Category: planning


I guess we all have years that sort of push us, that get us to the verge of not knowing where to start and where to end. This will be one of these years for me. I know it.

2016 is the logical consequence of 2015, and even though the past year brought me so many many good things, it also brought with it a lot of things and insights that have overshadowed this young year. The facts are all known. And hence, the remedy is at hand too. However, I need a break from all of what surrounds me now.

This being the fact, I decided to re-activate my English blog to keep track of what I’m doing.

I decided to take one year off. I need to for various reasons, and I have a lot of things on my mind right now. So this blog will serve the sole purpose of being something of a log book of the year 2016.

At this minute, these are very early stages of a much needed time-out and of a new phase in my life. Hoping that it will bring me wisdom, creativity, laughter and relief, as well as distance to certain things. Traumas that I need to let go.

The good thing about a Sabbatical is the whole tabula rasa notion, the freedom to let go and the ability to find new shores, new tasks and new skills.

The bad thing about a Sabbatical is the emptiness of a blackboard that you need to fill with useful content.

 

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Back again

When one goes abroad, expands horizons and travels, there are always a good couple of stories to share. I am back again since past Wednesday night. Everything feels different. After almost one month I am back in my place again and even though I felt really good mentally as well as physically, I seem to have contracted a bad flu-type virus. I have all matching symptoms and in spite of scoring pills on end, I feel like death to go. Not good at all. It is going to take a couple of days to get me back on track. I suppose I don’t need a doctor to confirm that this is a virus. But I do need to stay at home and get rest.
The most annoying thing however is the sleepiness. I seem to sleep all the time. Which so is not me.
To be honest. I almost feel drugged.

When the worst is over, I will share my travel stories. This month was very exceptional and taught me many things. I am glad we were curious, strong and brave enough to do this journey after so many years. It definitely was worth it.
Until then, I am trying not to die of boredom cos there is not much I am doing at this point in time. Right now, I am only awake very shortly and the rest of the time, I am pretty fast asleep, dreaming a lot. Weird stuff… Maybe, my body is getting back all the sleep it needs. Certainly it feels that way.
Can’t say I feel wonderful. I feel sort of drained. I guess I need some rest. Some grace period.
Will be back soon.

I had thought I would blog a lot and also write a lot while away. But the truth is: life is out there. And I took the chalice and drank it till its very last drop.

In the end, I wasn’t even online. It seemed such a drag, so I did not do it. And there was a bet involved too.

To me, it just shows that being connected is something that is a manacle modern man accepts. But in fact he (modern man) does not need. There is a lot in there we don’t actually need. But which we pretend we cannot go without. But which is just surplus.

We are leeching of the substitutes. Not even the real thing.

Once we accept what slavery we live in, we might find the path to freedom.

This is just a quick scribble but I shall come back to the notion of freedom and slavery. There is something to it.

More pills. More sneezing and coughing. More weird dreams. Let me submerge.
More being on the edge.

I can just see myself from an angle, others might have seen me from. When the words popped out of my mouth. I had been trying to keep things quiet over this one since I knew this would end in endless questions…

“I am going to live in Ibiza from December onwards.”

It is so funny, it feels even now as if it had happened yesterday. First, the opening: These stares of disbelief. These questioning gazes. Like I had really completely lost it. Then, the main course: the inquisition. I felt like I was either a woman accused of witchcraft and to be burnt at a stake or a heretic. As for dessert, there would still be the worst, those ones who pat you on the back, congratulated you on your decision and then were bitching behind your back. This is so remote in a way, and yet still so near in another.

It is weird. To the day, these are exactly five years I have been living now in Spain, or more specifically, in Ibiza.

When I decided to go all the way, the scenario was really tough. So many questions, so many doubts. It made me doubt too, that much I have to tell you. I was not all too sure I would be a winner. All of a sudden, people thought that at 36 I needed some mollycoddling, or worse: a nanny, someone to watch over me so I would not be a fool in bringing up two innocent children. Obviously, I was not to be trusted. It was ridiculous. My kids were 2 and half and five and a half when I left our home in Cologne. I went away in a dark and cold December night. It was all well planned. I thought I would start to cry cos surely I would miss my husband, but somehow, I knew that this was the beginning of something good. Something that required my highest level of concentration. I was so poised. So keen to experience something else beside bringing the kids to kindergarten and being at a dull office job from 9 to 5, only to be kicked out since I was just not used to some hen fights in the subterranean office hierarchy. I felt such a failure. It was not right. I had had a real career before and now I was being kicked out like I was no good. I wanted to prove myself. I wanted to conquer the world once more. Luckily, Berno knew how much it meant to me that I did not have anything to keep my mind busy. I could not sit around day in day out. I truly felt such an emptiness inside. I had given up writing years before. I seemed to exist as a mother, a bad example of a mother. One that does not rejoice in simply bringing up the kids. One that needed a career. God, I felt so empty inside. A void that nothing, but really nothing could fill. Nothing except for a huge challenge. Time for change. Change of habits, change of lifestyle, change of surroundings. But do you tend to say these things to your friends? no, I guess you don’t.

And in fact, I did not either. I felt out of sorts, out of place. I felt cheated. Someone had pushed me off the big ferris wheel they call job market. I went on about the bad situation for mothers who want to return to a job, the slim market chances of a mother of two in Germany to find a qualified job.

If I am being perfectly honest and true to myself the situation is this: I could have done the same thing that I do now in Spain, much easier in Germany, but honestly: I did not want to stay in Germany. I had grown bored somehow. Boredom is the worst disease of all, You start taking things for granted. So, in the end, I threw all things out the window, and I called it a day. I did not have the guts to go through with it in the old country. I was fed up. Maybe, I needed the kick, the extra challenge. The adrenaline rush. Maybe. But there was also this strong yearning for Ibiza. There was this island, like an energy source that had some incredible magnetism for us.

Berno, my husband, was staying put in Germany cos someone needed to keep working, keep the money coming in, while I would be testing the water and also be trying to find a job which I did, after only two months and being a “single mother” for all the Spaniards knew at first sight. See if living there would prove to be the right decision.

What can I say. It did. It was the right decision.

Despite all the initial problems we encountered, we somehow did it. We are still here. And we don’t want to go away. Despite the bleeding crisis.

I feel that for us as a family but also for us as individuals, Ibiza has given us plenty of good things. So many good things that happened to us. I see this whole journey as a means to finally do the things we wanted to do while not feeling observed all the time.

People thought so many things about all of this. It was kind of amusing. But then again. If people have nothing to bitch about, that’s what makes them angry. So, once I’d find out what they needed, I’d give them just enough to keep their mouths busy, and just enough to keep the wolves at bay.

“How could you do that?”

Ah, how many times have I heard this utterance? Like it was my fault or something.

“But what about your children? What about your home, your flat? But what about your marriage?” These questions were not simple questions. They were dum dum bullets.

Guys, you don’t really listen when I say things, no? I did not say I was leaving my husband, I did not say we split up. I simply said that I am going away for a while and see if it’s a viable option to go and live in Ibiza. And so, of course, I took the kids, since Berno would stay in Germany. How else could we have done it? We did not have any savings so it was the only way to do it.

And yet… Funnily enough, this here happened:

“Ibiza? You mean this party island where all the youngsters go to make a night of it with all the parties and drugs, the free love and the hippies?”

“Ibiza, yes. Well. The drugs and parties is only half of what is true. But yes, Ibiza.”

People would then tend to take a good look at me then. Some of them would even look at my kids like they were sorry for them cos they had such a lunatic mother. Many people were looking at me like I had completely lost my mind. And some of them even spoke out what some of them must have been thinking.

“So, Berno stays here?”

“Yup. Stays here. For the first time. And then, we will see how things go. And we will take things easy. Work it out step by step.”

I really hated those inquisitive looks. These insinuating seemingly harmless questions… They were the worst to my mind.

But fast forward to now… What has happened in between?

Was it worth it?

I would say: Heck yes!!!

I am still here. Actually, I seem to free myself finally of so much mental baggage it is just incredible. Berno is learning Spanish, he is holding down a job. I a, learning Catalan, and I am kind of doing three different jobs and projects whenever possible and so we keep our heads above the water somehow. Of course, in Germany we had much more money. But we were not happy with the life we were living. Yeah, maybe that’s true. The fat years are over, but that’s not just for us, it is basically for everyone. But that’s ok by me. Honest to God, I sometimes wish, we would have more money for travel and that, but other than that… I could not be happier if I tried. We have everything we could want for.

We live in Ibiza.

We are happy, we are sane and we are healthy.

Our marriage is still not down the drain despite the fact that so many people believed this when they saw me driving away in a car with two young kids. Of course, Berno seemed to be the poor husband left behind. Well… If people want to believe shit, they just do that, no matter what. So I don’t care too long about what these people say. I learned that the hard way. Sometimes, it is better not to know about these rumours.

To be honest. Ibiza was probably the best decision I could have come up with in terms of mental freedom, and personal development. Here in Ibiza, I could just do what I always wanted and be what I wanted to be. I kind of made a quantum leap. Ibiza gave me the protective shield and the energy to do that. Everyone here is so flipped out, so creative, the truth is that in Ibiza, anything goes. If you are “normal”, you are boring, so that is Ibiza’s secret how to get you going. It is a haven for people from all walks of life, so many different nationalities, so many artists and also craftsmen.

Ibiza really inspired me to become “me”. I know this sounds weird. But that’s the way it happened. And this is just the beginning of a process. I can feel that I am developing right now. As a person. As an artist. As a writer. For in the past I used to be someone who would be my own worst critic. I was always holding myself back. Always thinking: no, cannot do it. You are not good enough. Always putting my foot on the brake instead of the accelerator. Instead of trial and error, I was hiding beneath the kitchen table. I was so afraid I could fail.

Now, it seems I found the accelerator. And that is not bad at all. I seem to have matured. At last. At long last. Bloody hell. 41 is a quite an age to see yourself become slowlu but surely an adult, to be coming of age. But it is true. That is exactly what these 5 years were good for.

What else is there to tell?

5 years have seen stumble into a deep deep recession. The world is no longer the same after the downfall of Lehman Brothers Bank and the banking crisis in October 2008. Ever since then, they have been trying to get back on track. But it becomes worse and worse. The terrible thing is that the people in Spain don’t have any faith in the future now. The only thing that keeps them going is the independence of Catalunya which is something I could see on the horizon.

—–

The little girl lost finally woke up and rubbed her eyes to see the world in its whole beauty and also with its neverending cascades of possibilities. And I decided. I no longer procrastinate.

Ok, I gotta explain this. Procrastinate. That was a term we used a lot at uni when we were discussing Hamlet and the way he tarries. He is consuming time. He is biding his time. When he stops procrastinating, the drama is put into action. The real action begins here.

So, back to the topic. Ibiza and 5 years of my life. What does it feel like?

It is a good feel. I guess I belong here. I can relate to the people here on the island. Some of them are so incredible and so friendly it is hard to believe. You need to wait a while until they learn to trust you, but once they trust you, that is a moment like an epiphany. It is like belonging to their big clan. It really feels like home. Island people always seem to be like that. Caring and somehow a bit like the godfather thrown in. 😉

Anyway, we are happy here. And our kids could not be happier for all we know.

Even if we are no longer rich and well off… If we just scrape by. I kind of enjoy it.

Before, I admittedly, panicked here and there. And then I kind of started to think. What is the worst that could possibly happen? You run out of money, and you go back. That’s all. Maybe with the tail between your legs, but hey, at least you tried.

And guess what, that kind of triggered an enormous will to survive and to make us somewhat more resilient, so we do not ever take things for granted anymore. And that is something we should have learnt a bit earlier in our lives.

But maybe, we were all just spoiled brats back then. When I look upon my old life, I seriously, I really don’t want it back. And I don’t even want to have the carelessness with money. I hate that today. So many people are out of a job and they are struggling just like us. But hey, somehow, you always make it till the end of the month.

—-

I think I might be baking a cake with the kids. One that has a big fat 5 on it. And they will know why.

PS: One thing I feel kind of bad about is that we – even though we are all Europeans – cannot vote in this country not even on a communal basis. The only thing we are allowed to vote is within Sant Joan (one of the five districts of the tiny isle of Ibiza… I personally find this insulting and humiliating). I would love to be able to do just that. To vote. I always voted.
Right now, it is a hell of an important time. It is a historic moment. Catalunya could really break away from Spain. What would happen with the Balearic Isles then? I wonder. But that is a question I will answer in some other blogpost.

I know what you’re gonna think. Exhibitions and especially openings can be pretty boring. Now you’re gonna think. Right, so now you tell me that yours was different. Yes, ours was different. We had people from all over the place. There were Belgians, Australians, Lithuanians, Catalans, Germans, Argentinians, French people, Spaniards, and other nations I have no knowledge about. To me, being an extrovert human being, and possibly also someone who only gears up when I can listen and speak to three or better four languages at a time, it was just like a dream come true. The buzz, the vibe and getting a direct comment on what you do. That is so great. For some others, it might have been their personal nightmare. Ugh… So many different languages, too many people around. Yikes. Well, then quite obviously, openings of that kind are not cut out for you.

The lecture itself also went pretty well. No major hickups. I was excited but managed to keep a lid on things and present the poems well I was told. These are the things that people need to tell you afterwards. Mind you, I do think I could have done better if I hadn’t been nervous like hell and if I had had a chance to prepare that my lecture was filmed (a thing I had no knowledge about when I started the reading. After the first or second poem they were suddenly there right in the middle of it. But what can you do? 😉 ). If you think you’re good, that’s when start being bad. And I strive to be good. Well, sometimes, you have to do with so-so. But I won’t settle for that.

Anyway, that’s neither hither nor thither, so we had our opening night of our Dark Vila exhibition last Friday and, funnily enough, there was always the right number of people around. Not too many, not too few. Always kind of people coming and going. I know the exact number of people but I won’t debase myself and tell. No. I am too proud for that. This is my secret. The funny things is that there were people, mostly unknown to us since all of a sudden, most of our friends, were unfortunately not there due to car problems, flu, and other impediments. I guess opening nights can be tricky in that respect. But here and there, there were new faces, new opinions, and new takes.

I must say it was not what I had anticipated but it was even better instead, much better. It was very lively. So, we had people from the Consell (I was surprised again), the culture person in charge (surprised again), later on, IB3 popped around … in a moment when I had started reading out the poems aloud in three different languages. Speaking about perfect timing, it would have been great to know they were coming but they had left it open if they would or not, so it was again another element of surprise here 😉 and – to be quite honest – in a moment when I not really believed they would make it and cover such a small event. But they came and they did. We even got a mention in the Saturday noticies, preceded by a very funny teaser! I was amazed. A few moments later, I was sent the link of the small feature film. Brave new media world that has such people in it!

Dark Vila mostra una eivissa ben diferent – Click here to see the IB3 video

I am still walking a bit on air. It is a strange feel, a bit surreal. But a good one I guess.

We achieved something. Not everyone will see our exhibition but those who did all had a friendly comment for us, and I got new ideas, new perspectives and new little incentives for some future projects. That’s the beauty of it.

Oh, did I mention that Diario de Ibiza gave us a third of a whole page to anounce our DARK VILA exhibition which was very generous considering the fact that we are not really on the screen of anyone and considering we are flying well below the radar plus the fact that they had not seen the expo before writing their article? That was a vote of confidence I would say. 😉 That was one day prior to the opnening. I will scan it later on and try to insert it as well. Up until now, things have been really crazy. Right now, I want to step back and maybe fast forward to a different moment in time, but hey, no, I want to enjoy this. Like I enjoyed that evening, together with my husband Berno, my children and of course with Oliver Janssen who is the other half of this joint project and that took us five months to set up. Take a look at his blog too.

Come to see Dark Vila. It is really worth the long (?!) way to Sant José de sa Talaia on the white (and sometimes dark) isle of Ibiza. At least, judging from the comments we received so far.

PS:

I will try to get more media coverages here on this blog but I also need to get back on track with my Catalan learning chores, my translation work and the preparation of my first novel in catalan and finding the right people to walk that way with me. So bear with me please.

Here is the link to the exhibition https://www.facebook.com/?ref=tn_tnmn#!/events/440385366024045/

I guess we knew it all along. The nights are getting colder again, the heat becomes more bearable. We are approaching the realm of autumn. You look at the trees, the burnt grass, the debris left behind by hordes of tourists, you start nodding your head silently. Yes. It is time to go back to normal again. The energy here on this island is incredible. But when you to take a look at how tired people are, or should I say mentally exhausted, then you can grasp the idea why some friend of mine cried Yippieyeah!!!!the last tourist has gone…. It is a strong love hate relationship between Ibiza and its residents. Two months later everybody will be bitching and moaning… How bad the season was. How they could not make any decent amount of money. They will be melancholic at times. They will wish themselves back to the hustle and the speed of the summer season. In winter season so many things are just dormant. When you do things, they take up more time. And still, there are many people around who just love this island when the last chiringuito is desrted, all the summer people and summer helpers are back home. To be honest… I love Ibiza the most in winter. Because it is different. it has got a different pace, different people and also different light. But it takes guts, passion and some survival instinct to really live the two different Ibiza’s accordingly. Party and work. Listen and learn. Meet and greet. Sit at home, read a book and muse. When I left my home almost five years ago, I was not really aware of the huge contrasts here on this island.

Now… I really enjoy them. It is a bit like two sides of a coin. Or the Janus head looking forward and backward at the same time.

Here in Ibiza, you can be, have or reach almost anything….

but one thing you will never ever be is bored.

I first felt unsure if I could live my life this way…. but it turns out that once you embrace the weird and wild rhythm of a sacred island with a pagan heart, you get to love the fast paced summer frenzy as well as the stoic and bucolic beauty of its winter. I only laugh at people nowadays who ask me how I could bear to live in Ibiza in such a dull season such as winter. Those people seriously have no idea of what they are missing.

So. Enough love letters. to my darling island Ibiza. Eivissa. Goodbye tourism in one month and hello again to the many perks of living here.

I am so much looking forward to getting back to seeing the winter people of Ibiza again. About one month from now on, and Ibiza is a renewed island. Thanks to Tanit, protecting goddess of Ibiza.

Ok, you may say now that it is light-hearted to open up a new blog just for the sake of pre-publishing a story. Well, I found it better than to enclose the catalan story in here since this blog is chiefly written in English and I would it to remain that way. I think for me it will hopefully prove the right step at the right time. Please feel free to share this and tell anyone you know who might want to read a creative story in catalan.

It is nothing new that writing in a language which is not your own does have it difficulties. But at the same time I know there is this story inside of me and I really want to get the thing off my chest. It started with a harmless two pager that I wrote up when I was 21 or 22. Ever since then, I have been thinking up the same story over and over again, in different scenarios and with different characters. Somehow, it never felt quite right for some reason or other. Now, here we are, May 2012, the shape is fitting, the timing is right and the story is ready to see the light of day. The story has grown a bit more complex, it right now has 21 chapters, of some planned 30 chapters (+/-1). Even in a language which is not my own. I hope you will enjoy taking a fast-paced ride through a universe which may be unknown to most of you. Cos that’s what it is and what you can expect: a story built around the protagonist’s character. He is somewhat sympathetic, somewhat meandering, somewhat a modern tramp, despite all his shortcomings, you need to feel sympathy for him, and then, he is most certainly an anti-hero, trapped in a world he does not find the emergency exit door. We are thrown right into a downright dark story, a tour de force of set in Ibiza in the Balearic Isles. Pau, a late twenty-something, sucked up into the negativity of dealing and stealing, which does not help him really since he is a clean heroin junkie. We watch and witness him being caught up between his girlfriend, a new hit of heroin, another crazy night with his friends, being pushed around by the police and some underworld thugs with pretty violent manners. We watch Pau descend ever deeper and deeper into a downward spiral, oscillating between life and death more than once.

The only question that can remain is this: will he be able to put an end to both the nightmares and the real life danger close at hand, will he  step wisely, and what’s more will this turn happen early enough?

For those of you interested and willing to read the blog and the story in catalan language, even with some grammar and lexical blunders, here is the new blog URL:

http://veig-i-escric.blogspot.com.es/

Let me know please if you like the character and the story-line around him. Yes, it is a film noir type thing.

So, shoot me…  Image

Sometimes, Monday needs a lot of special attention. This one here did.
But by being resilient you can overcome the shadow of a weekend that is too delicious, too enchanting and too inviting.
We all need breaks, moments to clear our heads, to be childish, to be inventive and just to live.
Whenever the need arises, we should remind ourselves that perfection is a trait that is not something we are born with. And maybe not something we should strive for either.
I have been burning the candle at both ends for almost eight weeks. And it is now that i look back upon that period that I put myself under too big a strain. I was more like a walking zombie, pushing myself to the limit and sometimes beyond. It is good to know that I can deal with the strain. But to be honest life is way more enjoyable with enough sleep and without the hot breath of someone at your back. The funny thing however that it was noone else but me who wanted everything and all at once.
Ok. Understood. Cross out strive for perfection and underline live in happiness and with your own and other people’s mistakes and limitations.
Hard lesson to learn. But an important one I guess.

I know this may be weird coming out of my mouth but it’s true. But now I know what I sometimes lack. It is structure. Writers need structure if they want to get anywhere. Up until now I more or less always wrote when I felt like writing, and about anything that I wanted to write about. Sometimes I would take out any notebook, or a page that I would have with me just in case.

However, today I was in a weird kind of anxious mood that I might not be able to finish my book that has the working title “black story”. Guess what? On second thoughts, I basically know that I can write this story no problem, but the main issue is this: 1) How am I going to write the story? 2) How well will I write it? and 3) Will I feel happy with the outcome?

Maybe, there is this misconception about writers being some weird people, sitting there in their ivory tower, waiting for the muse’s kiss and then writing day and night no matter what. That may be good for those people who don’t live in the real world. For those of us who do live in the real world, this behaviour is not just impossible, it would make writing itself impossible. Of course, we all know these moments when you have a big idea and you keep rolling it around inside your head, toying with this or another scenario that could fuel the action. But if truth be told. When you want to develop a sense of style, a sense of direction, a sense of writing something that has a start, a middle part and an ending, you need to get away from this romantic preconception about the writer being removed from the outside world. The writer has to be absolutely within the world outside in order to write something that has an impact on the outside world.

Plus: If you have the feeling that you are remote from the world that other people live in, chances are that the truth is not too far at hand. If you don’t know anything about what’s going on in other people’s lives, that means you can’t write about it. You could create a postulate like “art pour l’art” but that is not helping either. To me it becomes clearer and clearer that poetry / prose (take your pick, it holds true for both) must be connected with life itself and the living people of today. People should have the feeling that you have something to say. Otherwise all writing is in vain.

So, what is my conclusion? I guess that some people will say that this is rubbish but I still hold against it when I am saying this: A poet needs to have structure: in many ways: in the way that he / she writes, in the way that his writing will be connected to the real world. In the way that he needs to sharpen his pen at least every couple of days if not every day in order to be on top of things.

Writing has so much to do with your inner self, with your personal views, with your innermost feelings.

But then, and this is the point, it also is a craft. And a craft needs to be learnt, sometimes through trial and error, and furthermore it needs to be practiced.

What can I learn from this?

I should probably make a plan of 3 or 4 topics that I want to write about, just for the sake of writing, and also for the sake of practicing. Maybe, I should even pick out topics that I don’t usually write about to make things gradually different. And after writing these 3 or 4 entries, I should try to scale these texts in terms of quality, in terms of coherence, in terms of language.

Writing can be fun, but in the first place it is something that no-one reaches mastery without a couple of bad texts in between.

Don’t cry. Work.

Ok, so this is official. It always takes me about a month to write another blog entry. And it does not seem to be casual in this way. It just happens to my rhythm. Ok, a lot happened in between.

Sophia’s leg got better and we now can go for a swim. But with all the tourists around and the hot weather, I don’t have a lot of intention of spending the day at the beach.

So, it is middle of August now. Another ten weeks of heat I guess. But we are in the middle of the high season.

Finally, my worst ever summer flu is over. It took me more than 4 weeks to get over it. And a cure at antibiotics at the end of it.

I read a lot, just fiction, some books in Catalan, a lot in English, a little in German. Mostly in Catalan until now, but now I am focussing again on literature in English and German. Too bad that my sleep / wake pattern is somehow messed up since I stay up a lot, and in the mornings I need a lot time to wake up. But hey, thank God, it is the school holidays, and it’s still another month to go.

There are a lot of options, but I have made my choice.  Writing professionally is the target I have. I’ve always written, all my life, I co-founded a school newspaper, I was member of a university group of creative writing, I participated in a lot of writing workshops throughout Germany, I did a couple of readings, I even printed my poems in a once-off edition of 30 selfmade copies and sold them to bookshops and to the audience who came to my reading. That was when I was 22. In my late 20’s / early 30’s I did have some stories published in anthologies, but never closed a book deal on my own. Now I am 40. This is what I want to achieve. It struck me that I in between university and now, which is roughly 20 years back, I never got around to pursue this with more force and with more energy. I remember that I entered my short stories in a lot of competitions and contests but never won. I remember that this was somehow very discouraging for me. It really felt bad. It put a grinding halt to all my literary ambitions. That must have been 2004 or so.

I never thought about getting some help through an agent, or seek an editorial that may be interested. Maybe, I did not think much of it. Maybe, I simply did not take myself serious enough. Which is weird, but it may be true.

The past couple of years I was a busy mother of two, and then I moved to Spain 3 and a half years ago. But now, there is not much to keep me away from writing and pursuing my path. I feel that writing is my thing, I feel a bit more mature plus but I feel way more focussed and organised. Let’s see what will happen next.

I need to sit down and write day by day, at least two hours to practise my writing and see how I get on. I need more everyday routine when writing is concerned. Up until now it was very erratic, like poof! I would have an idea and I would jot it down, there, never change it. Now I feel I want to develop an idea and then sit down and clothe this idea with words. So writing has become a more conscious process. Here is a difference.

Plus I need feedback from others.

Right now, I am putting an exposé together. And I am writing new short stories for a collection of short stories.

Step by step, I am moving along. This time around I will muster the endurance and stamina to hold on to this idea and pursue it.

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