I write books, which I guess you have discovered by now. I write non-fiction, novels, children’s books, cookbooks. I basically write in vast range of fields, with one common theme. I write about things I like, stories I find interesting. It doesn’t matter if it’s about a giraffe on the African plain who wants to find a soulmate, or a romance novel in Greece.
For me, they have one thing in common; they are all stories that means something to me, and I always hope that they will mean something to my readers too.
I grew up in a home where books had the central stage. My parents always read to me, even before I was born. Books stimulates the imagination and so does storytelling. My father could tell the most fascinating stories and change an ordinary car ride into something magical.
Storytelling has always been a part of who I am, but for a long time I didn’t do anything about it. We own a publishing company, it's almost 30 years now. I have been writing for different magazines most of my adult life, but still it took almost 20 years before I wrote my first book. I have some catching up to do.
Read the first three chapters in my books
Vinden ven med ett öronbedövande ljud runt huset, ett komplext och skrämmande ljud. I bakgrunden fanns ett otäckt susande som aldrig riktigt slutade. I förgrunden knakade och tjöt det i takt med att hela huset skallrade, vilket skapade ett olycksbådande dovt ljud. Vinden fick huset att kränga och vrida sig, som om det försökte skydda sig genom att röra sig i ryckiga kvidande rörelser.
I first met him on a bright summers day, when I almost stumbled over him. He was just a few feet away from our front porch, a tiny little rugged Pica Pica; or Eurasian magpie as he’s more commonly called.
He looked at me with his big, black eyes and he wasn’t scared. When I took a few steps away from the porch, he turned around and walked towards a pile of wood, that my husband had… more
She sat there staring through the airplane window. It was blue sky as far as Helena could see – no other planes, no nothing. If she leaned towards the window, she could see the clouds down below. It was the perfect weather for traveling.
"What are we doing here?" she quietly asked herself. "Is this crazy?"
Helena gazed at her seven-month-old baby boy, soundly asleep in her arms… more