We can’t deny that social media has become a big part of our lives. But when it starts taking up too much of our time and attention, it might be worth asking ourselves how we could use that time differently.

We don’t necessarily need to completely get rid of social media to feel better. We just need to find a healthier way of using it.

Instead of letting social media take time away from our hobbies and interests, we could use online content to bring those things back into our lives.

For example, instead of putting aside a hobby to scroll through TikTok, we could use Youtube as background noise during boring or repetitive activities, choosing slower content related to something we genuinely enjoy.

Why I think youtube could be a healthier alternative

I’ve found that Youtube can be used in a surprisingly calm way.

You don’t always need to pay close attention to the screen. You can listen to a video in the background while cooking, having breakfast, getting ready, doing the laundry, or simply spending some time alone.

Unlike endless scrolling, watching a longer video can encourage you to slow down and actually stay with a topic for a while. You’re not constantly looking for the next few seconds of stimulation: you’re giving yourself the time to listen, learn, and get interested in something.

Of course, Youtube can also become a distraction, so the important thing is to learn to use it just a few times a day without letting it play for hours.

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How to use Youtube in a healthy way and reconnect with your passions

1. Watch it only a few times a day.

Try not to make Youtube a constant presence in your daily life. Instead, use it during some of the more boring or repetitive moments of your day: cooking, having breakfast, getting ready, waiting for a friend to pick you up or doing the laundry.

2. Watch channels related to your passions and interests.

Make a list of the things you genuinely enjoy, even if you haven’t had time for them lately. Then look for creators who talk about those subjects in a way that feels interesting and comfortable to you.

You might be surprised by how easily watching someone talk passionately about a subject can make you want to explore it yourself again.

3. Look for videos that can teach you something useful.

If you’re interested in music, you could watch videos about learning an instrument. If you love gardening, you could learn how to take care of a specific plant. If you’re interested in languages, you could listen to people speaking the language you’re learning.

The goal isn’t to turn every free moment into a productive one. Sometimes, simply becoming curious about something again is enough.

How youtube helped me regaining my passions

I have way too many passions to count.

I get interested in everything. The world feels like a huge canvas to me and I feel like the painter, but fast content made it difficult for me to actually pursue those interests.

There are simply too many things to discover, and I started feeling like I could never possibly experience all of them. So, instead of choosing one and giving it some time, it often felt easier to give up and scroll.

Youtube, on the other hand, reminded me of how important these passions are to me and how much less colourful my life would feel without them.

At the beginning of the summer, knowing that I would be spending a lot of time by myself, I made a list of my interests and hobbies:

Reading, writing, watching motorsport, learning how to ride a motorbike, learning languages, swimming, windsurfing, journaling, practising witchcraft, walking in nature, listening to music, playing bass…

Then I started looking for youtube channels that matched those interests.

I found so many wonderful creators who became a small part of my everyday life. They accompanied me during meals, chores, slow mornings and the most boring moments of the day.

Somehow, listening to other people talk about the things they love made me want to get back in touch with my own passions.

I think that’s the beautiful thing about it: you don’t have to completely change your life to reconnect with the things you love. Sometimes, you just need a little reminder that they’re still there.

My current favourite channels

Here are some of the channels I’ve been enjoying lately, divided by topic and passion:

Reading

• Isa’s Corner (🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🇵🇹): the everyday life of a reader who makes calming vlogs and talks about her reading in a peaceful and relaxing way. It’s my favourite channel to watch in the morning, her videos always bring me a sense of calm and peace.

• Sara Carrolli (🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿): vlogs, book reviews and reading challenges by a fellow reader who often makes videos in bookstores. Her videos feel calming and adventurous at the same time: they always make me want to explore new bookstores and discover new novels.

• Semplicemente Noe (🇮🇹) : book reviews by an Italian creator, mainly focusing on thrillers and romance. I discovered some of my favourite thriller books thanks to her.

Writing

• Lady Writer (🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿): peaceful and relaxing vlogs about journaling and writing. They’re the perfect source of motivation when I don’t feel like writing but know I need to.

• Ana Neu (🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿): a writer documenting her life as an author and sharing writing advice along the way. Her videos are lovely and inspiring, especially when I need a little push to get back to my own writing.

Witchcraft & magic

• Mia Rose (🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿): a young witch who talks about witchcraft, meditation, folklore and her own practices. It’s a lovely channel to watch if you want to get more involved in the world of witchcraft while also learning about meditation.

• The Green Witch (🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿): a witchcraft channel focused on herbalism and nature-based practices. Her cozy vlogs explore kitchen witchcraft, herbal practices and different aspects of green witchcraft.

• The Faeriewood Witch (🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿): a whimsical channel about witchcraft, magic and a deep love of nature. Her videos have a dreamy, almost fairytale-like atmosphere that makes them especially enjoyable to watch.

Adventure & water

• Eryn Krouse (🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿): a surfer who shares her life in the water through beautiful and adventurous vlogs, whether she’s surfing on her own or spending time at sea with friends.

• Wendy Outdoors (🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿): an adventurous creator who takes us along on her outdoor journeys, from hiking and camping to simply exploring nature. Her vlogs feel like a breath of fresh air.

Manifestation & lifestyle

• Shanti Lives (🇮🇹): a woman in her thirties who talks about life, womanhood and manifestation with the warmth of a big sister. Her vlogs feel natural and spontaneous and I especially appreciate the way she talks about both the beautiful and the difficult sides of life in a gentle and calming way.

• I miei desideri sono promesse (🇮🇹): a channel dedicated to manifestation and practical tips for working towards your desires. Rima, the creator, is a manifestation coach who gets straight to the point and encourages her audience to focus on their inner world as part of the manifestation process.

Motorsport

• Alberto Naska (🇮🇹): a creator who regularly talks about Formula 1 and makes interesting videos about its history. His content is a fun way to learn more about the sport beyond the races themselves.

• Non Fa Una Piega (🇮🇹): a podcast hosted by two women who talk about MotoGP in a friendly, familiar and often funny way. Their conversations feel like chatting about races with friends, which makes the podcast particularly enjoyable.

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At the time, I was nineteen. I had just graduated from high school with a grade I wasn’t particularly happy with and I was already taking my first steps into journalism, having spent the previous two years writing for my editorial team. I was active, curious and genuinely optimistic about the future. I didn’t have a clear career plan yet, but I knew one thing: whatever I chose, I wanted it to keep my curiosity alive.

Now, at twenty-one, as I am about to begin my final year at university, I can confidently say that I made the best choice I could have made for myself.

I have always loved languages and the possibility of discovering the world through them. I am fascinated by the way language reflects culture, history, values, and even ways of thinking. Choosing to study interpreting and translation — even though I already know that I want to build my career around journalism, writing and photography, as I do now — has turned out to be one of the most enriching experiences I could have had.

Unexpectedly, studying to become an interpreter has made me a better writer.

At first, I saw translation and journalism as two very different worlds. One seemed to be about faithfully carrying meaning from one language into another, the other about creating stories, choosing words and developing a distinctive voice. The more I studied, however, the more I realised how deeply connected they actually are.

Translation teaches you to look at language from the inside. It forces you to question every word, every nuance, every implication. Interpreting goes even further: you have to listen, understand, process and reformulate meaning almost instantaneously, while making sure that what you say remains clear, natural and precise. These are skills that have inevitably found their way into my writing.

I am still certain that I want to work as an interpreter or translator at some point, and I want my degree to become something meaningful rather than simply a piece of paper sitting at the margins of my career. But I have also realised that the knowledge I am gaining through my studies can enrich everything else I do, especially writing.

The more languages you learn, the less limited your view of the world becomes. You encounter ideas that do not have a perfect equivalent in your native language, literary traditions that challenge your assumptions and cultural references that force you to reconsider how differently the same experience can be understood.

For a writer, that is invaluable: writing is not simply about having a good vocabulary or knowing how to construct an elegant sentence. It is about having something meaningful to say and the more perspectives you encounter, the more possibilities you have to say something worth reading.

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In this article, I want to explore how studying languages and translation has influenced my writing, particularly in four ways:

• How learning languages has expanded my vocabulary and helped me develop a more precise and flexible writing style.

• How actively translating has trained my brain to process information quickly and turn complex ideas into immediate, clear and understandable sentences.

• How studying the literature of the languages I am learning has introduced me to concepts, perspectives and cultural nuances that cannot always be fully translated into my native language.

• How my knowledge of different languages and cultures has ultimately changed the way I observe the world and, consequently, the way I write about it.

Because sometimes, becoming a better writer is not about learning how to write more: it is about learning how to see more.

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My career revolves around writing and reportage, my university course requires me to always have a notebook with me, ready to collect notes during consecutive and simultaneous interpreting. No wonder my house, especially my room, is full of notebooks, loose sheets and random pieces of paper flying around as if they had lives of their own.

Forget the pretty stationery aesthetic you see on social media: my notebooks are a mess, my handwriting is a mess, my room is a mess. Pens and papers are casually abandoned everywhere, as if they had simply given up on finding their rightful place.

Still, even the messiest person needs a little bit of organisation: I have four kinds of journals that help me navigate my daily life, work and hobbies.

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Personal journal

A large journal with a colourful cover, gifted to me by my best friends for my birthday.

It is filled with thoughts, pictures and drawings, all sorted by date whenever I feel like writing about my day. For now, it works more or less like a diary, but perhaps one day it will become the first draft of my autobiography or, more realistically, a very long collection of evidence against me.

Manifestation journal

As some of you may know, I am a very spiritual person. I like having a manifestation journal where I write down my goals and imagine my future life as if it had already happened, turning my dreams into little stories.

The notebook is blue, covered with silver stars and constellations. I chose it because it reminds me that the world is much bigger than my fears, my doubts and the limits I sometimes place on myself.

A small universe between two covers, basically.

Interpreting journal

This little notebook has been following me since my first year of university. It is small and vertical, with rings that make it easy to flip through the pages whenever I am interpreting. What is written inside, however, is completely indecipherable.

There are symbols for consecutive interpreting, random words for simultaneous interpreting, and notes that are almost certainly not written in the correct way, at least not according to any known system of writing.

If anything, I am quite confident that no one will ever be able to steal my interpreting prompts, mostly because no one will be able to read them.

Writing & work journal

My writing journal is not actually one journal, unfortunately there are far too many of them.

I tend to start one, fill a few pages, forget about it and eventually discover it again months later as if I were an archaeologist excavating the ruins of my own creative process.

In my writing journals I usually write poetry, ideas for articles and notes for interviews.

One of them was taken hostage by a group of gliding pilots I interviewed and is now mostly filled with games of tic-tac-toe they played.

Another one has suffered the worst of my insecurities: ripped pages, confused handwriting, ink stains and the general aftermath of too many thoughts trying to escape at once.

The last one is currently lying in the other room, I hope it never finds out what happened to its predecessors.

In the end, I suppose these notebooks do not really keep my life together: they probably just keep its pieces from getting completely lost.

Between diary entries, impossible-to-decipher interpreting notes, dreams written in the present tense and half-finished article ideas, there is a slightly chaotic version of my life spread across four different kinds of paper.

Maybe that is what I like about journaling: it does not have to be neat to be useful. A notebook can be messy, unfinished, stained with ink and full of thoughts that made sense only at three in the morning. It can change purpose, collect random ideas or disappear in a drawer for six months before suddenly becoming useful again.

My notebooks are not perfect systems of organisation. They are more like little archives of who I am, what I am working towards, what I am afraid of, and what I am trying to make sense of.

So, yes, my room is still a mess: there are still loose sheets everywhere. I will probably start another notebook before finishing the ones I already have, but at least, when everything feels a little too chaotic, I know there is always a piece of paper somewhere waiting to hold it for me.

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The title and the topic of this article were inspired by a youtube video: “when a writer is NOT writing” - by Kamila Izquierdo

It’s summer. Usually, this is the season when inspiration finds me like lightning: sudden, blinding, impossible to ignore. It keeps me awake long after midnight, filling my mind with stories that refuse to wait until morning.

This summer feels different. Writing new pieces has quietly stepped aside to make room for other things that matter just as much, even if they leave little space for creativity:

• I’m editing the first draft of my novel, a manuscript I once believed I would never be able to finish.

• I’m waiting for two work articles to be published, impatiently refreshing my inbox while the editors enjoy their well-deserved summer break.

• I’m trying to organise my future while secretly being afraid of it. In October I’ll begin my final year at university and, if everything goes according to plan, I’ll soon be moving abroad.

• I’m going to therapy to learn how to live with an anxiety disorder that, thankfully, is slowly becoming quieter.

• I’m trying to savour every moment by the sea. I’m spending the summer in my beach hous and nothing makes me feel more alive than swimming in salt water or windsurfing with the wind carrying me farther from shore.

It feels almost hypocritical to write an article about not writing.

Yet I don’t want to abandon this little corner of mine, so perhaps this piece is simply a reminder, that not wanting to write doesn’t make me, or anyone else, any less of a writer.

Maybe it’s something every writer has to learn: stories don’t only come from imagination. They come from living.

Sometimes the most important thing we can do for our writing is close the laptop, step outside and allow life to happen to us. To collect quiet moments, unfamiliar places, conversations, fears, sunsets, mistakes: everything that one day will quietly find its way back onto the page.

Taking a break from writing doesn’t mean abandoning it, sometimes it means returning with a fuller heart.

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A non-writing day in the life of a writer

If it weren’t summer, if I weren’t lucky enough to spend these months in a beach house, my days would probably look very different.

Summer by the sea has its own rhythm: even when I don’t write, life somehow feels like a story.

Mornings barely exist for me. I stay awake until late almost every night, so I rarely wake up before noon, unless I’m going windsurfing. Then, there’s no better alarm clock than the promise of an empty sea at eight in the morning, when the first sunlight touches the water and the beach still belongs to silence.

Most days, though, I begin as slowly as I possibly can. After spending the rest of the year rushing to university, summer feels like permission to breathe.

I lie in bed for a while, watching thin rays of sunlight filter through the blinds. Eventually I get up and put on my swimsuit, even though I already know I won’t reach the beach until late afternoon, when the heat begins to soften.

I prepare myself an iced matcha and eat breakfast while watching YouTube videos. I spend so much time alone that I like having a voice quietly filling the room. Not because I dislike silence, but because too much of it can become overwhelming.

Once breakfast is over, I tidy the house. If there’s nothing left to clean, I spend the rest of the morning reading or playing Minecraft on my laptop, a strange combination, perhaps, but one that somehow feels perfectly balanced.

Lunch always arrives late. during summer I rarely feel hungry, and sometimes skipping meals seems strangely tempting, but I don’t let myself.

Learning to take care of my body is something I’ve only recently begun to understand. My physical and mental health depend on those small, ordinary acts of care. If I stopped eating properly, anxiety would become louder, my endometriosis pain would be unbearable, swimming would become exhausting and windsurfing would stop feeling like freedom.

Cooking helps: the more attention I give to preparing my lunch, the more excited I become to eat it.

Piadina, colourful salads, fruit, smoked salmon on toast. There’s something deeply comforting about cooking for myself and somehow, lunch always tastes better while watching an episode of a TV show.

Afternoons belong to the heat. The air becomes so heavy it’s difficult to think, so I stop trying: instead, I meditate.

I take my crystals into the garden, sit cross-legged beneath the plants, close my eyes, and simply let my thoughts pass through me.

Sometimes it feels as though the trees are quietly listening, while the breeze coming from the sea washes every anxious thought away before it has the chance to settle.

When the heat becomes unbearable, I go back inside and fall asleep with calming frequencies playing softly in the background.It’s a simple ritual, but it has changed me more than I expected: my mind slows down, my body finally relaxes and, little by little, my anxiety has become something I can hold instead of something that holds me.

When I wake up, I drink plenty of water, have a small snack and spend about an hour and a half editing my novel. After that, I try not to look at a screen again for the rest of the day.

The beach is where my day truly becomes special. I always carry a bag filled with books and magazines so I can read between long swims in the sea. I stay until almost everyone has gone home. I love that quiet hour when the beach empties, the waves become gentler, and the sky slowly turns gold, then pink, then blue again. It feels like the world is breathing more softly.

Dinner comes after a long shower that washes away the salt from my skin. Some evenings I meet my friends for ice cream and a walk along the seafront. Other nights I stay home: those are often my favourite ones.

Before going to sleep, I spend time in the garden: I water the plants, I watch the stars, I stare at the moon. It’s one of the few moments of the day when I feel lonely, but never alone.

And that’s what my days look like when I’m not writing: I try to live, I try to notice, I try to become the person my future stories will need.

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It took three years to complete it. It all started on a June evening in 2023, when I was 18 years old, after I had one of the strangest and most fascinating dreams I’ve ever had.

What I thought would become a short story inspired by that dream slowly turned into something much bigger: a novel with 24 chapters, 2 acts and 326 pages.

I’m not quite ready to talk about the plot yet. Right now, it feels like something precious that I want to keep close to my heart for a little longer, like Gollum guarding the Ring in Tolkien’s world, but I do feel ready to talk about the journey that brought it to life.

Writing is my job afterall. As a journalist I spend almost every day writing articles, essays and argumentative pieces. Yet becoming a novelist has always been my dream: creating worlds, inventing characters, telling stories that exist only because I imagined them it’s what I’ve wanted to do for as long as I can remember. Now, I’ve finally done it.

I’ve completed the first draft of my very first novel, and while I know it’s far from finished, I’m incredibly proud of how far I’ve come.

Now comes the hardest part: editing.

As a journalist I’m used to handing in my work after a quick revision, knowing that an editor will help bettering it. This time there isn’t anyone waiting on the other side. I’m the editor.

I’m the one who has to make this story stronger, sharper and better, and to do that, I’ll have to face something I’ve always struggled with: staying organised.

That’s one of the reasons I wanted to bring you along for the journey. I love reading about other writers’ creative processes: the messy drafts, the breakthroughs, the moments of doubt and the small victories along the way. So, I thought, why not share mine too?

Whether you’re writing your own novel, dreaming about starting one or you’re simply curious about what happens after typing “the end” for the first time, I hope you’ll find something here that inspires you.

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In this article, I’ll be sharing:

• how I wrote my novel: the tools and programs I used, how I planned the story and where the original idea came from

• how I’m approaching the editing process, from organising revisions to choosing the tools and programs that help me improve the manuscript

• what I’m learning as I expand from journalistic writing to fiction

• lessons, tips, and mistakes I’ve collected along the way

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They made me realise that every one of us has at least one album, or even just one song, that quietly becomes part of our story. Music accompanies us almost every day, whether we are devoted listeners or simply hear it in the background of our lives. It marks memories, gives shape to emotions and often understands us before we understand ourselves.

So I found myself asking a simple question: which albums changed my life? Which records quietly shaped the person I have become?

The answer was far more complex than I expected.

Many of you may not know this, but I used to play bass in a metal band. Although metal and rock are still my favourite genres, my taste has expanded towards many other genres. I love discovering different sounds, different stories and different ways of expressing emotions.

The albums on this list couldn’t be more different from one another. Yet each of them represents a chapter of my life, a lesson I learned or a version of myself that still lives somewhere inside me.

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1. The Dark Side of the Moon, by Pink Floyd – my favourite album of all time

My life changed the moment my dad played this record through the speakers of his car.

Pink Floyd remain my favourite band to this day, and The Dark Side of the Moon perfectly embodies everything I love about music: dreamlike atmospheres, profound and poetic lyrics, experimental compositions and an emotional depth that reveals something new with every listen.

Listening to this album is never just passing time. It’s an experience. one that still leaves me thoughtful, inspired and somehow a little more connected with the world every single time.

2. The Wall, by Pink Floyd – a lens to look through at society

If I had to choose one album that influenced the way I see the world it would be The Wall.

It is probably the reason I became such a rebel at school. It pushed me to skip classes in order to join strikes for better education and better work conditions. It inspired me to write articles for Italian newspapers when I was only fifteen, questioning an educational system that too often seemed indifferent to the students it was supposed to help.

This album taught me that education is far more than grades or classrooms: it is the foundation of critical thinking, empathy and freedom. It gave me the strong sense of justice I still carry today, reminding me that awareness is perhaps the greatest tool we have to change society.

3. Folklore, by Taylor Swift - awakening my inner dreamer

I used to be one of those people who would confidently say, “I don’t like Taylor Swift. Her music is too mainstream and all her songs sound the same.”

Then Folklore was released and I realised couldn’t have been more wrong.

Its delicate storytelling, melancholic melodies and beautifully written lyrics completely changed my perception of her music. This album reminded me that dreaming isn’t childish: it’s a way of surviving reality.

Listening to Folklore often feels like opening a window into another world. Somehow, over the years, its stories have grown surprisingly similar to my own life. Just know that if you ever find me wandering alone through the woods with headphones on, this album is probably playing in my ears.

4. Evermore, by Taylor Swift - awakening my inner writer

Whenever I write Evermore is playing in the background. In fact, it’s playing as I’m writing this article.

No other album gives me the same balance between inspiration and calm. Together with Folklore, it has become the soundtrack of countless articles, stories and unfinished drafts.

Its songs feel less like pop music and more like poetry set to melodies. They invite you to slow down, observe, and imagine and, for someone who loves writing, that is an irreplaceable feeling.

5. Use Your Illusion I & II, by Guns n Roses - learning that music doesn’t need boundaries

These albums taught me that rock is wide and ambitious.

Until then I associated hard rock with raw energy and rebellion. Use Your Illusion showed me something different: orchestras, piano ballads, political lyrics, long compositions and songs that weren’t afraid to be excessive and different from one another. They proved that music could be loud and delicate, chaotic and sophisticated at the same time.

Perhaps that’s why I still love artists that embrace variety in their music career.

6. In Utero, by Nirvana - as uncomfortable as true art

In Utero isn’t an easy album to love, and that’s precisely why I admire it.

It refuses to be polished or comforting. It embraces imperfection, frustration, vulnerability and anger without trying to make them beautiful. Nirvana transformed discomfort into art. In doing so it created something painfully emotional and raw.

This album reminds me that authenticity is often worth more than perfection.

7. Celebrity Skin, by Hole – women can rock too, and so can I

As a bassist, I naturally had a favourite bassist. Her name is Melissa Auf der Maur, she played with Hole and The Smashing Pumpkins before beginning her solo career. Celebrity Skin remains my favourite album featuring her playing. The combination of sharp guitars, grunge influences,and powerful melodies always brings me back to the years when rehearsals, concerts and bass lines were an essential part of my everyday life.

Whenever I listen to it, I don’t just remember the music: I remember the person I was while playing it and the dreams that accompanied me during those days.

8. The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, by David Bowie - the artist who shaped my imagination

David Bowie is one of my favourite artists, perhaps my favourite-

I’ve often mentioned that my username and even my publications’ names were inspired by him, but this album deserves a special place. Bowie taught me that art isn’t about fitting into expectations: it’s about creating your own universe and inviting others inside.

Ziggy Stardust celebrates imagination, identity, transformation and fearless creativity. It reminds me that sometimes the most authentic version of ourselves is the one we’re brave enough to invent.

9. AM, by Arctic Monkeys - learning about youth, first romances and growing up

There is something timeless about AM. Its songs capture the confusion, excitement, confidence, insecurity, and intensity of being young. They speak about love, attraction, mistakes, and nights that feel unforgettable while you’re living them.

For me, this album will always sound like late-night walks, city lights, and the strange certainty that life is only just beginning.

When I listen to it, my mind instantly goes back to when I was 16 and this album played in my ears every morning while going to school.

10. Harry Styles, by Harry Styles - falling in love with a voice

Sometimes an album changes you not because of its complexity, but because of its sincerity.

Harry Styles’ debut album surprised me with its warmth and vulnerability. His voice carries emotion in a way that feels effortless, making every song intimate and genuine.

It’s what I would define my “comfort album”. I listen to it whenever I need to be alone with my own thoughts and memories.

11. Rumours, by Fleetwood Mac -learning to embrace deep emotions

Some albums don’t simply tell stories, they allow you to feel them.

Rumours is full of love, heartbreak, resentment, forgiveness and hope. Knowing the complicated relationships behind its creation only makes every song even more meaningful.

Whenever I listen to it, I’m reminded that emotions don’t need to be hidden or solved immediately. Sometimes they simply deserve to be felt.

12. Mutter, by Rammstein - learning German through metal

As an interpreting and translation student, I have to admit that Mutter genuinely helped me learning and studying German.

At first, I was simply fascinated by Rammstein’s powerful sound. Soon I found myself looking up lyrics, translating verses and gradually recognising words and expressions. Without even noticing it, music had become a language teacher along my university course.

Beyond that, Mutter showed me that beauty can exist even in the heaviest music. Beneath the aggressive guitars and explosive performances lies an extraordinary attention to composition, atmosphere and storytelling.

Sometimes, the loudest music carries the deepest emotions.

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That’s exactly why Legally Blonde became one of my favourite films. Elle never lets anyone stand in the way of her goals and she never sacrifices her kindness, even when people treat her unfairly. Whenever I have to face a difficult university exam or find myself heartbroken over a relationship, I think of Elle and the resilience that allows her to keep going, no matter how difficult life becomes.

So, when Elle, the new Prime Video series about a teenage Elle Woods, was released, it immediately caught my curiosity. I expected it to be entertaining, but I never imagined it would teach me a lesson that would have been invaluable to my teenage self: being different doesn’t automatically make you a better person and being “alternative” is never an excuse to be cruel to people you dismiss as superficial or “posers.”

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Being the different one among the “alternative”

Elle follows a younger Elle Woods in 1995, when she is forced to leave Los Angeles and the life she loves after her father’s new job takes the family to Seattle.

The contrast between the two cities couldn’t be more evident. Los Angeles’ sunshine gives way to grey skies and constant rain. The warmth and openness Elle is used to are replaced by classmates who pride themselves on caring about justice, equality and authenticity, yet judge and bully her the moment she walks through the school doors simply because of the way she looks.

I’m almost embarrassed to admit that, during my first years of high school, I was very much like them.

I convinced myself I was somehow better than my classmates because I cared deeply about politics and social justice, listened to alternative music and rejected everything I considered mainstream. Looking back I realise I had become exactly what I claimed to oppose: someone who judged others before taking the time to know them.

I wish my younger self had met Elle.

She would have learned that being alternative isn’t about following another set of unwritten rules or dressing a certain way. It’s about having the courage to embrace your authentic self, regardless of what other people think.

Ironically, in our desperate attempt to be unique, we often end up becoming part of another uniform crowd: a group of people who enforce their own rules, aesthetics and expectations just to prove they belong.

Elle refuses to play that game. She is genuine, passionate and confident. She isn’t afraid to wear pink in a world determined to dress her in black.

At first her classmates see her as everything they despise: superficial, privileged, obsessed with fashion and popularity. What they fail to realise is that they’re projecting their own prejudices onto her.

The real outsiders aren’t necessarily the people wearing combat boots or listening to Nirvana. Sometimes, the bravest person in the room is the one who refuses to hide who they are.

While her classmates preach acceptance, they end up doing exactly what they claim to fight against: judging someone by appearances, excluding her and reducing her identity to a stereotype.

Getting to know Elle means getting to know ourselves

The series truly comes alive once the other characters begin to look beyond their assumptions and get to know Elle for who she really is.

Elle possesses a remarkable emotional intelligence. She notices what others overlook, listens without judgment and has an extraordinary ability to understand people. It’s this empathy that gradually breaks down the emotional walls surrounding those who once rejected her.

Through her friendship, Liz gains the confidence to come out of her shell and become more involved in school life. Kimberly, initially one of Elle’s harshest critics, slowly comes to realise that Elle’s uniqueness is not a threat but a strength, one that ultimately makes their school a better place for both students and staff.

Miles and Dustin discover that attraction doesn’t follow the rules they thought it did. They find themselves being in love with the very kind of girl they once mocked, forcing them to question their own assumptions.

One of the series’ greatest strengths is that it never portrays Elle as perfect. She makes mistakes, she misjudges situations and she fails. Most importantly, she owns her mistakes and learns from them instead of pretending they never happened.

Even Shannon, whose resentment stems from jealousy and a deep sense of betrayal, is eventually forced to acknowledge that despite her flaws, Elle genuinely wants the best for everyone around her. That humanity is what makes her so compelling.

In a television landscape full of flawless heroines and morally grey antiheroes, Elle reminds us that true strength lies somewhere in between: in choosing kindness, admitting when you’re wrong and refusing to let the world harden you.

Ultimately, Elle isn’t just a coming-of-age story about a girl in pink trying to fit into a city that doesn’t understand her. It’s a reminder that authenticity is far more radical than conformity, even when that conformity disguises itself as rebellion.

Maybe that’s why Elle Woods has remained such an enduring character for more than twenty years.

She doesn’t change the people around her because she’s louder, cooler or more rebellious than they are. She changes them because she never stops believing that everyone deserves compassion, including those who haven’t shown her any.

Perhaps that’s the hardest lesson of all: being different isn’t about standing apart from everyone else. It’s about having the courage to stay true to yourself, while making room for others to do the same.

If this article inspired you, comforted you, or simply made your day a little softer, you can support my work with a cup of coffee. Independent writing survives thanks to the help of kind readers like you <3

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Please note: all the photographs in this article were taken by me. They are protected by copyright, and their distribution without my consent is strictly prohibited. Thank you, I hope you enjoy the article

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My first encounter with photography came through my father.

He spent most of his life working for Canon, so I grew up in a house where cameras seemed to appear everywhere. Some were too big and heavy for me to hold as a little girl. Others were broken, missing pieces, resting quietly in forgotten drawers. Then there were the tiny ones, almost buried beneath piles of everyday objects, waiting to be discovered like forgotten treasures.

My father loves photography, but he is not an artist. He has the mind of an engineer.

He can recognize a lens just by looking at a photograph taken with it. He can name every component inside a camera and explain, piece by piece, how it was designed, assembled and brought to life, ready to be sold.

Yet, for all the photographs he has taken, he has never approached photography as an art. He is no artist.

I am.

He once told me that the very first time he placed a camera in my hands, he knew I had a photographer’s eye. He saw me noticing details others overlooked, chasing colors that turned simple photographs into stories.

That is when I learned to love photography: when I realized it could become another way of telling stories, just like writing.

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How I (randomly) became a photographer

The first photography course I ever took was when I was sixteen. I signed up simply because it seemed like a fun extracurricular activity.

What I thought would be just an enjoyable afternoon class slowly became the beginning of the path that led me to the job I have today.

I still remember my teacher, a well-known photographer whose greatest passion seemed to be looking at his students’ work. What I admired most about him was his genuine curiosity. He cared deeply about our photographs, but even more about the ideas behind them.

Theory only occupied a small corner of his lessons. The rest belonged to experience: he wanted us to explore, to wander, to get lost, to become endlessly curious about the world around us.

“You know what I love most about your photography?” he asked me one day while looking through one of my projects “You’re completely crazy.”

He was right.

At first, I wasn’t sure whether it was meant as a compliment, but eventually, I realized it was one of the greatest I have received: it was simply the truth.

“You’re never afraid to do something risky or unusual if it helps you create the image you have in mind,” he told me “once you have a vision, you chase it until you finally see it on your camera screen. That’s what makes a great photographer.”

I still remember photographing an empty park near my house for one of his assignments. I wanted the images to feel like fragments of a dream: I climbed trees, I stepped barefoot into a fountain just to reach an angle I couldn’t capture from dry ground, I balanced on the edge of a narrow wall because that was exactly where the photograph needed to be shot from.

I remember covering myself in paint before stepping into the shower to create an image that felt like a scene from a film. I wanted the water to fall like heavy rain, letting the colors melt slowly across my skin until reality dissolved into something surreal.

I remember asking my best friend to tie me to a chair wrapped in Christmas lights because I had imagined a photograph glowing inside complete darkness.

Maybe I really am crazy, but perhaps that little madness is exactly what gives my photography its soul.

Bringing art into my work

Today, photography remains one of my main sources of income.

I don’t earn much from portrait sessions or occasional commissions, but as a journalist I often photograph events or create the images that accompany my articles.

I don’t always have the freedom to shoot exactly as I imagine. Still, I always try to leave a small piece of myself inside every photograph.

Sometimes it is an unexpected angle, the way light falls across a face and a tiny detail that most people would walk past without noticing.

Photography feels like an adventure, a second language that allows me to tell the same story from another point of view.

It has never truly felt like a job: it feels like stepping inside a story while telling it at the very same time.

My advice for aspiring photographers

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and in English were my latest poems,

and my latest short stories,

and my latest articles.

Isn’t it strange that what I’m focusing on at the moment is slowly pulling me away from my native language?

I write here on Substack in English because I know it helps me reach more readers and subscribers, but I also deeply love Italian culture and Italian literature. I’m proud of being Italian and I want to share that love through the thing I enjoy doing most: recommending books.

The novels I’m about to share shaped my identity as an Italian woman. I truly believe they are books that anyone interested in literature should read at least once in their lifetime.

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Gli Indifferenti — by Alberto Moravia (Time of Indifference)

I had to read this novel during my very first semester at university. I love reading, but I usually draw the line when I’m forced to do it for an assignment. The only time I never felt obliged to finish a book because of academic pressure was with Gli Indifferenti. I genuinely enjoyed every single page.

The novel tells the story of a decadent bourgeois family in the 1920s, whose lives revolve around appearances and the constant need for financial security and social validation. Mariagrazia, a widow, is in love with her wealthy landlord Leo, who threatens to evict her while simultaneously becoming attracted to her daughter, Carla.

Then there’s Michele, Carla’s brother, who is desperate to escape his emotional indifference, going as far as sleeping with his mother’s best friend and even plotting to kill Leo.

Gli Indifferenti explores emotional emptiness, moral decay, and the quiet collapse of family bonds. Through characters trapped in apathy and self-interest, Moravia paints a striking portrait of a society gradually losing its values.

What impressed me the most is that Moravia wrote this novel when he was only eighteen years old, already observing Italian society surrendering to indifference in the face of political change and the rise of Fascism.

La coscienza di Zeno — by Italo Svevo (Zeno’s Conscience)

La coscienza di Zeno was my favourite novel among those I studied in high school. It is ironic and genuinely funny, yet at the same time deeply philosophical and thought-provoking.

It tells the story of Zeno Cosini, a man who begins psychoanalysis with the mysterious Doctor S. in an attempt to quit smoking. What starts as therapy soon becomes a fascinating exploration of memory, self-deception and the contradictions that define human nature.

More than a century after its publication, the novel remains an incredibly modern reflection on the elusive nature of truth and the stories we tell ourselves.

La Storia — by Elsa Morante (History)

Elsa Morante is widely regarded as one of Italy’s greatest female writers. Her novels combine psychological depth with extraordinary emotional sensitivity.

Against the devastating backdrop of the Second World War, History tells the intimate story of ordinary people caught in extraordinary events. Through the life of a humble mother and her son, Morante reveals the resilience, suffering and quiet heroism hidden beneath the weight of history, creating a profoundly moving vision on war and humanity.

It is one of those rare novels that manages to be both deeply personal and universally human.

Il fu Mattia Pascal — by Luigi Pirandello (The Late Mattia Pascal)

If you enjoyed Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, you shouldn’t miss this novel.

Mattia Pascal, mistakenly believed to be dead, seizes the opportunity to reinvent himself under the new identity of Adriano Meis, hoping to escape the obligations and conventions imposed by society.

Freedom, however, turns out to be far more complicated than he imagined. With remarkable intelligence and irony, Pirandello explores identity, fate and the masks we all wear in order to belong.

Un Uomo — by Oriana Fallaci (A Man)

If you’ve been subscribed to my publication for a while, you probably already know how much Oriana Fallaci means to me.

A Man is perhaps the book I cherish the most. It tells, with extraordinary passion and tenderness, the life of Alekos Panagoulis, the Greek revolutionary who fought against the dictatorship of Georgios Papadopoulos, as well as his love story with Oriana Fallaci, until his tragic death.

More than a biography, A Man is a powerful tribute to love, courage, and the relentless pursuit of freedom. It intertwines political struggle with profound personal emotion, offering an unforgettable portrait of a man who refused to surrender to tyranny.

Ragazzi di vita — by Pier Paolo Pasolini (Boys Alive)

Pier Paolo Pasolini may well be one of the most controversial Italian writers of the twentieth century and that is precisely why he remains one of my favourites. He was never afraid to explore humanity in its rawest form, challenging and unsettling his readers.

Raw, poetic and uncompromising, Ragazzi di vita follows a group of boys growing up in the impoverished outskirts of post-war Rome. Through their friendships, dreams and daily struggles, Pasolini captures both the vitality and the hardship of lives lived on society’s margins, revealing the beauty and brutality of an Italy undergoing profound change.

His writing is uncomfortable, compassionate and unforgettable all at once.

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It’s a fair question. I can’t claim decades of experience or pretend to have mastered the craft. What I can offer, however, is the perspective of someone who has lived journalism from many different angles in a relatively short time: as a high school student taking her first steps, as a university student eager to learn, as a photographer looking for stories through a lens and as a young woman determined to turn her dream into a career.

My perspective isn’t that of someone who has seen it all. It’s the perspective of someone who is still discovering this profession every day: learning, making mistakes, growing and gradually finding her place within it.

Over these four years I’ve collected lessons that continue to shape the way I write, whether I’m publishing on Substack or working with my editorial team. They aren’t universal rules, nor are they secrets known only to seasoned journalists. They’re simply reminders that have made me a more confident, thoughtful writer.

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Here are the lessons I keep coming back to and that will be carefully analised in this article:

• You have more to say than you think.

• Insecurity never completely disappears, but it can become one of your greatest teachers.

• Every piece you write makes you a better writer.

• Growth comes from balancing encouragement with constructive criticism.

• Accept criticism, but don’t confuse it with judgment.

• Everything can become a story, but not everything will.

• Be patient with your progress, but not passive.

• Be brave enough to take risks. They’re often where your best writing begins.

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I’ve never met anyone who, like me, believes that summer is the truest season for beginning again.

When I was a child I counted down the days until summer arrived. Waiting for days that were spent by the sea, wearing nothing but a swimsuit from sunrise to sunset, swimming until my fingers wrinkled, eating fruit and ice cream instead of proper meals, riding my bike through little seaside towns and watching the sun disappear behind the harbour.

Growing up has changed the way summer feels. Now it often arrives as a long pause rather than a celebration. I rarely see my summer friends because of work and my low blood pressure forces me to be careful whenever the sun is too strong.

Yesterday, though, I caught myself wishing I could experience summer the way I did as a little girl.

Then I asked myself a simple question: why don’t I?

Creating a Gentle Routine

I’ve never been particularly good at routines.

I’ve always wanted each day to feel different, unique in its own small way. Strict schedules have often felt less like structure and more like cages. So instead of building a routine, I’ve chosen something softer: a collection of little rituals I’d like to return to every day, and if I miss one: who cares?

Morning ☀️

Preparing a generous breakfast: my doctor has reminded me countless times how important breakfast is. Because of my health conditions and the amount of sport I practice, I need plenty of protein to start the day. During the academic year I rarely have time to cook, but now that university is over until October and my work schedule is wonderfully flexible, I can finally enjoy slow mornings with eggs, bacon, a large glass of cold water, fresh juice and coffee, although in summer I often replace it with a cup of iced matcha.

Journaling: if you’ve been following me for a while, you already know how much I love journaling. As a writer living with anxiety, there is nothing more comforting than pouring my thoughts, dreams, fears and scattered ideas onto paper. Writing while having breakfast feels like nourishing both my body and my mind before the day even begins.

Reading: reading has always been my favourite hobby. If I could, I would spend every hour surrounded by books. University forced me to read in the mornings, when my mind is still rested and the world hasn’t begun asking things of me yet.Summer gives me back the luxury of reading without watching the clock.

Writing: morning has always been when inspiration finds me most easily. It’s the perfect time to write articles for work, draft essays for Substack or quietly work on projects that, for now, remain my little secret.

Walking: before the heat becomes overwhelming, I like wandering through the little town where I spend my summers or along the shoreline. There’s something healing about breathing salty air and letting my body move without purpose.

Afternoon 🌺

Meditation: the hottest hours keep me indoors, so I’ve learned to embrace them instead of fighting them. The light filtering through the windows, the scent of the sea and the peaceful silence of my beach house create the perfect space to slow down, meditate and reconnect with myself.

Swimming: as a swimmer, summer means becoming part of the sea. I swim as far as I can, exploring the coastline until the water grows deep beneath me. Sometimes I dive down just to watch ribbons of sunlight dancing through the water above my head. It’s one of the few places where everything feels perfectly quiet.

Staying at the beach until sunset: my favourite time at the beach begins when everyone else starts leaving. The golden hour settles softly over the sea. The waves reach the shore with the rhythm of a lullaby. Sparrows hop across the sand searching for forgotten crumbs, while the evening breeze dries the salt in my hair.For a little while, I’m completely alone with nature, and I can finally breathe.

Evening 🌙

A long shower: before dinner, nothing feels better than washing away the salt, the sand, and the warmth of the day.

A simple dinner: the heat steals most of my appetite. After a hearty breakfast, I naturally gravitate towards lighter meals: colourful salads, cold pasta with cheese, fish, olives, and vegetables. And fruit, always plenty of fruit.

Skincare: I’ve never been someone with an elaborate skincare routine: just a few trusted products are enough for me. But spending those quiet minutes taking care of myself before bed has become a small act of kindness towards my body.

My evening practice: I’m never quite sure what to call my spirituality. “Practice” feels like the closest word. I’m not religious, but I’m not entirely sceptical either.I believe that places, people and intentions carry energy. I believe in manifestation, I believe in magic. Summer is when those beliefs feel closest to me. I sit beneath the moon listening to music, I write down my manifestations, I prepare herbal tea, I water and quietly speak to the plants that grow in my garden, I read tarot cards and runes, sometimes I dance alone by candlelight. It’s the way I let my soul breathe before my body rests.

Sleeping late, but well: I usually fall asleep long after midnight, but I sleep deeply. Before bed, I avoid scrolling on my phone. I’d rather read a few pages, write a few thoughts, or simply listen to music until sleep finds me.

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Projects & Intentions

Taking care of my health: summer asks me to be especially mindful of my body. I make sure I never skip meals, even when I’m not hungry. I eat plenty of fruit, enough protein, drink more water than I think I need, often adding slices of lemon, and season my meals with herbs growing in my garden: basil, lemon and bay leaves.

Becoming better at windsurfing: last summer I fell in love with windsurfing. It’s difficult, frustrating at times and demands endless practice. But every time I’m on the water, I forget how hard it is. I only remember how free I feel.

Approaching German differently: as a German student, I have to keep practicing, otherwise, next year might be a real challenge. I’ve learned that the best way to stay connected to the language isn’t through grammar drills, but through stories: TV shows that keep me up for one more episode and books that make me forget I’m studying at all. So, if you speak German and have any recommendations for someone around B1–B2 level, I’d love to hear them. Leave your favorites in the comments, I’m always looking for my next story.

Continuing therapy: although I’m doing much better than when I first started therapy, I have no intention of stopping. Therapy hasn’t simply helped me feel better: it has helped me become someone I like a little more. Someone gentler and stronger.

Growing in my work: I still can’t believe I found the job I dreamed of while I’m still so young, but ambition has never frightened me. There are dreams I’m quietly working towards and summer seems like the perfect season to go get them. I’ll keep them to myself for now: I’m far too superstitious to write them down before they come true. When they do, I’ll come back here and tell you everything.

Leaving the past behind: more than anything else, I want this summer to become the place where I finally leave behind the last year and a half. It has been one of the hardest seasons of my life. I don’t want to carry its weight with me anymore, only its lessons. The rest belongs to the past, and I think it’s finally time to let it stay there.

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In Italy a journalist is someone who has completed a formal traineeship at a news organization and has been admitted to the official Register of Journalists (Albo dei Giornalisti). Anyone who writes and publishes journalistic work without being listed in that register is classified as a publicist.

I’ve never liked that word. It appears on my résumé, and it’s the term I’m expected to use whenever I introduce myself professionally or apply for new opportunities.

Over the years, I’ve tried to replace it with labels such as “author,” “writer,” or “reporter,” but none of them seem to capture what I actually do.

Many people around me have called me a journalist, especially the people I have interviewed or worked with. Deep down, it’s the word that best describes my work, yet, whenever someone uses it, I feel like an impostor. My name isn’t in a register. I never completed the required traineeship.

Still, I’ve been writing for newspapers since I was seventeen. My first articles were published by two of Italy’s leading national newspapers when I was only fifteen.

Officially, I may be a publicist, an author or a reporter.

But not today.

Today, I want to offer advice to those who are approaching this profession and to do so I’m going to step into a role that Italian law still denies me: a journalist.

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My experience

I’ve always wanted to write. Since I was a child I’ve always knew that I was destined to do so. I’ve never thought of myself as a journalist until I read for the first time an article written by Oriana Fallaci, who remains today one of my greatest inspirations.

I wanted to be like her: I wanted to be brave enough to become both an empathetic novelist and a proud journalist who was not afraid to bring the truth on paper.

My first experience as a journalist came to me when I was fifteen. It was the middle of 2020 and I’ve just joined the school paper. Because of that my passion for writing became even stronger and I spent most of my days, locked in my house because of lockdown, by thinking about new articles to publish.

One day my mom got a call from my middle school literature teacher. I remember him as being one of the best teachers I’ve ever had: he loved my writing and incouraged me to pursue that passion.

“Listen, Marta” I remember him saying when my mom passed me the phone “I have a friend who’s a journalist who works for la Repubblica, would you like to help her write an article about the covid-19 situations in schools?”.

What I tought would be a simple “yes” transformed my life into a path towards my biggest dream. In the next two years I’ve been invited to speak at events, I’ve been interviewed by other journalists and I’ve been pointed at by teachers at my school: some loved my work, some considered me a dangerous rebel girl who would rather speak about the school problems than studying.

At the time I was also getting into photography. My dad, who has been working for Canon most of his life, gave me a camera and encouraged me to take a photography course. I’m glad I did, because I got to know a world that I deeply love even today and I could integrate with my job.

Just as I was focusing on photography, the former editor-in-chief of the school newspaper invited me to take part in an event where the editorial team he wrote for would be presenting itself. Four years later, here I am: eight published articles, three interviews conducted and pictures I took featured in other editors’ articles.

Looking back, I never would have imagined that I’d become part of a team like this and that I’d fulfill such an important dream at such a young age.

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My advice for the aspiring journalists

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TW: this reviews involves triggering themes such as death, sucide, addiction, grief, mental health and physical pain. Read at your own discretion.

A sister is not a friend. Who can explain the urge to take a relationship as primal and complex as a sibling and reduce it to something as replaceable, as banal as a friend? Yet this status is used again and again to connote the highest intimacy. True sisterhood is not the same as friendship. You don't choose each other and there is no furtive period of getting to know each other. You are a part of each other, right from the start - incipit of “Blue Sisters”

I finished Blue Sisters, by Coco Mellors a couple of days ago.

Rarely has a novel absorbed me so completely that I found fragments of myself scattered across its pages. Coco Mellors’ latest book is a deeply moving exploration of grief, addiction and sisterhood.

At the heart of the story are four sisters, each carrying her own wounds and struggling with a different form of dependency.

Avery, the eldest, is a brilliant lawyer who rebuilt her life after overcoming heroin addiction. For years, she acted as a third parent to her younger sisters, sacrificing her own desires in order to care for them. On the surface, she seems to have achieved everything: a successful career, a beautiful home, and a loving wife. Yet beneath that carefully constructed life lies a woman still searching for herself.

Bonnie, once a promising boxer, hides a remarkably sensitive soul behind her physical strength. Throughout her life, she has been expected to endure, to protect, and to remain resilient, while her own vulnerabilities often go unseen.

The youngest sister, Lucky, is a model drifting through photoshoots, parties, and fleeting relationships, numbed by alcohol and haunted by past experiences of sexual exploitation within the fashion industry. She longs to be valued for more than her appearance and to reclaim her own life.

And then there is Nicky.

Though she is absent for most of the novel, Nicky remains its emotional centre. Living with chronic pain caused by endometriosis, she was vibrant, curious, intelligent, and fiercely devoted to the people she loved. Her death from an accidental overdose of pain medication leaves a devastating void, forcing her sisters to confront not only their grief but also the unresolved tensions and hidden truths within their family.

The novel’s central question is not simply how Nicky died, but how her absence continues to shape the lives of those she left behind. Through their grief, the sisters are forced to rediscover one another, learning lessons about love, forgiveness, and the enduring bonds that survive even death.

It’s not easy being blue

to "feel blue" means to experience a state of sadness, melancholy, or emotional distress. It often conveys a sense of low spirits or being downcast - from Oxford Language Club

Beyond being the sisters’ surname, blue is the word that best describes them.

Each sister moves through life carrying a profound melancholy, shaped by addiction, grief and a lingering sense of dissatisfaction.

Avery never truly wanted to become a parental figure. She wanted the freedom to explore the world, to develop her intellect and to build a life defined by her own ambitions rather than her responsibilities.

Bonnie never wanted to leave boxing behind. More than anything, she wanted her passion for the sport, and her love for her coach, to be recognised. She wanted to be seen, understood and given something meaningful to devote herself to.

Lucky never wanted to be reduced to a beautiful face. She did not want the attention her appearance attracted, nor the expectations placed upon her. She simply wanted the freedom to exist as herself and to experience life fully.

And Nicky wanted to live.

She wanted to live without pain. She wanted to share her love of literature, learning and human connection with the world around her. Ironically, it is this desperate desire to keep living despite her suffering that ultimately leads to her death.

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When I asked, Nicky Blue answered

As long as you are alive, it is never too late to be found - from “Blue Sisters”

Recently, I have found myself asking a difficult question:

What would happen if I died?

Not because I wanted to die, nor because I have ever wished to take my own life. I suffer from an anxiety disorder and lately there have been moments when loneliness felt so overwhelming that I wondered what would happen if I simply disappeared. Would the people who excluded me, hurt me, or made me feel invisible feel guilt? Would they mourn? Would my absence matter?

Unexpectedly, the answer came from Nicky Blue.

There are aspects of Nicky that feel scarily familiar to me:

Nicky suffers from endometriosis, just like me.

Nicky loves literature, just like me.

Nicky is endlessly fascinated by the world around her, just like me.

Nicky loves her family, embracing both their strengths and their flaws, just like me.

Nicky becomes attached to people easily, just like me.

Nicky leaves pieces of herself everywhere she goes, just like me.

Nicky writes, studies, explores, and dreams, just like me.

Most importantly, Nicky wants to live: just like me.

Reading her story forced me to confront a different answer to my question.

If I were to die, I would leave behind more than my absence.

I would leave behind every place I have loved, every person I have cared for, every story I have written, every adventure I have pursued, and every piece of myself I have shared with others.

Like Nicky, I would leave a void.

That is perhaps the novel’s most powerful message: death does not erase a person. Nicky continues to exist in her sisters’ memories, habits, conversations, and choices. Even after her death, she remains the thread that binds them together.

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What does it mean to be a sister?

The relationship between the sisters is, in my opinion, the most beautiful aspect of this novel.

Despite distance, resentment, addiction and grief, the Blue sisters remain connected. Even in death Nicky continues to be part of that connection.

As the novel’s opening lines suggest, sisterhood cannot simply be reduced to friendship. It is something more primal, more complicated and often more enduring.

To be a sister is to share a history that cannot be replicated.

It means fighting and forgiving.

It means carrying old wounds while still choosing one another.

It means remaining connected even when life pushes you apart.

Being a sister means being a pillar of strength, as Avery is, while also allowing yourself to lean on others.

Being a sister means being resilient and selfless, like Bonnie, while recognising that your own needs matter too.

Being a sister means accepting care and guidance, like Lucky, while growing enough to offer the same support in return.

And being a sister means being like Nicky: curious, loving, determined and endlessly alive in the hearts of those who love you.

Blue Sisters is not simply a novel about grief. It is a novel about survival, about family, about the invisible ways people continue to shape our lives long after they are gone.

By the final page, I felt as though I had not only read the story of the Blue sisters: I had recognised a small part of myself within them.

If this article inspired you, comforted you, or simply made your day a little softer, you can support my work with a cup of coffee. Independent writing survives thanks to the help of kind readers like you

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Over the past few months, this space has become much more than a collection of articles and poems. It has become a reflection of my interests, my work, and the way I see the world. As this community continues to grow, I want to give it a clearer direction and a stronger identity.

Today, I’m excited to share some important changes that will help me create a more organized, focused and rewarding experience for all of you.

My substack – a profile from Mars

I created Thoughts from Mars in February 2026, and shortly after reaching 100 subscribers, I launched Poems from Mars.

Many of you may not know this, but I’m a huge David Bowie fan. My username, lifeeonmars, comes from one of his most iconic songs. I’ve always felt that it perfectly reflects both my writing and my personality: something a little unusual, a little poetic and perhaps slightly detached from the ordinary, something from another planet.

Since their creation both newsletters have been places where I’ve shared whatever inspired me in the moment.

On Thoughts from Mars, I’ve written about anything that crossed my mind, without separating articles into specific themes or categories.

On Poems from Mars, I’ve published poems and short stories whenever inspiration struck, or whenever I rediscovered pieces hidden in old notebooks.

As much as I love that creative freedom, I’ve realized that it’s time to bring more structure to my work. I care deeply about what I’m building here on Substack, and I want to offer my subscribers a more organized experience: one that allows you to get the very best from my imagination, my writing and my professional journey.

Thoughts from Mars — the personal blog of a young reporter

From now on, Thoughts from Mars will be divided into two sections: free content and paid content.

Free articles

The free section will function as a personal blog documenting my life as a reporter, photographer and university student.

You can expect:

• Reflections and essays about my daily life

• Articles about literature, philosophy, languages, culture and communication.

• Pieces about my hobbies: including reading, swimming, windsurfing, listening to music, riding motorbikes, watching motorsports, learning about magic and spirituality.

• Reviews of books and movies.

• English translations of selected articles originally published in Italian for the online newspaper I work for.

Paid articles

The paid section will focus on journalism, writing, photography and professional development.

Subscribers will gain access to:

• Advice and practical tips for aspiring journalists

• Behind-the-scenes of my days at work.

• Insights into the realities of working as a reporter.

• Writing workshops and exercises.

• Photography content and selected photo collections.

• Guidance on improving your writing.

My goal is to create a space where I can share not only my experiences, but also the lessons I’ve learned throughout my journey.

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Poems from Mars — poems and short stories

Poems from Mars will remain primarily free.

I want my poetry and fiction to be accessible to everyone. Stories and poems have always been sources of comfort, reflection and connection for me, and I would love them to remain available to anyone who wishes to read them.

Alongside my usual publications, I’m considering introducing themed series such as:

Short Story Series

• Stories inspired by my strange dreams.

• Stories inspired by everyday experiences.

• Stories born from random thoughts and observations.

• Fantasy stories and imaginative worlds.

Poetry Series

• Poems about people.

• Poems about the elements.

• Poems about life and personal growth.

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Building an Identity

The purpose of these changes is simple: I want to build a stronger identity for my work and make this space more recognizable to both current and future subscribers.

Writing has always been an exploration for me, but every exploration benefits from a map.

By organizing my newsletters more clearly, I hope to create a space that feels more focused, more intentional and ultimately more valuable for everyone who follows my work.

Thank you for being part of this journey. Whether you’ve been here from the beginning or joined recently, your support means more than you know.

This is not the end of Thoughts from Mars or Poems from Mars.

It’s simply the beginning of a new chapter.

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ATTENZIONE!

Lo scopo di questo articolo è totalmente divulgativo. L’intento di quanto scritto non è quello di attaccare persone specifiche, ma quello di evidenziare una problematica. Invito i lettori a essere rispettosi e promuovo il libero dibattito, finchè pacifico. Invito per tanto a alla gentilezza verso il prossimo, qualsiasi sia il suo pensiero. Mi dissocio da qualsiasi atto aggressivo o violento e premetto che, chiunque sarà irrispettoso o aggressivo verso di me o altri creator, sarà bloccato e segnalato. Grazie e buona lettura!

Se c’è un aspetto positivo dei social network come TikTok, è senza dubbio quello di aver riportato l’attenzione sulla letteratura, sulla lettura e sul mondo dei libri.

“BookTok”, la sezione della piattaforma dedicata ai libri, ha infatti contribuito a dare enorme visibilità a numerosi titoli, restituendo importanza alla lettura soprattutto tra le nuove generazioni. Tra recensioni, consigli e dibattiti letterari, però, BookTok mostra anche diversi lati problematici: la competizione per stabilire chi riesca a leggere più libri in un determinato periodo di tempo, atteggiamenti classisti nei confronti di chi legge pochi volumi o non affronta i cosiddetti “classici”, e attacchi aggressivi verso chi esprime recensioni negative.

Come ogni ambiente, anche questa piattaforma virtuale presenta luci e ombre, pregi e difetti, spesso accompagnati da accese polemiche. Personalmente non ho mai amato prendervi parte: ho sempre preferito il dialogo pacato quando qualcosa non mi convinceva. L’ultima grande discussione nata all’interno del BookTok italiano, tuttavia, mi ha spinto a scrivere questo articolo.

Alcuni creator hanno dichiarato di essere in grado di leggere 60 libri o più al mese, screditando chi riteneva impossibile una simile impresa e definendo questi utenti “poco allenati” o addirittura meno appassionati.

Leggo da quando ho imparato a farlo e scrivo da quando ho imparato a tenere una penna in mano. Amo così profondamente il mondo della lettura e della scrittura da averne fatto il mio lavoro, essendo io un’autrice freelancer. Per questo vedere contenuti di questo tipo mi turba profondamente: trasmettono l’idea che leggere sia uno sforzo da allenare, una prestazione da migliorare, anziché un piacere da vivere. Una narrazione che rischia di allontanare potenziali lettori e di trasformare una passione in una competizione irrealistica.

Leggere 60 libri al mese è, nei fatti, matematicamente impossibile. Io stessa sono una lettrice appassionata e piuttosto veloce, ma riconosco l’impossibilità di consumare una quantità simile di volumi in un periodo di tempo così ridotto. Proprio perché la lettura e la scrittura sono al centro della mia vita e del mio lavoro, ho voluto analizzare la questione nel dettaglio.

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La matematica non è un’opinione: tempi, pagine e costi non tornano

Leggere 60 libri al mese significa leggere due libri al giorno.

Prendendo come riferimento una media di 500 pagine per volume, si arriverebbe a circa 1.000 pagine quotidiane. Un lettore medio impiega all’incirca due minuti per leggere una pagina. Anche ipotizzando un lettore particolarmente veloce, capace di leggere una pagina al minuto, sarebbero comunque necessarie circa 16 ore per completare due libri in una sola giornata.

Considerando gli impegni lavorativi, quelli personali, il tempo dedicato ai pasti e alla cura di sé, appare estremamente difficile concentrare tutte le altre attività quotidiane nelle quattro ore restanti, soprattutto per trenta giorni consecutivi.

C’è poi un altro aspetto spesso ignorato: il costo. Leggere 60 libri al mese per dodici mesi significherebbe affrontare una spesa superiore ai 10.000 euro l’anno. Certo, esistono le biblioteche, ma prendere in prestito e restituire due libri al giorno rappresenta, nella pratica, una soluzione tutt’altro che semplice.

L’allenamento alla lettura non esiste

È evidente che chi legge abitualmente sviluppi una maggiore rapidità rispetto a chi legge raramente. Tuttavia, questo non significa acquisire capacità tali da permettere la lettura di 1.000 pagine al giorno mantenendo gli stessi livelli di comprensione.

Quando leggiamo, gli occhi non scorrono fluidamente sulle parole. Compiono movimenti chiamati saccadi, alternati a brevi soste dette fissazioni. Durante una fissazione, che dura mediamente circa 200 millisecondi, il cervello elabora soltanto una piccola porzione del testo con elevata precisione. Il sistema visivo umano non è in grado di acquisire intere pagine con un solo colpo d’occhio: i limiti derivano dalla struttura stessa della retina e della fovea.

La lettura veloce presenta quindi limiti biologici ben precisi. Le ricerche scientifiche mostrano inoltre che comprensione e velocità divergono oltre una determinata soglia. Uno studio del ricercatore Keith Rayner ha evidenziato come, all’aumentare della velocità di lettura, diminuisca il livello di comprensione del testo. In altre parole, non è possibile incrementare esponenzialmente la rapidità di lettura senza perdere informazioni e concetti fondamentali.

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Dove finiscono la comprensione e il piacere della lettura?

Anche ammettendo, per ipotesi, che sia davvero possibile leggere una quantità così elevata di libri ogni mese, sorge spontanea una domanda: quanto rimane realmente al lettore di ciò che ha letto? Ha davvero il tempo di assimilare una storia, riflettere sui suoi temi e apprezzarne lo stile?

Il bello della lettura risiede proprio nella possibilità di entrare in contatto con nuove storie, nuove idee e nuovi punti di vista da portare con noi nella vita quotidiana.

Quando è lenta, consapevole e paziente, la lettura riesce a regalare piacere, emozione, passione e cultura.

Perché allora promuovere un modello di lettura irraggiungibile e potenzialmente dannoso, invece di condividere genuinamente il proprio amore per i libri?

Non è la quantità di volumi letti a definire un lettore, né la velocità con cui si voltano le pagine. Ciò che conta davvero è la passione che si prova per questa attività e ciò che ogni libro riesce a lasciare dentro di noi: idee, emozioni, conoscenze e ricordi che nessun numero potrà mai misurare.

Fonti:

• Psychological Science in the Public Interest – So Much to Read, So Little Time

• Annual Review of Psychology – Eye Movements and Information Processing During Reading

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The first time I went to my editor-in-chief’s house I was seventeen years old. It was summer and I had just joined the online newspaper I still write for today.

I went there with a friend of mine, now a colleague, to drink iced tea and get some advice on how to become better writers now that we were part of an editorial team.

Most of the advice he gave us was linked to books written by some of the world’s most famous authors.

“There’s no better way to learn than to listen to those who wrote before us”, he said, dropping a pile of books on the table in front of us.

Those words stayed with me for a long time. They made me reflect on writing and question many of the assumptions I had about it:

• Is there a right way and a wrong way to write?

• Should the books these authors have written be considered as universal truths, or as ideas to learn from, question and ultimately adapt to our own style?

Whatever the answer may be, I still believe there are books that can genuinely help writers improve their craft and discover new ways of approaching the written word.

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Non-fiction books: the theory of becoming a better writer

These are some of the books my editor-in-chief recommended on that summer afternoon four years ago. I found them incredibly useful, and I believe they can benefit writers working in any field.

1. A Room of One’s Own, by Virginia Woolf

A Room of One’s Own is an extended essay based on a series of lectures Virginia Woolf delivered at women’s colleges in Cambridge. The book explores the relationship between gender, creativity and economic independence, arguing that women have historically been denied the material and social conditions necessary to produce literature.

Through a blend of literary criticism, personal reflection, and imaginative storytelling, Woolf examines the obstacles faced by female writers and makes a compelling case for intellectual freedom. Considered a foundational text of feminist literature, the essay continues to influence discussions about art, identity, and equality.

2. How to Write a Thesis, by Umberto Eco

How to Write a Thesis is Umberto Eco’s practical guide to academic research and writing. Reflecting on his experience as a student and professor, Eco offers detailed advice on choosing a topic, organizing research materials, evaluating sources and constructing a clear and persuasive argument.

Although written primarily for university students preparing a thesis, the book provides valuable insights into critical thinking, intellectual discipline and effective communication. For this reason, it can be useful to writers of all kinds.

3. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, by Stephen King

On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft combines autobiography with practical advice on the art of writing. Stephen King reflects on his childhood, his early struggles as an aspiring author, and his eventual rise to literary success, using personal experiences to illustrate the lessons he has learned throughout his career.

Alongside these memoir elements, the book offers guidance on storytelling, character development, revision, and the importance of reading extensively.

Fiction Books: improving our writing through storytelling

I am convinced that fiction can be just as valuable for writers as non-fiction. After all, a writer should not be shaped only by knowledge and technique, but also by emotion, imagination and empathy.

1. The Dead Poets Society, by N. H. Kleinbaum

Based on the homonymous movie, The Dead Poets Society follows a group of students at the conservative Welton Academy whose lives are transformed by their unconventional english teacher: John Keating.

Encouraging them to think independently, embrace creativity and seize the day (carpe diem), he inspires his students to challenge expectations and discover their own voices. For aspiring writers the novel serves as a powerful reminder that literature is not merely something to study, but something to experience.

2. The Help, by Kathryn Stockett

Set in Mississippi during the 1960s, The Help tells the intertwined stories of African American maids and a young white journalist who decides to document their experiences under segregation.

Told through multiple first-person narrators, the novel explores themes of prejudice, courage and social change. For writers, it offers an excellent example of how distinct narrative voices can be developed and sustained throughout a novel. The book also demonstrates how personal stories can illuminate broader historical and social issues while remaining emotionally engaging.

3. To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee

Considered one of the most influential american novels ever written, To Kill a Mockingbird follows Scout Finch as she grows up in a small Alabama town marked by racial injustice and social division.

Through Scout’s perspective, readers witness her father, attorney Atticus Finch, defend an innocent black man accused of a crime he did not commit. Aspiring writers can learn from the novel’s masterful narrative voice, memorable characterization and ability to address complex moral themes through a compelling and accessible story. It remains a model of clarity, empathy, and emotional resonance in fiction.

Four years have passed since that afternoon spent drinking iced tea and talking about books. Since then, I have learned that there is no single formula for becoming a better writer. Every author develops their own voice through practice, curiosity and experience.

Yet the advice my editor-in-chief gave me still holds true: one of the best ways to learn how to write is to read those who came before us. Whether through essays, memoirs or novels, these books remind us that writing is not only a craft to be studied, but also an art to be lived.

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“Men hate women and women hate women. It’s the one thing we can all agree on” - Barbie Movie, 2023

In a world shaped by patriarchal structures, being a woman has never been easy. Across the globe, millions of women are still denied basic rights: in some countries, they are not allowed to leave the house unaccompanied, speak freely, pursue an education or even show their faces in public.

In the western part of the world, where many of us have gained rights that previous generations fought hard to obtain (the right to work, own property, manage our finances, choose our partners, and express ourselves freely) we should be standing together. Yet I constantly find myself confronted with posts, comments, and even real-life conversations in which women tear other women down in some of the harshest ways imaginable.

Without even realizing it, we criticize one another’s appearance, careers, behaviour, passions, hobbies, self-expression, voices, lifestyles, and personal choices. We do this so often that it can feel normal, when in reality it is the result of a corrupted mindset that has been forced on us since childhood.

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Patriarchy does not only oppress women through laws, institutions, or social expectations, it also teaches women to compete with one another. Women who genuinely support each other become less dependent on external validation and less willing to conform to limiting social roles. For a system that has historically benefited from women’s division, solidarity is far more threatening than rivalry.

From an early age, many women are taught, directly or indirectly, that success is scarce and that other women are competitors rather than allies. This idea becomes so deeply rooted in our collective consciousness that we often fail to notice how much we have been conditioned to feel envy, insecurity, fear, or intimidation when faced with another woman’s confidence or achievements.

A woman working in a male-dominated field, or pursuing a traditionally masculine hobby, will often hear comments such as: “You’re not really interested in it”, “You’re only doing it because it’s trendy”, “You’re just looking for male attention”.

A woman who reaches a position of power is frequently accused of having “slept her way to the top” or of somehow being undeserving of her success.

A confident woman is often labelled arrogant, conceited, or unpleasant simply because she likes herself and refuses to apologize for it.

What saddens me most is that so many women feel compelled to prove the authenticity of their interests, personalities, and ambitions, not only to men, but also to other women. We are often expected to provide evidence that our passions are genuine, as though our words alone are not enough.

These thoughts came to mind after being constantly exposed to posts and comments attacking successful women in the public eye. For reasons that often seem irrational, many accomplished women become targets of disproportionate criticism simply because of their visibility, influence, or achievements.

Why is Taylor Swift so frequently mocked or criticized for being successful and strategic in the way she manages her career and public image?

Why is Alexandra Leclerc often dismissed as being nothing without her husband, or labelled a snob simply because she appears confident?

Are women like them truly a threat to other women, or are they a threat to the expectations patriarchy places upon women?

Why do we judge women so harshly for qualities that we would often admire, celebrate, or even reward in men?

Personally, I am tired of constantly being asked to prove the legitimacy of my interests. If I say that I love MotoGP and that I am working towards getting my motorcycle licence, why should I be expected to name five motorcycle brands to validate my passion? If I say I listen to rock or metal music, why should I have to pass a test by naming songs or albums to prove that I belong?

At the same time, I am tired of hearing women casually describe other women as:

“She’s a snob”, “She’s a pick-me”, “She’s showing off”, “She’s dressed too elegantly”, “She’s dressed too casually”, “She’s trying too hard”, all because they see a woman who is comfortable with herself.

These comments may seem insignificant when viewed individually, but together they create an environment in which women are constantly scrutinized and discouraged from expressing themselves freely. They reinforce the idea that women must fit into narrow categories in order to be accepted, and they punish those who step outside them.

These small acts of judgment are among the many things that keep patriarchal thinking alive. Until women learn to support one another without conditions, to celebrate differences instead of competing over them, and to leave room for individuality without hostility, we will continue to be divided by unnecessary conflicts and artificial boundaries.

Real progress will not come only from changing laws or institutions. It will also come from changing the way we see one another. Solidarity among women is not a weakness, nor is it blind loyalty. It is the recognition that another woman’s success does not diminish our own, and that empowerment becomes far more powerful when it is shared.

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If you’re interested in the topic covered in this article, you might also like to read “women behind the wheel”, available on Thoughts from Mars.

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A subscriber recently asked me about it. She was curious about where I came from, since I write in English, often talk about German literature and occasionally share quotes in Greek.

The truth is simple. I am Italian, I am fluent in English, studied French in middle school, Ancient Greek and Latin in high school, and German at university alongside advanced English studies. In the meantime, I have become curious about Irish Gaelic and, during a moment of boredom, even taught myself the Cyrillic alphabet.

Does this make me some kind of linguistic nerd?
Perhaps.
But I prefer to think of myself as someone hopelessly in love with the world and its infinite ways of speaking.

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Italian – my mother, my source: the language of poets

Italian is my language, my world, my art.

It is the language that raised me, shaped me and slowly built the woman I have become.

I think in Italian.
I speak in Italian.
I walk in Italian.
I eat in Italian.
I love in Italian.

Italian is not simply something I speak, it is who I am.

A language so poetic, so dramatic, so unnecessarily complicated, and yet so irresistibly alive. The language of the Renaissance, of the sea, of art, history, opera, poetry and delicious cuisine.

I am proud to be Italian.
And I am proud that this language became the lens through which I learned all the others.

English – my refuge, my strength: the language of communicators

English is probably the language that made me want to become a translator.

I started learning it as a child, watching cartoons in English with my father, who was determined that I should speak more than two languages. I still remember the first random words I learned: “rabbit”, “flower”, “love”.

Today those words seem almost naïve compared to the fact that my brain now spends its days translating Shakespeare, Milton and Lord Byron for university exams. Yet they remind me that knowledge always begins with simplicity.

My relationship with English was built step by step, word after word, mistake after mistake.

What I love most is that English allows me to speak with almost every foreigner I meet. It makes the world feel smaller, closer, more reachable. It reminds me that every language is a door and English simply happened to be the first one I learned how to open.

German – my contradiction, my love: the language of philosophers

German is logical, precise, structured, almost intimidating in its order. Yet its literature is nothing like that.

I have rarely read anything more emotional, introspective and painfully human than Goethe, and perhaps that is exactly what fascinates me: the contradiction.

German feels like the language of philosophers: people ruled by logic and intellect, yet constantly haunted by emotions they cannot fully control.

Both my mother and my sister lived in Germany and although I never imagined myself studying German, life clearly had other plans. Now I find myself learning a language that challenges me completely: mind, heart, body and soul.

French – my past, my faded memories: the language of lovers

French has always sounded like nostalgia to me.

A language made of soft sounds and whispered words.

I studied it when I was younger and now it feels both distant and familiar at the same time: like an old photograph forgotten inside a drawer.

French reminds me of cafés, poetry books, rainy afternoons and songs I cannot entirely forget. It is elegant, delicate and emotional. The language of romance, certainly, but also of melancholy.

Sometimes I think French lives inside the quietest part of me: the place made of memories, unfinished conversations and people who slowly became shadows with time.

Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be able to hold a conversation in French, but I can still recite Les enfants qui s’aiment by memory and that perfectly explains my relationship with this language.

Ancient Greek – my fascination, my wonder: the language of origins

Ancient Greek feels immortal.

Every time I study it, I feel small before the greatness of its history. It is the language of myths, tragedies, philosophy and questions humanity still asks itself today.

Complicated, yet capable of expressing beauty, pain and destiny with terrifying depth.

When I read Ancient Greek, I do not feel as though I am merely translating words. I feel as if I am touching the roots of Western civilization.

It reminds me that language is not only communication: it is memory, culture, identity, and, perhaps, the closest thing humans have ever created to eternity.

Latin — my discipline, my roots: the language of ancestors

Latin is discipline.

It is the language that taught me patience, structure and attention to detail. At first, it felt cold and unreachable: a puzzle made of declensions, rules and merciless grammar exercises.

But beneath that rigidity, I discovered strength and wisdom.

Latin still lives everywhere around us, even if people no longer speak it aloud. It survives inside modern languages, history, law, science, literature.

As an Italian, studying Latin sometimes feels like looking directly into my own roots. It is the voice of my ancestors resting beneath the words I use every day.

“A dead language,” people say, and yet I have rarely encountered anything so alive.

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Russian – the language that gave life to my favourite novel

Russian fascinates me because it gave life to my favourite novel: The Master and Margarita.

Ever since I first read it I have been captivated by the atmosphere, irony and emotional depth that seem impossible to separate from the language in which it was written.

Learning Russian would allow me to experience that world more authentically and understand more deeply the culture and literary tradition behind it.

There is something unique in Russian literature: its ability to blend philosophy, suffering, irony and humanity so naturally that even despair somehow becomes poetic.

Irish Gaelic – the language that shaped my love for fairytales

Irish Gaelic represents a cultural tradition that deeply influenced my love for fairytales, legends and folklore.

The Celtic imagination - filled with mystical creatures, ancient stories, and an almost sacred connection to nature - has always felt strangely familiar to me, perhaps also because of the Celtic roots tied to my mother’s side of Lombard heritage.

Learning Irish Gaelic would mean exploring that world more deeply and connecting with a tradition that still carries an extraordinary sense of magic and identity.

The language itself feels evocative, almost musical, as though it still preserves the rhythm and spirit of the ancient stories it was created to tell.

And honestly, any language capable of sounding both enchanting and impossible to pronounce deserves my respect.

If this article inspired you, comforted you, or simply made your day a little softer, you can support my work with a cup of coffee. Independent writing survives thanks to the help of kind readers like you:

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There are people who need complete silence in order to write. They sit in a quiet room, completely isolated from the outside world and begin putting their ideas onto paper without anything or anyone making a sound to distract them.
Well, that’s not me.

I grew up surrounded by books covering the floors and walls of my house, but also with music constantly playing through every room.
I listen to every genre and, when I say every, I literally mean every single one.

Of course, I have my favourites, and over the years I’ve developed a list of artists I absolutely love listening to while I write.
Can music really improve our writing style? I think so and while I introduce you to some of my favourite musicians and artists, I’ll also explain why.

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Folklore, Evermore and The Tortured Poets Department

by Taylor Swift – storytellers for your storytelling

We all know Taylor Swift: the tall blonde pop star who conquered charts all across the United States.
Some people still think of her as a frivolous artist who only writes catchy pop songs about her exes. That stereotype could not be further from the truth.

Although she is mainly known for her pop hits, Taylor Swift is actually an extraordinary storyteller. Her albums Folklore, Evermore and The Tortured Poets Department reveal a much deeper and more poetic side of her songwriting, giving us songs that feel almost like literary ballads: fascinating stories that make us feel as though we’re reading a novel.

I love listening to these albums while I write: they make me feel inspired and immersed in a story, while also helping me expand my English vocabulary through eloquent lyrics and beautifully structured writing.

The Dark Side of the Moon

by Pink Floyd – a spiritual musical journey

Moving on to a timeless classic, let me introduce you to my favourite album of all time: The Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd.

Through experimental sounds, introspective tracks, and profound, compelling lyrics, Pink Floyd gave us, in 1973, what I consider one of the greatest albums ever made.

Nothing feels better to me than writing while listening to these songs. They create such a calming and inspiring atmosphere that sometimes I completely forget about the world around me, losing myself in the music and the lyrics.

Scientists have even suggested that listening to this album can help reduce stress, as some of its sounds resonate around 432 Hz, a frequency often associated with relaxation and calmness.

Emerson, Lake & Palmer

by Emerson, Lake & Palmer – the weirdest and truest album you’ll ever listen to

If there’s one vinyl record in my collection that I could never part with, it’s Emerson, Lake & Palmer, the band’s self-titled debut album.

It is, in my opinion, one of the records that helped shape progressive and psychedelic rock, inspiring generations of musicians who came after it.

The reasons why I listen to it while writing can easily be summed up by the qualities I admired in the albums above: deep and thoughtful lyrics, unusual and experimental sounds and music that is both relaxing and emotionally powerful at the same time.

Sometimes I think that if my brain had a soundtrack it would sound exactly like this album.

Rumours

by Fleetwood Mac – does this masterpiece even need an explanation?

There’s nothing more inspiring to me than an album that truly has it all: angry songs, funny songs, love songs, calm songs, loud songs.

What could I possibly add to explain why I love listening to it during my writing sessions? It gives me everything I could ever ask for: inspiration, motivation, ideas, emotions.

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The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars

by David Bowie – writing between stardust and chaos

Some albums feel like music, others feel like entire worlds. The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars is definitely one of them.

With theatrical songs, unforgettable melodies and lyrics suspended somewhere between fantasy and reality, David Bowie created an album that feels both glamorous and deeply emotional. Every track tells a story, painting vivid images and characters that seem to come straight out of a novel set in space.

I love listening to this album while I write because it reminds me that creativity does not always have to be neat or rational. Sometimes the best ideas come from chaos, imagination, exaggeration, and emotion.
There’s something liberating about Bowie’s music: it makes me feel free to create strange worlds, complicated characters and dramatic emotions without overthinking them.

Dance Fever

by Florence and the Machine – a witchy soundtrack for magical ideas

Choosing just one album by Florence and the Machine for this list was incredibly difficult, but in the end I went with Dance Fever: an album filled with songs that feel magical and energising, songs that make me dance in my chair every time I sit down to write.

Listening to Florence and the Machine feels like stepping into a fantasy world where my ideas and emotions finally make sense: a place from which I can return to reality and finally put everything into words.

What about you? What are your favourite songs, albums, or artists to listen to while writing?
Don’t leave me curious, leave a comment and let me know.

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If this article inspired you, comforted you, or simply made your day a little softer, you can support my work with a cup of coffee. Independent writing survives thanks to the help of kind readers like you

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To build a consistent writing routine, it’s important to develop small habits and integrate them into your daily life. Simple activities throughout the day can greatly improve both your work and your writing style.

Here are some habits I’ve developed over the past few years, especially since becoming a writer for the newspaper I currently work for. Whether you write professionally or simply as a hobby, these habits can help you feel more connected to your creativity and your passion for writing.

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Keeping a journal or diary

I always carry a small journal with me. Writing about my day, my thoughts and my feelings helps me stay connected to my creativity and imagination. Writing on paper also keeps the mind sharp and preserves the art of handwriting which, besides being aesthetically pleasing, helps maintain strong cognitive abilities.

Researching

Since I work as a reporter, I often have to prioritise my articles over my other projects. Surprisingly, this helps me a lot when it comes to finding new ideas, especially during periods of deep research. Whenever something sparks your curiosity, researching it can be incredibly useful for discovering new inspirations, as well as learning unfamiliar words and concepts.

Whether you’re searching for how to bake a chocolate cake or reading a well-written article about Nietzsche’s life, you’re helping your brain absorb new ideas and learn something new.

Writing while travelling, or whenever inspiration strikes

I often take the train to travel from the city where I currently live to my hometown. During those journeys, I spend most of my time writing. I love the atmosphere that travelling creates: writing while in motion makes me feel as though I’m part of a story myself.

You can do the same: whenever you feel inspired to write, follow that instinct, especially during otherwise dull moments. On the bus to work or school, at home during breakfast or even while sitting in a doctor’s waiting room: inspiration can appear anywhere.

And if you carry a journal with you, everything becomes much easier.

Don’t force yourself to write

I never force myself to write when I truly don’t feel like it. I don’t want writing to become something I associate with pressure or obligation. Of course, writing is part of my job, but it is also one of my greatest passions and I never want it to turn into a burden.

Sometimes, simply thinking about my projects is more productive than forcing words onto a page.

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