I have been writing my entire life, both fact and fiction. My parents kept a stash of my old writing from childhood when I dreamed of being an author and wrote endless amounts of poetry and short stories. I even started writing a novel in high school, something about a brother and sister who were separated at birth. I don’t remember much of the story, but I do remember the main characters were to be called Shannon and Cole, my two favourite names at the time.

I don’t recall when I stopped writing. At least, I don’t remember when I went from whiling away endless hours in the flow of creativity to sporadically dipping into writing when time allowed or when I felt somewhat inspired. And yet, somewhere deep down I’ve always maintained the dream of being a writer. Over the years I’ve had a few poems published here and there and a number of articles, but the idea of a novel has remained elusive. Until now.

I returned to writing a few years ago and have recently completed the final creative writing course at Malmö University. My focus was on poetry, but writing is writing and the spark has reawakened and a plan has formulated. So here I am starting a new project much more daunting than my masters thesis ever was. The blank page awaits and I’ve no idea where the pen will take me. But I’d rather say that I tried and failed than look back in 20 years and wonder again at what happened with my dream of writing a novel. Better to try and fail than not to try at all. It’s time to fulfill those dreams that the little girl who wrote the following dreamed of all those years ago. Wish me luck!