my name is Stefan, and I’m a writer.

What if everything you ever knew, all you held dear and close, all your experience is only part of your too real, too dangerous imagination?

Untraum, as a word, doesn’t exists. Traum is german, meaning dream. The dream. A dream. Un- is but a prefix, describing an undoing, an opposite. It’s not a nightmare, it’s an un-dream. A dream that doesn’t exists. The dream being reality. Reality, becoming a dream.

Photo by Greg Parke

I’m a disillusioned middle-class worker. I have dirt under my nails. Tears in my boots. Cracks and scars on my skin. I don’t have much, but much more than I need. From month to month, pay to pay, I do what I can.

The reason I write is because I can. It gives me the chance to be something else. Something bigger than myself. Not that I would want to be the subjects of the roller-coaster accidents I usually produce, but I enjoy watching.

I live with my beautiful, talented fiancee and two crazy birds in Calgary, Alberta. That’s in Canada. The great white north. I moved here in July, 2005, after growing up in Germany. First behind the wall, later in front of it, with no way out but the push forward. I ended up here, because I had nothing better to do.

I like criticizing movies, shows and games. I also like to watch movies, shows. And to play games, of course. Huge fan of pen & paper, table top RPG. Gamemaster, I call myself. When I grow up, I want to be an autobot.

Friends say, in german, my talent is wasted on Canada. I should be in Germany, I assume they mean, sitting in cafes, slurping lattes and write my soul out in german. Play with words. Language, redefined and provoked. Maybe. Maybe not. I miss it, Europe. The age, the stale stink of culture. But now I’m here. Still writing, just in a different language. Different, true. But it’s still me. My words. My voice. My roller-coaster.

In case all the other bazillion ways of contact on this site aren’t enough, and, of course, you need to really tell me something, use this:


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