sometimes I do that as well. I watch YouTube writing tutorials and then get disgusted with them enough to actually start writing. But no, I didn't do drafts. Could you ever work that way? «

»Well, I guess not. For me, it must be perfect the first time. «

»Me too. I think you should just write it. Don't stress. You're doing fine. «

»Thanks. I'll try. «

»I think you have an awareness of what you can and can't do. Stick to your guns and you'll make it. I appreciate what you said about dialogue, that you try to stay away from it because your writing style is just not compatible with it. «

»I might do the blog post for this residency in pure dialogue, though. «

»Really? «

»Yes, because the whole thing has been so different from what I anticipated, and most definitely not a solo experience. Do you mind if I use some of our conversations? «

»Not at all. I don't think I would remember them though. «

»I'll just remember the gist. And you know, the rest will be autofiction. «




»The epigraph just says: And the last remnants memory destroys. I think about it a lot. I was thinking about it when I wrote my first book, and still do. «

»It's fascinating, memory. In some ways everything is memory: all art, all human activity. It's a way for us to leave a mark. Try to retain a moment. «

»Yes, it's all a way of saying: I was here, I existed. This moment existed. «

»I am really sorry about your camera. «

»Oh, I'll get over it. «

»Are you sure nothing can be salvaged? «

»No, the film has been exposed to sunlight. I shouldn't have opened it. Now it will all just be black. I'm just sad because all of this trip, and some previous trips, were on there. «

»Do you remember the shots you took? «

»I do, yes. «

»Well, now you're going to have to write about them. «




»I am so happy we did this. I feel really content, which is not very common for me. «

»I am happy too. It was a nice walk. «

»I probably wouldn't have done it if I was alone. I am glad you suggested it. «

»The lighthouse was really beautiful. And the landscape. «

»I remember now: they want to go to the lighthouse but can't because of the weather. «

»Yes, I think these might even be the opening lines. I loved her short stories, too. They're quite complex. «

»I liked The Mark on the Wall. «

»Me too, very much! And many others. There is one which begins with a couple of people digging an object out of the sand, it's masterfully done. You get a sort of zoom in with the camera, more and more things come into focus. «

»I think I might have read it. Sounds familiar. «

»There are some lighthouses you can stay at, but I hear it's pretty expensive. «

»I think my dream job is to be a lighthouse keeper. But it's all automated now. Or a shepherd. With a flute. «

»I think I'd like to be a pirate. The good kind: steal from the rich and give to the poor. Or a cult leader. «

»A cult leader is good. «

»I know, we should all try it. But maybe without an actual cult.«

»There are even more people swimming now. The sea is really warm, much warmer than I expected. «

»I wish I’d brought my swimming suit. It's still in my suitcase. «

»The water is very clear as well. Looks a bit more inviting than in Caernarfon. «

»Yes, it would be great to go for a swim after this walk. «

»You know, Virginia Woolf and Wittgenstein went skinny dipping once. «

»Together? «

»Yeah, together. «




»Can you feel the quality of silence here? It's really thick. «

»Here, let's just be quiet. «




»Yeah, it's very unlikely either of us will ever come this way again. And even if we do, it will not be the same place. It won't be the Caernarfon of late spring 2023 when we climbed Yr Wyddfa and got sunburnt and drank too many beers at the Anglesey. «

»I'm going to miss it. «

»Me too. It will be really difficult to return to reality. «

»I have enjoyed it while it lasted, but now the approaching end is making me feel like I have not felt it strongly enough. As if I should have enjoyed it even more, somehow actively savour every minute of it. «

»I know. But it wouldn't be human to do it. You can only truly enjoy what is coming or what has already passed. «

»I guess it really is human. People cannot enjoy beauty. We must suffer through it. «

»It's us who create beauty. And it's only beautiful because it's gone. «

»Because it's out of our reach? «

»Because it's beautiful only in our minds. The way we relate to an experience is what is important. «

»I still wish this wasn't the end. «

»It wouldn't be as great if it wasn’t. «



Sandorf - publishing house founded in 2008, engaged in Croatian literature and literature in translation, and in a wide range of books in humanities.


Center for Research and Promotion of Urban Culture (CIP) is a non-profit association that has existed for twenty years. Established in 1998, it operates in the areas of culture and art, urbanism, youth mobility and social dialogue.


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Managing editor: Jana Smrekar

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