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Marty Gregor

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in Sofia, Bulgaria

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Born in Sofia, Bulgaria inside the iron curtain; raised in Montreal, Canada since the age of four. As you could see, switching from a dictatorship to democracy, my childhood was already confusing as it was. Added to my confusion, was speaking Bulgarian at home, French at school and English on the playground. Life was not always easy, especially having to explain to schoolmates what kind of ingredients were used in my lunch. Growing up, meeting with different sorts of people from every path of life, speaking the infamous ‘’Franglais’’ (a mixture of French and English, Montrealers are known to perfect), I developed quite the sense of humour. It didn’t matter much though, as my mother would always say: it’s more important that people understan Born in Sofia, Bulgaria inside the iron curtain; raised in Montreal, Canada since the age of four. As you could see, switching from a dictatorship to democracy, my childhood was already confusing as it was. Added to my confusion, was speaking Bulgarian at home, French at school and English on the playground. Life was not always easy, especially having to explain to schoolmates what kind of ingredients were used in my lunch. Growing up, meeting with different sorts of people from every path of life, speaking the infamous ‘’Franglais’’ (a mixture of French and English, Montrealers are known to perfect), I developed quite the sense of humour. It didn’t matter much though, as my mother would always say: it’s more important that people understand what you are trying to say, and that you end things with a smile.
After graduating with a finance degree from University, I entered the professional world of nine to five. They say that the real world is only nine to five, but it’s a lie: it’s a lot of overtime. That was my painful professional life. Working so many long hours, dreading the paper work, realizing that I was not anywhere near the steering wheel of a luxurious car and spend my vacations on a private yacht with billionaires, I began writing blogs to escape my vicious reality. The blogs received a great amount of success and more importantly, a great amount of emotion. I did not want people to simply salute me on how deep my thoughts were, and tell me how much they enjoyed reading me: I wanted them to jump, laugh at the simple observation they had missed out on or want to kill me because of the sad truth, the insecurity. After a year or so of the real world, dressed in a shirt and tie, I was at a house party where the guests were asked to perform stand-up comedy. I received rather warm applauses, suggesting I ought to tryout on a real stage in front of a real crowd; so I did. I performed in Montreal’s comedy clubs on open mic nights. I was slightly nervous at the beginning: unlike the professional nights, where people applaud and laugh at every joke, even the not so funny ones; the crowd was mainly there to support friends and see strangers fumble. However, luck was on my side as I received cordial applauses for my quirky, neurotic, nerdy humor. It made me happy because I really did love my jokes, as narcissistic as it may sound. What I really did not love was the sound of my voice, through the microphone, echoing in a deep tenor speech that made my ears bleed. I decided that writing was going to be my ultimate weapon of mass destruction. I continued writing, as it was the only thing I looked forward to.
Out of the blue, while getting ready for work, a slow nostalgic song was playing on the radio: the inspiration hit me for my first novel ‘’after the after’’. I believed it was a weird feeling, unsure what to think about it because I only knew what the ending was. I sought the advice of my father, whom reassured me that it was normal in everyday life. ‘You know how to get to work, you can go by car, bus, bicycle etc... A book is no different: you just have to start from the beginning and figure out how to get to that ending.’ Maybe it was the long exhausting hours that helped inspire me, maybe it was just a simple mundane song, maybe it was a combination of both: but that’s the truth, a mindless event which was the catalyst for me to write a memoir about my trips in Europe. Hence, what I get from writing is very simple: a way for me to express my feelings and thoughts, laugh and cry, find the irony in my life without going crazy about the meaning of life.
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Average rating: 2.89 · 18 ratings · 14 reviews · 2 distinct works

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Marty Gregor's Blog

I hate you

You are primitive,
I am civilized

You are backward,
I am modern

You are animal-like,
I am human-like

You are fanatical,
I am rational

You are evil,
I am good

I hate you,
Even though
I know nothing 'bout you

By Marty Gregor

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Published on January 23, 2015 21:01

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Sometimes a Great Notion

by Ken Kesey

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Apr 01, 2017 08:55AM

Topics Mentioning This Author

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Around the World ...: Canada	41	1184	Jan 11, 2025 09:36PM
Around the World ...: Bulgaria	25	1125	Jun 29, 2025 09:02AM

Marty’s Quotes

“Mothers are all slightly insane.”
― J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

tags: motherhood

2248 likes

“Some men are born mediocre, some men achieve mediocrity, and some men have mediocrity thrust upon them.”
― Joseph Heller

tags: humor

1492 likes

“...[A]nything worth dying for ... is certainly worth living for.”
― Joseph Heller, Catch-22

926 likes

“He knew everything there was to know about literature, except how to enjoy it”
― Joseph Heller, Catch-22

589 likes

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.”
― Plato

tags: attributed-no-source, compassion, kindness

10093 likes

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Marty’s Friend Comments

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message 1: by Marty

Jan 14, 2015 12:26PM

A whore named Penny

Woke up t'day
'round ten
skipp'd the routine.

Glass o' whiskey
pack of cigarettes
with some guns 'n' roses
and a whore named Penny.

She said hello,
I said what!

That queen
wanted her money
and her taxi ride.

I coughed,
told her to fuck off!

By Marty Gregor

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