I write from my heart, that has not changed, but I do not make up stories... I tried and so far I have failed. I wish I had not, but "everything happens for a reason" in life. I am probably not ready to be a novelist, so I am moving on. I am however ready to be myself and so I write the only way I know!

I write no fantasy... yet I write poetry!
I am a poet and this is my way of life,
But I need to become real again...
Poetry does not sustain life.

I am a thinker and my inner conversations are very often so loud in my head that they make me dizzy... so I write them down. I can write on many subjects that interest me, and when I know too little, I go look for what I do not, so I can write about it... I would not say I have no limits though.

My passion is ...

depending on my mood... could be words, the seventh art, music, nature...

I know too much about ...

nothing... however I learn everyday and that is what makes life interesting...

My parents always told me ...

to make sure I was happy... and I am!

My childhood ambition ...

was to live in Sweden... and I am!

My favorite memory ...

The first time I met my husband...

Why I write ...

like another would paint, dance or sing to express oneself... I write.

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

I read "Jonathan Strange & Mr Norell" by Susanna Clarke, "The Historian" but Elizabeth Kostava; I am reading again the "Harry Potter" Saga by J. K. Rowling ... watching too many things to list here... listening to Francis Cabrel and Xinema, Bon Jovi, A-ha, Imogen Heap, John Mayer...

My first job ...

Assistant Manager... which I'd rather keep in the past.

My best moment ...

would be my wedding day... and that day in the forest where deers welcomed me.

My inspiration ...

My feelings, emotions, the news (sometimes)... Life in general.

Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: A narrow escape

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It was already nightfall and the air was damp with a rising fog coming from the sea. All the boats were back alongside the quay and the last smells of the fishermen's activities were slowly fading away. In the far side of the harbour, between the two largest buildings, the blurry silhouette of a man was busy with some heavy load... he put it down gently on the ground, paid his respects with a bow and disappeared in what seemed to be vapours... it'd have been a very strange sight indeed to any passer-by... but no one was there.

At the flower shop, on the opposite side of the harbour, things...

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