In our three year publishing life, as İlkyaz we’ve been able to bring to light and unite over 300 young writers, under the age of 35 and some even under 15 years of age! We created joint ventures with them, provided honorariums, amplifying their insights to nearly 7thousand readers on average a month, translating our main pieces to English so the world has a window into young literature of Turkey. This all thanks to the contributions and support of Norwegian PEN and PEN International.
Next up we have a new podcast in the works and a series of individual meetings with the young writers in our groups to consult them about the future of this young writers union and decide on a best course together.
However as we knew from the start, this precious support system with Norsk PEN’s lead is not forever and our first and foremost aim now is to stay operational and independent when it is spent. Meaning we are seeking funding to keep this growing and vibrant community alive. If you should be interested, you can reach out to us with ideas and thoughts from firstname.lastname@example.org
If you haven’t yet had a chance to read, you can reach the last issue’s writings here.
Don’t forget to check out our new writers under the age of 15 in “15-“, the archive of stories from everyday lives in “Human Portraits”, and the collaborative work of young writers and artists at “Literature +
This month’s reading recommendations for young writers comes from renown Turkish writer Nermin Yıldırım!
I went in search for outsiders, they shut doors.
I went home, they pulled faces.
I curled up on the most restful place,
They dashed me down, bridled me.
About the author:
I was born in 2003 in Bursa. I am studying Linguistics at Ankara University DTCF. My interest in writing and writing started when I was in secondary school. While I am writing poetry, essays and short stories, I am also doing new studies in other fields of literature. I think my writings express me in the simplest way possible.
The woman re-immersed her hand in the water, and let go of the apple, a layer below the water.
The apple jolted and jumped out like a blooming flower and swayed on the water, swayed like a
boat, snatched up the harmony of the wind. The woman ran her hands in the water, immersed her
fingers in the darkness. The water fluctuated, the reflection of the stars moved. The moon shook, as
if it were caught on a child’s dreams…
About the author:
I am a literature graduate born in 1989. I worked as an editor, teacher, educational consultant. I believe that reading is a need just like being loved, and much more than that, a hunger.
He was surprised at what he had suffered. Out of fear, his elbow hit the flower that his mother loved the most. The pot was broken into a thousand pieces on the floor. Who knows what he would be so angry now! He was about to bend over and pick it up when an arm threw him over the couch as he embraced her. He had never seen his father so angry. It was the first time he was yelling at her. His mother had also risen, almost beating her knees. Would you be treated so badly for a flower pot?
About the author:He was born on August 1, 1996 in Şanlıurfa. He completed primary, secondary and high school in the same city. After graduating from Uludağ University, Department of Turkish Language and Literature with a first degree, he started his master’s degree in New Turkish Literature. He wrote for magazines for a while. She is currently continuing her education, doing academic studies and writing on her personal blog.
It all started with a dream. It’s scary, it’s weird, it’s with the weird dream that stays in your hand
no matter which side you hold it. The fortieth day of my loss of Sadiq Bey was the first day I was close to joining the forties. The subject that has been flooding my house for days is that neighbours, relatives, children, jinn and animal people say, It is forty days now, it will not go crazy anymore and thankfully they emptied my house and did not shake the spring of the door even with their winds. The truth of mourning begins when you are alone, they say. Nonsense.