Venko Andonovski is Macedonian writer (novelist, short story writer, playwright, poet), essayist, critic and literary theorist.
Venko Andonovski[1] graduated from the Faculty of Philology "Blaze Koneski" in Skopje. He holds a PhD in Philology and works as a professor at the Faculty of Philology "Blaze Koneski" in Skopje. Andonovski is a member of the PEN center. In 1990 he became a member of the Writers' Association of Macedonia.[2]
Venko went to High school Orce Nikolov in Skopje together with journalist Nikola Mladenov founder of Fokus newspaper. In his youth, he started writing poems, since he was a young child [citation needed]. His late father was Veroljub Andonovski, the Nova Makedonija journalist.
He is currently married to Danka and lives in Skopje.
Venko has six children: Deana, Katerina, Veda, David, Vidan and Grigorij.
His brother Vedran Andonovski is a journalist and works for Voice of America in the United States.[3]
In a 2008 interview for religious online portal Premin,
On journalist question:
Do you when creating your work have an ongoing "dialogue" with God in terms of person to a person or the dialogue goes down to silently standing before God and translating the experience (on a stand Absolute) in to this word?
Venko answered:
I Always remember how it was when writing the "Navel of the World." Three and a half years I have sketched and collected material. I stored it up a lot, but everything was scattered in notebooks and computer files. That year, sometime in September, entirely without a plan, someone started sorting those scattered files. Like it was creating a mosaic. It woke me up at three, four o'clock in the morning and I was getting to work. I've never gotten up without an alarm clock. Finally, I decided to go in solitude. I went to Berovo. Before I moved in the bungalow that I've rented I lit a candle in the Church "Virgin Mary". Then, in the next twelve days, I lost sense of day and night. I woke up when I had to write down what someone obviously wanted me to. It was like someone dictated it to me. How I enjoyed it , I of course, write it down, but with great anxiety and thought. It was not just a monologue. I asked a question, which then I had to answer it. The novel was finished and I returned two days earlier to Skopje (than planned).
I have enough years of experience to know that I did not write the novel myself, or just myself. Call it as you want - but I call it a blessing. Lord (I am a believer) You at least held my hand, if I did not deserved more - my mind and heart, for example. In this I was convinced, though I always speak about this experience with anxiety, from fear that people who do not believe in anything except themselves - will make fun of me.
No great art comes without contact with the One and Indivisible, Almighty and Sublime. I do not only think it but also feel it the same.[10]
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