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All Posts by Britt Malka

About the Author

When I was around five years old, I went with my father to work sometimes, and I always loved that they offered me a typewriter and paper.

That white paper… all those possibilities!

A year or so later, my parents gave me a light-brown typewriter made out of plastic. One of those things that was made for children.

With it I typed stories and fairy tales and used my imagination. Later I got a real typewriter (still not electric, though) and I kept typing.

My biggest dream was to become a writer.

High-school killed my imagination, but I discovered a new-found love for writing non-fiction.

For several years, though, I almost didn’t write. I worked in a bank for six month, studied medicine, worked in a supermarket, worked as a childminder, as a secretary and book keeper for a lawyer, before I finally dropped my day-job for good and started to write books.

My books were non-fiction books, and they were published through a couple of Danish publishing houses.

I also sold two short stories (out of the three I wrote) to two of the biggest Danish magazines.

Until recently that was the only fiction I could boast about, because I struggled to write a novel. That’s all over and done with, luckily.

I grew up in Denmark (and Germany for 3 years), but in 2000 I left to live in France. We stayed there until June 2011, where my husband, son, cat, dog and I moved to Israel.

When I write today, I have a view over the blue see, the blue sky and the ever-shining sun.

May 21

Carabosse

By Britt Malka | Sleeping Beauty

I have to find somebody to clean this room. Cob webs every where. Where is that lazy chamber maid? They probably think that I was too old and weak to see what a slobby job they did.
 
But I am not weak. My powers grow day for day, and soon the princess will turn 16. Soon she'll fall for the curse, and I am free. Free to grow my powers for the next hundred years.
 
I'd sworn to revenge the humility bestowed upon me by fairy Jane. People think I'm dead, now, because nothing bad has happened to Jane. Yet. They had no idea how patient I can be. I will get my revenge in the end, and I don't mind waiting.
 
It feels good to have something to live for.
 
As I glance through the tower window, my pet dragon flies by. He is no bigger than a cat, but still mighty powerful. The woods around the building withered and died under his tiny flames. The earth is scorched and no new life takes form here.
Jan 27

Who Wrote This Crappy Scene?

By Britt Malka | Amber Shapiro

You know how, as an author, you're allowed to write a crappy first draft, right? The first draft only has one purpose: To catch the story. From there, you edit and polish, until your story gets interesting.

Last night, while discussing this with a writer friend, my main character Amber got a hold of my manuscript.

Oh, shit!" Amber leaned back towards the wall. "Who wrote this crappy scene?"

Mike eyed her from the door. "Some horrible writer for sure, but can you do better?"

"That shouldn't be too hard." She dropped one of the pages to the floor, bent down to pick it up, and dropped the rest of the stack. Papers formed an unorderly fan around her, but what worried her most was the smug smile she imagined would be on Mike's face. She peeked through her silver white hair. Oh, yes, of course he hadn't missed such a great opportunity to gloat.

"Then do it. Write your story as you think it should be."

"I certainly will." She tossed her hair back, got up, and kicked the papers. Who needed them anyway. Then she headed for the table where a computer stood, waiting. I will write my true story, as it really happens.

Five minutes later, she leaned back, proud of her work so far. This was much better than what the crappy author had written. She would just stretch for a moment and then continue.

Her back got warmer. Mike must have walked over to her without she'd heard it. Then he was bent over her shoulder, looking at her screen. "This was just another ordinary day for Amber Shapiro," he read out loud.

"While fighting seven demons, the stunningly beautiful angel managed to have breakfast with her boss and tell him what she planned to do that day. 'So you're off to save the world from another world war?' Her boss nodded approvingly. Amber didn't waste a second. To the sound of a thousand trumpeting angels, she descended to earth in one elegant jump, and began her fight for world peace." Mike smiled. "I'm so glad we got rid of that crappy writer."

May 20

Amber’s Peace and Love

By Britt Malka | Amber Shapiro

What do I want, what do I want?

I’ve never thought about it. A grand-dad? A grand-mother who aren’t so mysterious and silent about what happened?

Peace? Love?

Love, ha!

Somehow I always run into the wrong guys. They start out being oh, so strong, but they always end up running for their mother’s skirt.

So what do I want? Nothing. Nah, that’s not true. I want a strong, handsome and interesting man. A man who isn’t afraid to contradict me. A man I can trust. Faithful. Loyal.

Santa Claus, in other words. Such a man doesn’t exist.

What else?

I want my neighbor to be safe. I’ve heard her boyfriend yell at her in a strange foreign language. Or ex-husband. She says they were married, but she left him, and he doesn’t accept it.

Another unhappy marriage.

That’s about it. Easy. World peace, a strong, handsome and loyal husband, and for my neighbor to feel fine and free.

What am I afraid of? Let’s see:

- spiders
- dying
- driving too fast
- flying
- handsome men
- not being believed
- a threat to my family
- losing my mind
- drowning
- snakes
- suffocating
- getting old
- not getting old
- being bitter
- doing something clumsy

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