Dragana Kršenković Brković, LISP 2025 Short Story Finalist, 'The Moon in Your Hand'

·      Could you please tell us about yourself and your daily routine?

I am a writer of novels, short stories, and essays. I live in Montenegro. My work explores themes of memory, gender, and identity within the framework of patriarchal history and cultural influence, merging intimacy with social critique. I am particularly intrigued by the role of ancient heritage in the alienation of modern society, as well as the concept of fantastical spaces and imaginary geographies… Regarding my process, I prefer to write in the morning; there is something about the morning silence and the rhythm of waking up that perfectly aligns with my creative pace…

·      When and how did you start writing?

I have been a reader since my earliest days in elementary school, gravitating toward fiction in particular. As I grew and developed, I began to conceive and write my own stories. This impulse arose naturally and soon evolved into a passion.

I have always been drawn to works that speak the language of intuition and intimacy—stories that bear witness to the various paths we take in the search for meaning. Over time, my own literary voice has been shaped by a European and Mediterranean sensibility.

Political and social turmoil, the 1990s war in the Balkans and its aftermath, the lives of displaced persons, the strangeness of existence, the everlasting questions facing humanity—all of these form the framework of my writing.

I have always been interested in art which creates an immersive, often seductive experience that can express content through many layers, some of which exist only in a silent realm. I am also intrigued by the ways in which rhythm and melody can transform a written narrative.

·      How frequently do you write? Do you have a writing routine? And what inspires you to

write?

Whenever I begin a new story—be it a novel, novella, fairy tale, or short story—I work on it every day. I say that a story 'takes a form' because that is exactly how it feels: a theme, motif, or idea overwhelms you, and in that moment, you know you must tell it. It isn't just a choice; it is always a necessity.

While I am writing, I don't listen to background music, even though music means a great deal to me. When you are faced with the blank page, silence is essential. The rhythm of the words you write must follow the inner rhythm of the imaginary world you are describing. Storytelling is like that: you create a whole new world from invisible material.

What inspires me to write? The best answer is: everything. A landscape I’ve just seen, a memory suddenly recalled, a detail noticed in passing. I am inspired by the books and writers I return to—Wisława Szymborska, Toni Morrison, Elsa Morante, Chekhov, Akutagawa... In visual art, I am equally drawn to the experimental artwork of Lonneke Gordijn and Ralph Nauta—specifically how their choreography of light and technology becomes poetry—and to Japanese ukiyo-e prints. I find inspiration in Hokusai’s landscapes, which deeply move me and invariably stir a creative thread in my own work.

·      How does it feel to have your work acknowledged, whether through being a finalist in a competition or having it published? 

It's a great experience. Moments like these remind me that stories possess an inherent strength to 'touch' a life and a unique power to reach people. For that is exactly what stories do: by showing that we have so much to share, they help us bridge our differences.

·      What's the most rewarding and challenging aspect of writing a story? 

The short story form simultaneously offers and reflects diverse approaches to interiority of characters and the nuances of gendered experience. Through a balance of conciseness and narrative density, it allows a writer to capture the absolute essence of a subject in few words. This economy of language is uniquely suited to isolating specific emotional truths—pinpointing, for example, how the profound traumas of patriarchy can manifest in a single, pivotal moment of a woman’s life; this a theme I explore in my short story, "Leaving," published in October Hill Magazine and The Bosphorus Review of Books.

Writing often presents the challenge of conveying a character’s interiority without naming it directly. I explore this technique in my story, "The Moon in Your Hand," onto LISP finalists' list, too. Writing this story required working with language that lingers in the spaces that are unspoken, delicate, and visceral. The protagonist's fear of her mother’s imminent death, her resistance to the weight of grief, and her dread of forgetting her mother’s face are never overtly stated; instead, they are embedded in gesture, mood, and implication. The story invites the reader to listen closely, to inhabit the silences, and to trace the emotional layers woven subtly into the fabric of the text.

·      How did you come up with the idea for your LISP-selected story? Is there a story behind your story? And, how long have you been working on it? 

At the beginning, I had only a basic idea. I was interested in exploring themes of love, loss, and identity, but also the fragile internal architecture of memory that shapes our lives—seen through the intimate psychological space of a woman. Then, I sat down and started writing.

The narrative unfolds on a starlit winter night beneath an unusually large moon that seems to hover just above the frozen ground. In this setting, everything merges: the sky and the earth, a lonely bus on the road and the dreamlike atmosphere of the landscape. As the soft hum of the engine dissolves into the silence of the night, there is a heavy realization: that the death of a mother cannot be compared to any other, for it is a prelude to one’s own. With your mother gone, parts of you disappear as well. This haunting truth follows the protagonist, Nadja, as she confronts herself beneath a moonlit sky where reality’s contours begin to dissolve.

From the start, a poetic rhythm naturally imposed itself on the prose. Intimate yet universal, reflective in spirit, the story traces how we navigate grief, and the fear of death. It explores how the passage of time, the act of creation, and the presence of deeply hidden recollections combine to form our inner landscapes. The piece became a poetic tapestry of mortality and transience, woven with the quiet belief that art may offer a means of resisting oblivion.

I wrote the story "The Moon in Your Hand" in about a month. I wanted to properly "answer" the questions of losing loved ones, the strangeness of existence, and the quiet mysteries of everyday life. The nuanced work of my translator, Will Firth, has allowed this story to reach the English-speaking world.

·      Please share a few tips on writing. 

Through writing, one should strive to raise questions that resonate universally, regardless of geography. In this way, the work becomes a dialogue—not only between the reader and the story, but also between personal and collective experiences of memory, emotion, silence, and transience.

    Writing is not suffering or torment; quite the opposite. The act of writing is the richness of existence. It is the discovery of being, and it should be enjoyed to the fullest.

    By capturing the atmosphere of the moment, the writer introduces the reader to a deceptive world that always proves to be fleeting and impermanent.

·      What is the best aspect and the most challenging aspect of competitions? 

I find the idea of short story competitions requiring anonymous submissions is very interesting. It gives the story a chance to prove its power that it can move across borders and languages and still touch people.

·      Finally, would you recommend that the writers consider submitting to LISP?

Yes, I would. I think that the LISP competition would be both inspiring and insightful for other authors.