Carolin Würfel

1. Please tell us a bit about yourself and your work.
I was born in the former GDR in 1986, three years before the fall of the Berlin Wall, and raised by socialist women. I grew up in Leipzig and moved to Berlin after graduating from high school. I studied history and visual culture in Berlin and Istanbul, initially imagining I’d become a historian, working in academia or a museum. I didn’t dare say I wanted to be a writer, even though I always wrote and read. As a teenager, I filled diaries, built stories in my mind and on paper - I always loved stories more than reality. Stories can be bent.
 

After finishing my master’s degree, I began writing for VOGUE Germany. It happened by coincidence - or maybe a leap of faith. A friend who worked there suggested I write art reviews, since I was always visiting exhibitions and immersed in Berlin’s art scene. I loved it. I went on to intern at several national newspapers and eventually became an editor at DIE ZEIT. But I was young and hungry and wanted to be out in the field. After a few years, I gave up my position to work freelance. I also began writing screenplays, and since 2019, I’ve published several books. I’m especially drawn to women’s lives and to stories that move between the personal and the political.

When I moved to Istanbul in 2021, I began writing in English as well. It feels not only exciting, but necessary - it allows me to reach beyond the often narrow literary scene I’ve known, and to speak more directly from the life I’m living now. I’m currently developing two new books: a novel set in contemporary Istanbul, and a non-fiction project exploring the diverse voices and lives of women along the Bosporus.

​

I was never sure if I wanted children, and I never dreamed of becoming a mother. After I got married in my late twenties, people around me began asking when we would have kids. I usually just shrugged - I didn’t want to give an answer. I had so many other plans, most of them involving writing
and building a life as a writer. I wanted to publish books, explore my voice, travel. I had this incredible hunger for an adventurous life - maybe partly because I was born in a locked-up country, surrounded by a wall, and saw what that did to members of my family. I was the first one to go out and explore the world.

In my thirties, I felt I had finally arrived in a life that truly fit me. Parenthood wasn’t something I longed for, and for a while, I thought I might revisit the question later. I remember reading Motherhood by Sheila Heti in my mid-thirties and thinking: Yes, this is exactly how I feel. I also never envied friends
who had children - if anything, I often felt the opposite. Today, I wouldn’t call myself a non-parent. That term suggests an absence I don’t feel. I’m a woman who doesn’t have a child. Like Sheila Heti, I see it this way: I’ve birthed three books. I’ve helped raise a younger sister. But motherhood, in the traditional sense, is not something I’ve missed or desired.

2. Has writing always been a focus for you or was it a Plan B? 
Writing is where I find purpose. It’s what keeps me alive, helps me make sense of the world and my place in it. Writing is my safe space - and the most magical process I know. Once I realized that, I pursued it with energy and ambition. For a decade, I took every assignment I could, worked constantly, played with language, searched for my tone. Nothing else existed - writing was everything. It was never a Plan B.

That intensity has shifted in recent years. Life is just as important now. I’m more relaxed and also more confident. I no longer pressure myself the way I used to - writing through the nights, smoking too many cigarettes. I’ve learned to manage my time and use my tools more wisely. You could say I’ve found balance.

I’ve never really asked myself: Should I write, or should I become a parent? So far, the journey of writing - the process itself - has always interested me far more than the idea of motherhood.

3. How do you explore ideas or find inspiration for your work?
Simple answer: through daily life. Through reading, watching films, visiting exhibitions, talking with friends - and sometimes strangers. I’m always asking questions. If I see or hear something that catches my attention, I follow it - I let it move through my mind. Often, that idea or question starts to follow me too, reappearing in different contexts. That’s when I begin to wonder: How could I approach this? What would be an original angle?

I take lots of walks and keep a notebook next to my bed. Note-taking might be the most important part of turning an idea into writing. A good thought usually only comes once - you have to catch it in that moment.

4. What does the process of writing involve for you?
Thinking. Walking. Taking notes.

I’m not someone who writes diligently every day, and I don’t believe you need to in order to keep the muscle active. I need a lot of time to think about what I want to write - and how I want to write it.

When I’m working on a piece or a book, I carry it with me everywhere. It lives in the back of my mind, breathing, growing. I read a lot around the subject I want to explore, share my thoughts with others, and jot down anything and everything that comes to mind. At some point, I can feel it: the collecting, wandering, and wondering has been enough. Then it’s time to sit down and write. That part - the writing itself - is usually fairly quick. But the thinking, twisting, turning, and questioning can take weeks, sometimes months.

To be honest: Writing begins long before the first sentence - it’s like planting seeds and waiting for them to push through.

5. And what does writing then also give you in return?
It’s magical. To this day, I find it absolutely fascinating that you can build an image, a world, a character, a story - with nothing but letters. Signs that, on their own, have no meaning, but once put in the right order, can create something in people’s minds. Make them feel, laugh, cry, see.

Writing is such a powerful tool. Of course, it’s not easy - it takes time, and it can be painful, frustrating, hard work. It’s like stepping into a pitch-black room. You walk around, trying to understand the space: What’s in here? Who’s in here? You feel your way forward, slowly. And eventually, you find
the light switch. Suddenly, the whole room appears before your inner eye. And if you’ve done a good job - others will see it too.

6. Has seeing your work in print changed how you view yourself, and also how you view your NoMo status?
Seeing your own work in print is priceless - it’s the coolest thing. I still get excited every time I publish something. My voice, out in the open. It gives me strength, affirms my place in the world, and invites others to respond.

At the same time, I believe writing is something deeply private. It’s a space you can retreat to, one that belongs only to you. A sacred island where you can be whoever you want, and explore whatever you need to. It’s the ultimate freedom.

In that way, it feels like the opposite of motherhood. A mother’s time and attention are constantly needed by someone else. You give, you care, you protect - and often, your own needs are pushed aside. I’m sure it can be just as meaningful. But it’s not freedom in the same sense.

7. Tell us about the wider reception that you’ve had to sharing your story - has it changed how others have viewed you and your identity as a non-parent?
It’s still not very common to choose a life without children. In my experience, parents - especially mothers - sometimes get offended when I share my story. They feel the need to justify themselves, or try to convince and persuade non-parents, sometimes quite harshly. I’ve heard arguments that imply non-parents haven’t fully lived, haven’t grown up, haven’t truly understood life. I find that ignorant - and honestly, quite silly. I don’t believe in this battle-like atmosphere between parents and non-parents.

Yes, some people may see me as the odd one out. The spinster. The unconventional woman. I’m okay with that.

​​​

But there’s another kind of reception, too: gratitude. I’ve received thank-you notes and messages from people who were relieved to hear someone speak openly about living a life without children. They felt seen. That kind of response means a lot to me.

8. How do you feel about the current representation of childless and/or childfree people in literature?
It’s become much more common, and childfree people - especially women - are more visible than before. They’re no longer just portrayed as sad or incomplete characters, but as three-dimensional people, worthy of attention, complexity, and storytelling. As it should be. Still, there could be more. And it could be more normalized to live a childfree life, to have characters in literature who simply choose not to become parents.

It’s long been common to read about childless men - the cool, lonely wolves venturing out into the world. It’s time we give that same grandness, that same narrative space and dignity, to female characters.

Life is rich, wide, and wild - there are so many aspects to explore beyond raising children or becoming a mother. The world is big. So are we.

9. What would you like the publishing world to know about non-parents, both as writers and readers, and our stories?
For me, it’s always about pushing the boundaries and breaking away from conventional stories and dominant cultural narratives. I believe every person and every story has value and deserves space. We should tell it all - question what we’ve learned, what we’ve been taught about the world, about societies, about the status quo.

There is never just one true story. It’s always about perspective - and the courage to ask broader questions. It’s time to accept and celebrate stories by non-parents. To listen without judgment. Not to see them as “other”, but as part of the spectrum of lives being lived.
 

And maybe we don’t even need to focus so much on the fact that it’s a non-parent story, or that it’s written by a woman without children. How often are male writers asked whether they have a family - or what they think about being a parent or not being one? In fact, I’d love to hear more about parenthood from men - across all angles. Because questions of parenthood, fatherhood, motherhood, and breaking free from conventional pressures concern us all. We need more nuance. And we need everyone in the room.
 

10. What future plans do you have, especially for your writing?
Germany is a rather traditional and conservative country when it comes to publishing. It tends to prefer conventional stories - or stories clearly marked as “outsider perspectives.” When it comes to writing that explores radical or “unusual” female views, it’s still difficult to be published, and even harder to find a broad readership. Maybe it’s more precise to put it this way: Germans love their comfort zone. They don’t like being irritated. You can be quirky - but not too feminist.

That’s a problem for me. I’ve achieved a lot in Germany, but my plan is to expand my writing and become part of a more international publishing world and readership. I’m working on two book projects right now that I believe have the potential to reach and resonate with readers around the world and I’m genuinely excited about that.

Above all, I hold on to something my grandmother used to say: Just keep going.