Interview Questions for miswada

Most platforms want your best work. miswada wants your work in progress. We sat down with co-founder Princess Bessma Bint Badr Al Saoud to find out why that difference matters.

1. Where does the name miswada come from and what was the thought process behind choosing it?

The word miswada means “draft.” We wanted to create a space where ideas start and grow. A place where you are working on the project not a place to post the completed one. Some place where it’s ok to ask for help and to be messy. And what better place than a draft (a miswada) to do that in.

That’s the thinking behind the name.

2. Before miswada, there was your own relationship with writing. What do you write and who do you write for?

I’ve been carrying around a notebook since I was eight, scribbling poems, my first one was about a pirate. My father was a writer, and with him it never felt like something he did, it felt like something he was. That made perfect sense to me.

There’s a kind of magic in writing. These black symbols on a white page somehow managing to make you feel something real. I’ve never quite get over that power that words have.

A lot of what I write, no one will ever see. It’s just how I make sense of things.

What I do share tends to be my musings on life as an Arab Muslim mother of five, moving through the world as it is. And books, always books.

I write about reading, about writing, and, quite often, about everything that gets in the way of both.

As for who I write for… it’s not very precise. I write for whoever reads it and finds something of themselves in it. That’s usually been women in a similar phase of life to mine. But when it comes to books, the audience feels more open. That part travels a bit further.

3. Is there a book or a piece of writing that changed something in you something that made you understand why stories matter?

I don’t think there was a single book that made me understand why stories matter. I grew up in a culture where stories were never something separate from life. They weren’t confined to books or tied to one moment of discovery. They were how things were remembered, how values were passed down, how people made sense of who they were.

In Saudi culture, so much of our history lived in voices before it lived on paper. In poetry, in conversations, in the majlis, in the way people retold events and shaped them with language. Stories weren’t something you stumbled upon; they were something you inherited.

So I don’t have a turning point. There wasn’t a moment where a book changed me, because the idea that stories matter was already there in the rhythm of how people speak, in what is remembered, and in what is passed on.

If anything, writing and reading came later, almost as a continuation of something much older. A different form, but the same instinct. Stories matter to me because they’re not separate from who I am. They’re part of where I come from.

4. Why did you feel the Arab world needed a creative space like miswada and why now?

In the Arab world the gap isn’t talent, it’s infrastructure. Creativity has always been here. People are writing, designing, building things really well. But a lot of it happens in isolation, or without a clear path forward.

We have places to publish. We have places to consume. But we don’t really have spaces that support the actual process, the messy middle where ideas are still forming, where they need to be pushed, refined, and taken seriously before they’re ready to be shared.

That’s the space miswada is trying to fill.

Not another platform to just “put things out there,” but somewhere you can actually work. With the right tools, the right structure, and access to people who care about the process, not just the final product.

And it has to happen now because something has shifted. Social media has been the catalyst that put our culture and language in the forefront. We want our own space to talk about us. What’s been missing is something that meets that energy with a bit more depth than just visibility or quick content.

So the timing isn’t random. It’s just catching up to what’s already happening.

5. There are many places to publish words online what makes miswada creative space rather than just another platform?

Because it’s not built around publishing, it’s built around creating.

Most platforms are designed for the end result. You write something, polish it, and put it out there with a focus is on visibility, reaction, and performance. Miswada shifts that focus back a step.

It’s a space for the part that usually gets skipped over or rushed through. The drafts, the half-formed ideas, the things that aren’t ready yet. It’s structured to support that stage with tools, with feedback, and with people who are also in it, not just watching from the outside.

So the difference is when you enter the space. You don’t come in at the end, you come in while the work is still becoming.

That’s what makes it a creative space, not just another place to post.

6. What does it built for both writers and readers? Why was it important to you that the two live in the same space?

Because one does not exist without the other. One consumes and the other produces but the line between them is thin. Writers are readers first. And good readers aren’t passive. They engage and notice. They question and respond. It is limiting to separate them and more interesting when they’re in the same space. It raises the level on both sides and that’s makes this dynamic essential.

7. When you imagine someone sitting down to use miswada for the first time, what do you hope they feel?

Relief that this doesn’t have to be good yet. That they don’t have to perform or prove anything.

And then maybe an excitement to create without judgement and a sense that they are not doing it alone.

I want the creator to write something and not immediately ask, “Is this worth posting?” If it’s working properly, it should feel quieter than most platforms. Less pressure, less noise. More space to think with a sense that they’re not doing it alone.

That there are other people in the same stage, not presenting finished versions of themselves, but actually working through things. And that being in that kind of environment might make their own work a little braver, a little more honest.

8. What is it about miswada that you find yourself thinking about at the end of the day the thing that reminds you why you built it?

That there are so many people out there who have something to say and have not started. We asked ourselves why that is and how we can make a space for them to start and be heard.

9. A lot of people carry stories they have never told what stops them and what does it mean to you when miswada gives them the courage to share?

I can answer this from experience.

There’s a lot I’ve written and never shared. And it’s not because I didn’t care about it, it’s because of everything that comes with putting something out into the world.

Most spaces expect a final, polished product. Whether it’s a blog post, a submission to a publisher, or anything public, the message is clear: get it right, or risk being dismissed. There’s very little room for someone to say, “This is good, here’s how to make it better.”

So you hold back. Because the idea has to feel complete before anyone sees it. What Miswada does, starting with the name itself, is remove that expectation. It tells you upfront: this is a draft. This is a work in progress. You’re allowed to be in the middle of it. And that changes something.

It gives you permission to be messy, to be uncertain, to be a bit braver than you would be elsewhere. Because you know the work can still shift, still evolve, still become something else. That’s where the courage comes from.

10. The Arab world has one of the richest literary traditions in human history. Do you feel it’s being carried forward and where does miswada fit in that story?

The Arab world has one of the richest literary traditions in history, but carrying it forward today isn’t automatic.

For a long time, storytelling was part of everyday life, spoken, shared, and shaped in community. Now, a lot of that has shifted into formats that don’t always hold the same depth or continuity. So while the foundation is still strong, the way it’s being continued feels uneven.

What’s missing isn’t talent or history, it’s the space to develop stories with intention.

That’s where Miswada fits in as a space to support the process behind the story, not as a platform to post more content. A place where stories can take shape, voices can be developed, and storytelling is treated as an art form.

We are creating a space where this tradition is preserved and has room to evolve.

11. What does it mean to you personally when someone finds their voice through miswada is there a moment that has stayed with you?

For me, it comes back to moments where people choose to share moments that they seem to have carried with them without the opportunity to share them.

At the book fair activation, “Who is your hero?”, we gave people a small space for just a few sentences to write about who their hero is. That was the brief. And still, what came back was anything but small. People were generous with their stories. Honest in a way you don’t expect in passing. Some of them stayed with me long after, a few even brought me to was a reminder that the voice is already there.

People don’t need to be taught how to feel or how to tell a story. They just need a space that makes it feel possible to say it. Even briefly. Even imperfectly.

That’s what stays with me. The fact that when you create the right conditions, people don’t hold back as much as you think they will. And how powerful a few sentences can be when they’re real.

12. If miswada could do one thing for the world, just one what would you want it to be?

If Miswada could do one thing, it would be this:

To make people take their own ideas, stories and creations seriously.

Not someday, not when they’re more polished or more confident, but now, as they are. To shift that instinct of dismissing an idea too quickly, or assuming it’s not worth developing, or waiting until it feels “good enough” to exist.

Because so much is lost in that gap.

If it can help even a small number of people pause and think, this might be worth sitting with, and then actually follow that through, write it, shape it, create it, stay with it a little longer… then it’s done something meaningful.

Not by producing more content, but by changing the way people relate to what’s already inside them.