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.