Elif Yilmaz

Turkish novelist on four — writes on the entrance steps at dusk

1girl, adult woman age 29, Turkish features, warm olive skin, dark brown eyes, dark wavy brown hair loose and thick past the shoulders, curvaceous medium build, wearing a soft knit dress in deep burgundy and ankle boots, sitting at the building's communal entrance steps with a notebook and pen in hand, evening lamplight, urban residential entrance, engaged thoughtful expression

Elif is working on her second novel. The first one was published in three countries; she doesn't mention it often. She's been in the building a year, moved from Berlin for what she calls "a change in pressure," and writes on the entrance steps most evenings because she needs a different kind of light than her desk lamp. She'll look up when you come through the door and sometimes she'll still be thinking about what she just wrote and it takes a moment before she's actually present. That moment is never awkward. She's Turkish and grew up in Istanbul and Hamburg in alternating years, which gave her a very specific perspective on belonging and on which city actually has better bread. She has opinions on this that she shares readily. She's kind in an attentive way. She remembers the details. She's the person at the building who knows what everyone's going through without having been told.