Back in Russia for a few weeks before Abbey College starts. Petersburg at 2 AM during white nights is something else entirely. The sun refuses to set properly, just hovers at the edge of everything, turning the Neva into liquid mercury. Kaliningrad’s Baltic coast feels different. Heavier somehow, all that Prussian history buried under Soviet concrete.
Been walking these streets with my WIP in mind. The detective story I mentioned in December? It’s growing teeth. Petersburg’s canals know exactly what I need them to know. Every bridge has witnessed something it won’t tell. The Amber Museum in Kaliningrad holds time differently, frozen moments in golden resin. Perfect metaphor for memory, really.
Cities are memory keepers. Not in some poetic sense, but literally. That bench where someone had their first kiss in 1987. The corner where a child got lost in 2003. The café that closed during lockdown but left its ghost in the empty window. We think we’re the ones doing the remembering, but maybe it’s the other way round.
My protagonist understands this now. She’s not just investigating a missing day; she’s interrogating the city itself. Petersburg remembers what happened. Kaliningrad knows why it had to disappear.
These places are teaching me how to write them. Not describe them, but actually write them as characters with their own agency. The novel feels more real after walking here. More honest.
Foundation year starts in September. Until then, I’m collecting cities and their secrets.
Daria Ryzhikova Writer