This is not a tale of undue hardship or sorrow, nor am I disadvantaged in any way - I want to make that clear from the start. Any situation I find myself in, and any difficulty that situation might entail, is the result of my own, conscious choices. So, to bring this introduction to a close, I am not here to tell you a sob story; I am here to tell you my story, and let you decide whether you want to help.

My first book and I, Sifnos 2015.

I am Daphne, I'm a writer, and I live on a small Greek island called Sifnos: those three facts are intrinsically linked. I grew up in Athens and spent 18 years in London and, in 2014, at the age of 36, I gave up my flat and my job and all I knew of as life, and moved here to write a book. And I did; in fact, I wrote several, but the important thing is - regardless of whether I was ostensibly "always a writer" - this is where I became everything that I was supposed to be. Whether it was timing or circumstance or some cosmic conspiracy I cannot say; all I can say for certain is that this - this place, this life - is where I belong. And the sense of belonging is a wonderful thing: it frees you up to be the best you can be and give all you have to give.

Put simply, this shy, awkward, insecure girl has found her feet and her voice. And it's a voice - magically, impossibly - that people want to hear. Magically, impossibly, my writing has touched people, and strangers have become friends, and it's a wonderful, reciprocal thing, where we all feel like we belong. And that, I think, is important; much more important than me getting "a proper job" (whatever that might be). If there's one thing I've learned, it's that we need to value ourselves and the gifts we have been given, and to set up our lives in a way that allows us to pass those gifts on. It's not just a right, but a duty - and I'm sorry if I sound melodramatic, but that's what I believe.

On to the problem: I have been lucky enough, all these years, to have a place to stay with minimum expense, to match my minimum income. (Again, not a sob story: to sacrifice financial security for the reward of having the time and headspace to write is no sacrifice at all.) But all things come to an end, and circumstances dictate I need to move - before the summer. I cannot afford to buy: my little island is a haven for tourists and house prices are astronomical. Ditto for renting: with a 5-month tourist season, the chances of finding a decent home to rent all year round are close to non-existent. So, after sinking into a vortex of panic and despair, I came up with the only viable solution for staying here and staying me: to build my own little house. Hear me out: this is not as crazy as it sounds.

1.  I am lucky: there is a small piece of land that is available to me to build my home.
2.  I am lucky: I have the kindest, most amazing friends who are willing and able to help me build it. 
3. I am lucky: I am a pathological optimist and this thing is gonna work because it has to. I refuse to consider any other scenario. 

All you need is love. And cats. And help from kind strangers. 

Which brings us to logistics because this, ultimately, is what it all comes down to. Aside from the cost of labour (which will be minimum because, as I said, my friends are amazing, and we're basically going to build this thing ourselves), the major expense in any building project is materials. And, in the case of a small, not-so-well-connected island, it's the logistics of getting those materials to the building site. First, they need to be imported from the mainland, at high cost; next, they need to be conveyed to the site itself: in my case, the edge of an obscure little village with no road access. We don't need heavy machinery for building: we'll dig the foundations manually, and carry a cement mixer over, somehow; we'll manage. But there is no getting around the fact we need access for a small truck to transport the materials to the site - without that, this ambitious project of mine becomes pure science fiction: there is no way I can afford to pay for the man hours involved in carrying thousands of kilos of cement and bricks and whatever. 

Proposed building site / former chicken house

But, again: I am lucky (4): it so happens that there's a small building project going on in the property directly behind "mine", and the owner has knocked down a wall to secure access for the truck. And he has very kindly given me permission to use that route as well - provided I am done by Easter, and rebuild the wall afterwards. One problem solved, another created: I need to build NOW . Or I might never get another chance.

Unexpected access

So, why should you care? Short answer: you shouldn't. But perhaps you do. Perhaps you've read my work and want to help me remove this practical obstacle so that I can continue to do it. Perhaps you've never heard of me before, but you'd still like to help, on principle. Perhaps you've been in a similar situation, and received support from unexpected sources. Perhaps you're just a genuinely kind person; perhaps you believe in kindness and solidarity between strangers, as I do. Or perhaps you're simply amused by my audacity. In any case, if you're moved to help me out, for whatever reason, thank you. And equally, if you're not, thank you anyway, for taking the time to read this. That, honestly, is kindness enough. 

And if you do decide to get involved, what will you get out if it? Technically, not a lot. My gratitude, for sure. Hopefully a nice sense of personal satisfaction, at having helped someone for the sake of it. Maybe even a fleeting sense of having made the world a slightly better place. Tax benefits? I don't know. Project updates, photographs and videos of my friends, my cats and my chickens (and perhaps the occasional donkey), a permanent place on my list on happiness-building heroes, and in my heart. I'm thinking, perhaps, I'll write your names on bricks as we build - we'll think of stuff as we go along. (Feel free to make suggestions.) It goes without saying that absolutely everyone who makes any contribution at all will be publicly acknowledged and praised (unless you prefer to remain anonymous), and you're all invited to have coffee with me (and the cats) in our new home, if you ever find yourselves on Sifnos. (I've also come up with a few "rewards" as well, but - let's be honest - these are nothing more than symbolic tokens of my gratitude.)

I've dubbed this project "building happiness" because that's what it represents to me. So whatever you may get out of helping, you'll be putting a lot in. 

Disclaimer #1: If this doesn't work out, the world will keep turning. And I'll figure it out, somehow. Worst case, I'll go live with the chickens. 

Disclaimer #2: I may sound cool and collected, but it's an act. In truth, I'm absolutely terrified. 

Please feel free to get in touch for more information, questions, suggestions, building tips, or even just a chat. 

My new chicken house / future abode

A bit more info on me and my life:

I am 43 years old, single, no children. I share my life with three cats, 8 chickens and an unusually polite rooster. I don't own a driving license, let alone a car; I get around by bicycle. I earn the bulk of my income ("proper job") as a freelance translator; I am also a massage therapist, jewellery maker, caretaker/concierge for holiday homes on the island (in the summer, I make a lot of beds and clean a lot of toilets), and occasional manual worker in various rural occupations (olive picking, pruning, plowing, etc). A lot of the things I need, I get by means of a reciprocal economy: a service in exchange for another, a book for a litre of olive oil, etc. My main expenses are my electricity, water and telephone/internet bills and my national insurance. I use a wood stove for heating, and earn the wood in exchange for helping a friend with pruning almond and olive trees. I grow my own vegetables. In short, I do what I can to maximise my income and labour so that I can maintain a simple, happy lifestyle centred on having the time to write and - just as important - interact meaningfully with my readers. 

 And a bit of financial info on the project: 

A very excellent and capable friend of mine has estimated the cost of materials at around 20,000€. We'll be reusing and recycling stuff as much as possible (i.e. we'll collect stones from the garden to build the foundations, and we're using discarded windows, shutters and doors for most, if not all, openings, etc). The architect who drew the plans is getting paid in massages, and there will be a lot more massages for sore muscles as we get on with the building work. There will be some unavoidable labour costs (e.g. electrician and plumber - who are hopefully giving me estimates in the next few days - and more specialised jobs that my team of volunteers can't handle), and there will certainly be unexpected expenses along the way. I have taken on a couple of extra, long-term translation projects, from which I'm hoping to make around 5,000€ to put straight into this. Any holes in the budget will be filled by impromptu jobs, and the kindness of the universe.

* And, just so you know I'm not completely away with the fairies of The-Universe-Will-Provide, I did have some cash put aside for this, and I was planning to start the project in October. But I seem to be suffering from Long Covid (or whatever they're calling it now), which has been all kinds of fun, and culminated in two months back and forth to Athens and in and out of hospital and the eventual removal of worse-than-giving-birth kidney stones. And it's taken me this long to get myself back together, physically and - mostly - mentally.*

Social media & stuff:

My Facebook page 

My Amazon author page

My first book in Greek

My latest book in Greek (it's all about cats!)