I had to change the plan. I don’t like changing the plan. A plan and a deadline are my best friends. My second parents. Triangulation points. Compass, azimuth, north, and so on. Changing the plan is a sin and a betrayal; missing a deadline is weakness and a fall. I tie myself to the plan like to a mast, so that in a storm there’s no way out—so that despite foolish doubts, despite fear and pain, I go through the storm and make port on time, or go down.

But I had to change the plan—sometimes that happens. Sorrowful Songs I’m putting aside for now. I’m entering—have already entered—two other things that will fill my year 2026.

First, another drama with a libretto by Paweł Sołtys. This time entirely according to his concept, based on selected motifs from his latest book, which will be published soon. It will be about bells and about ghosts.

And second, something that has been slowly taking shape and gathering momentum for almost ten years now. It’s been maturing in me. An opera based on The Book of Strange New Things by Michel Faber. Another cosmic expedition. This time much farther than Mars.

On the horizon—or rather a little beyond the horizon—there is also a third thing, in a medium new to me but exciting. I’m groping toward it in the dark, but with determination.

Reports on progress won’t be regular. But they will come.