Move complete!

I have moved but not decorated my new abode fully to my liking. I hope you will still want to follow me over at http://amlewriting.wordpress.com/

All posts previously posted here are available for reading over there now too.

Hope to see you reading!

Feline Friday, introduction

My friend BubbelBoo has started a weekly meme. I am not usually one to participate in such things but since this was a subject very dear to my heart I decided to give it a try. It’s Feline Friday and my favourite biology subject, muse and constant companion will be on display.

I felt that some sort of introduction to how my relationship to cats came about might be appropriate and I hope you don’t mind this turn of subject form my usual odd excursions.

When I grew up there was always a cat around: Tiger, Pärlan (the pearl), Pyret (the tiny tot), Coco, Lucky.. Naturally when I moved away from my parents house I was rather rootless and didn’t want to get a cat of my own until I had a firm ground to stand on, a place I wanted to call home and wanted to stay at for a longer period of time. I didn’t want to put any pet of mine in the horrible ordeal of flying or other long distance travels.

When I came to Toulouse I felt “This is it, this is the place for me” and I did a little search for some kitten in need of a home. A picture got sent to my inbox and this adorable little ball of fur was on it. I have no idea how, but I instantly knew that this was my cat.

The brother of the kitten on the picture had previously been promised to someone else. But those people had changed their minds at the last moment. So I stood there with a kitten in each hand and looked into their little faces. The owners asked which one I wanted to take home and I squeaked out a faint “Both of them?” as I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. I really couldn’t decide.
It wasn’t just an ordinary oh-what-a-beautiful-cat kind of moment, it was love.

Needless to say, I returned home with a pair of beautiful twin boys that I named Tony and Jeffrey. That was almost two years ago now and so much has happened since they came into my life. I’ve also had the fortune of getting a cat girl named Marie, in my house through the people I live with.

Unfortunately Tony ran away from home in February and his absence is difficult to get used to. But I have many stories and adventures to tell you about all my cats and I hope you won’t mind some feline intrusion here every now and then.

Have a purrfect Friday!

My treasures

At the back of the storage. Underneath a box of Christmas decorations and behind the fold-out table we only use if we have more than five people over for dinner. In a tattered cardboard box that once, many years ago, carried “quality baking potatoes” from some, to me, unknown farmer in Ireland to a small greengrocers in the West End of Glasgow, Scotland.

That’s where I keep them, my treasures. My songs.

On coffee stained, weatherbeaten pages that almost fall out of their covers I read the blue and black ink. I travel in time to the days and the places I wrote them down. I feel the love, sorrow, anger, elation and excitement again. I hear the melodies and feel them play in my heart. As clearly, as if I had just put down the pen after writing them down.

I’m a firm believer of living in the present, but I can’t help to notice how much of what I do now takes power from what I have been through. Every page of my novel comes out of what I did “back then” and my songs all focus on the past.
I don’t see anything wrong in this but it sure makes me wonder when the songs about the present will come and what they will say.

“Some day we’ll look back at all this and laugh” doesn’t cover it. All things are not funny in retrospect, but they are easier to understand. I smile and place yet another fully scribbled notebook in the box.

I was digging for treasure today and found it. In the margins of the over-edited renderings of a conquest, I found gold. Very frank notes that spoke so much louder than I had ever imagined they would when I wrote them down.

At the back of the storage I hide my treasures once more, until the next time I will need them again.

Dream diary

All people dream, many dreams and every night. The only problem is that most of us forget what we dreamt about. Imagine all the amazing stories we are forgetting every morning as we wake up.

That thought annoyed me slightly so I decided to do something about it. I have, for a while now, kept a dream diary. In it I write down all my heroic adventures, my love stories and the random happenings that shows up in my subconscious during those nocturnal moments of intense cerebral activity.

Since the diary is filling up at a fast pace I forget them almost equally quickly and I spent a few minutes earlier today browsing through it and was amazed by what I read. I found a few dreams that I’m sure would become great inspiration for stories some day, if only I took the time to write more on them.

Even if you have no ambition to write stories, a dream diary can be very interesting. I don’t really believe in the “if you dream of teeth rotting, you’re afraid of getting old” and all other set-in-stone interpretations of dreams. But I do believe you can learn from the dreams and that they don’t appear at random.

A dream diary is not such a bad idea as long as there is enough time in the morning to scribble them down. The trick is to do it before you start thinking about doing anything else. If I start thinking that I need to make some coffee or I have to remember that very important meeting/phone call later that day, all the good details get lost. I still might have the basic idea there but all the details get blurry. It gets better with time, just like any other daily habit it takes getting used to. At the same time as I open my eyes I reach for the notebook and the pen next to my bed.

My first notes in the dream diary are quite boring “Dreamt something about a car” but after a few months one first sentence looked like “I played golf with Dolly Parton in a hot air balloon that transformed into a desert and to my right there appeared a choir of teddybears singing Christmas carols, me and Dolly joined in the singing” and it went on for over half a page before the scene changed in the same dream.

The more details, feelings, colours, impressions etc. that you can get on paper, the more you can tell from your dream.

All that I really was curious about is if anyone else are keeping a dream diary or have done so in the past. How did you find the experience? Or have you been thinking of starting a dream diary and my ramblings about Dolly Parton and Christmas carols have scared you into hiding?

Dreams are illustrations... from the book your soul is writing about you.  ~Marsha Norman

Honest Scrap

I received a challenge and an award from the lovely BubbleBoo, over here, called Honest Scrap award. Thank you so much! In accepting this I am to reveal ten random things about myself, so let’s see how that goes.

- I would love to bungee jump but have a bad case of vertigo so I would probably faint before I actually managed to get high enough to actually jump. If I got the chance, I would really want to try it (along with a few other adrenalin inducing and probably very stupid activities)

- I dance and sing when I cook.

- One of my personal goals is to one day consider myself fluent in at least eight languages.

- My first crush was a bus driver named Markus. I was six years old and he drove me and my brothers home from school every day.

- My biggest pet peeve is native English speakers who can’t spell... I know it’s probably harsh, but I can’t help it.

- I think fish tanks and Kate Bush are two of the scariest things in the world. No, I’m not joking.

- I never gamble for money.

- I have dyscalculia which is like dyslexia, but with numbers and mathematical concepts and sequences. This gave me a lot of problems in school when I didn’t even know it existed. It takes me forever to write down phone numbers and addresses correctly since I need to check them many times and I can never trust my mental calculations of costs when I’m out shopping.

- I love red hair. The more ginger the better.

- I always laugh out loud when I write it online. (but my behind doesn't literally fall off during lmao and neither do I clean the floor while rofl)



The ten bloggers I pass along this Honest Scrap award to have been chosen because of your openness and honest writing:

Tales of a city
Red Rawlins
Astrid Paramita
Cat's Wire
The First Footsteps of Poetry
Quo Vadis Cowboy
Northern Light
Broken Cricket
Emma

and back to BubbleBoo, because she really deserves it.

A "real" post will hopefully come as early as tomorrow. I'm feeling inspired but I can't promise anything, to be honest.

Pulling my hair

A friend asked a long time ago what I do when I don’t have any ideas of what to write about. I realize now that the list I started doing in my head and the tips I gave my friend were good, but I really don’t follow them as much as I should. If I followed it, I would have had daily blog posts, at the very least. This is where I insert an apology and you all forgive me. Thanks!

My absence is just a temporary writer’s block. Nothing more serious than that.

Since I’m a terrible procrastinator and an incorrigible scatterbrain I have started writing many blog posts, but ended up never finishing or just not posting them here. I now have many half dissected subjects and ideas molding away in a folder on my computer. They’ll hopefully pop out of there eventually, when the time is right.
There seems to be a maturity process in my mind. I start thinking about something intensely, turn it over this way and that to see if I can understand it. I start brooding for a short while over not being able to figure it out and then I leave it. After some time, sometimes minutes, sometimes days, it all differs, I get one of those bulbs shining over my head and the oven timer says “ping” and then it’s done.

My biggest inspirations for lyric writing has always been the people in my life. It’s incredible the amount of things they make me see and understand, most of the time without knowing it themselves. I’m not sure how I can describe it in any other way than keep your eyes and ears open to the little things. The smallest sigh can definitely be more powerful than the loudest scream.

A thing I’ve learned from experience is to always, ALWAYS have a tiny notepad and a pen with you. If you can write on your phone or whatever you else you might prefer doesn’t really matter. It’s just that I feel more inspired with pen and paper. As long as you have something with you at all times to take down ideas as they come. Believe me, there’s nothing more frustrating than having a vague memory of the perfect phrase and just not being able to conjure it back again.

When I try to get forward on writing my book I use a lot of pictures. I go to Flickr (or any other similar place) where I can do some mindless picture browsing and click away without much thought. Eventually something happens, some connection is found, the wheels start turning and I’m back on track with the novel.

I have had many thoughts about what else could unblock the mind
- idea jar with random sentences or quotes or words or pictures.
- taking walks alone without music in your ears
- my ever so full dream diary
- reading everything and anything I can get my hands on
- mundane physical activity leaves the mind free to fly away. Don’t use that time to balance your checkbook. Use it to imagine, fantasize, daydream...
And so on...

I really wish I could make my writer’s block a moment of peace and new experiences but I think I fall into the trap of pulling my hair out in frustration, much like the rest of my fellow writing friends. But let me make a deal with you, if I haven’t posted anything here in a week, you get to choose a suitable writing punishment for me. How does that sound?

Now, since I hope I won’t have to make up a short story about crocodiles dancing ballet, write a poem about garlic or whatever else you might think up for me.. Until next time, enjoy your writers block, don’t curse it.

Alone vs Lonely

I wasn’t really planning on writing a blog post. I was happily ignoring almost all forms of communication when I suddenly realized that there’s nothing I’d rather do right now than to talk to someone.

I had not been very interested in internet communities and never really had the time for them until I moved to France. I understood that to stay sane I had to be able to get some type of breathing space. I had to find somewhere I could talk to people without having to struggle with insufficient vocabulary and lack of knowledge of grammar. Since I lacked a natural gateway to meet new (English or Swedish speaking) people in real life, I joined a few social network sites.

I wonder if it’s when you have no one to talk to, that’s when you need it the most and when you’ve gotten the habit of keeping to yourself it can be very difficult to share. Just a thought.

Much too often I hear people saying that they don’t like being alone. I know what they mean but I can help thinking that the definition of the word “alone” should be changed somehow. I know many people don’t agree with me. But since I’m the one writing here I will take my chance and throw my opinion out in the open anyway.

Being alone is a marvelous thing. No disturbing sounds and noises, you can listen to whatever music you want or just have it quiet, you can dance around in your home unseen (as long as you pull the curtains shut so you won’t put up a show for the neighbors) if that’s what you feel like.

I work (and function in general) best on my own, undisturbed. I have the ability to concentrate fully on the task at hand and switch to doing something else if inspiration pulls me in a different direction. I love the freedom it gives me to not have to adapt too much to those around me.

Loneliness for me is a different thing, it’s a state of mind and the times I feel most lonely are the times I’m being ignored when looking for contact or when I’m in a place with people that I feel that I have nothing in common with.

Sometimes the loneliness penetrates my alone time and I start brooding and worrying. I guess it happens to us all from time to time but it’s never an enjoyable experience. That’s when I should try to seek refuge with my online friends, but for some reason I stop myself, thinking they have enough worries in their lives and I need not add another. I have been trying to break this, but old habits die hard.

However, I am determined that alone physically is not the same thing as being lonely.

And to those who feel lonely I just want to give you a hug and say: You are not alone

The sounds of silence

I’ve been thinking a lot about sounds today. Those little sounds we have around us that we sometimes forget to notice and those sounds that we can’t help to notice no matter how much we try not to. You know what sounds I am talking about... The tap in the kitchen sink that just won’t stop dripping or that alarm clock on the night stand that seems to hit your head with every tick as you, in vain, try to fall asleep. But I don’t care much to talk about things like that now. I’d rather share a few of my favourite sounds.

My ten favourite (non-musical) sounds:
- The friction induced sound of crystal. (As long as it’s unintentional)
- Popping bubble wrap... But only if it’s me popping it.
- The sound a lift makes just before it stops. (Elevator, for those who don’t speak British English)
- When the vacuum seal breaks for my fine-grind coffee.
- The clicking noise from when someone is knitting.
- The turning of a page while reading a good book.
- Light rainfall on a window or tent canvas.
- Thunder. Slightly frightening, but oh so beautiful.
- Purring cats.
- Heartbeats, preferably listened to ear-on-chest. As close as possible to the source.

I love so many other sounds too, instruments and voices, rustling leaves in the wind, streaming wild water, the heavy “breathing” of my coffee machine, when someone is reversing up the driveway...

I don’t want to make any grand points, I would just like you to stop and listen for a moment to a buzzing bee or a laughing child and enjoy the rest of your day.
Thanks for stopping by.

Beautiful reader

Considering the fact that I haven’t written many posts and have been terrible at updating lately I was surprised, touched and incredibly honoured to find out that one of my dear friends on Plurk had given me an award. Thank you Cowboy for the award, your wonderful writing but most of all for your friendship.

As a part of my acceptance post I was supposed to include a list of seven unknown things about myself. Since I had some difficulty figuring out what to put in this list, I begged my Plurk friends to help me out and ask things they would like to know. Here’s the final result in Q&A format.

1
Q - When will you finally finish your book? (Angst)
A - I will finish my book when it’s done, and not a day before that. I’ve only been writing it for 5 months, so I think I’m allowed to take my time, even more so since it’s the first full-length novel I’ve ever written.

2
Q - If I gave you a ticket to anywhere in the world for a vacation, where would you go? (Tamsie)
A - Right now I’d go to the Maldives and see a friend of mine, relax and help him set up his recording studio.

3
Q - Do you regret any choices you've made? (Dooneybird)
A - I try not to regret any choices I’ve made in my life. I try (try!) to spend that energy on making the best out of a crappy situation instead.

4
Q - About what subject are you a snob? Music? Yarn? Furniture? Other? (Tamsie)
A - I’m a terrible lip-balm snob. I only use one brand that is developed by the Swedish National Defence. I have one at my desk, one in my bag and one next to the bed at all times - always ready and never without it. Apart from that I think I’m very flexible in my likings.

5
Q - Who influenced you to go into music as a profession? (Bronsont)
A - I’m not sure I can say that someone specific has influenced me in that decision. I remember when I was eleven (or was it twelve?) and I found my brother’s leaflet about career choices he had gotten from his school. In it I read that you could actually study music more than just take lessons in different instruments. The thought of being a “real” musician had never really dawned on me before that and I made up my mind on the spot.

6
Q - What's your favorite type of food? (Angst)
A - My favorite food is usually something I don’t have to cook myself since I like getting spoiled. (But taste wise it’s the other way around.) My favorite thing to do if I have a lot of time is Swedish meatballs. Not the type you get at ikea, but the ones I make myself.

7
Q - Do you eat Jelly babies head first or feet first? (Cowboy)
A - I always eat jelly babies head first. I think it’s the only humane thing to do.



I'm bad at following blogs but I try my best to stay updated with the following people:

Emma - Wonderful RL friend for many years, writes in Swedish about this and that in her everyday life.

Astrid - Writer and my brightest ray of sunshine.

Cowboy - Poetic ponderings, smiles and always an enjoyable read.

Cat a.k.a Catswire - My favorite jewelry designer with a wonderful sense of humor.

BubbleBoo - The lovely and strong. Don't forget to check out her wonderful writing at the Writer's Bubble too.

Lifecruiser - Warning: You may feel like traveling after reading!

Linda - Dive in and enjoy her diving adventures and other ramblings.

Northernlight - I just started following her and I think you should too.

David - The ministry of cats is full of goodies I have not been a follower for very long but I am looking forward to more.

Pam - Fantastic writer, I wish she wrote more but I know that sometimes life is keeping us too busy to type.

I apologize for the lack of in-depth descriptions of the blogs but they are all written by wonderful people and I highly recommend them. All above are written in English unless otherwise noted.

Thanks for making it to the end of the post. More fun will come soon.

Personal loss

The connection between what I create and how I feel is so closely knit that I can’t function properly without creating. Those of you who’ve known me for a little while know that I recently lost someone who was closely linked to my family. R was not a family member but so close in my heart that his departure was a significant loss and a terrible blow to my wellbeing.

I would describe myself as a positive person, I smile constantly and take great pleasure in the little things in life like climbing a tree, watching the sunrise, and getting lost while out walking. But sometimes a mood strikes me and the silly things can’t lift my spirits, no matter how hard I try.

I haven’t been on this earth a terrible amount of years and I would never want to compare what I have been through with anyone else but I think I can fairly say that it’s not been the easiest. The only people I call my family is my parents and my brothers and despite how dysfunctional we all are we can stand to be in each other’s company. The rest of my relatives are just connected to me genetics, not by love or closeness and I do not talk to them. I’ve found myself in relationships marred by mental and physical abuse and managed to get out of it with the majority of my soul intact. I’ve encountered drugs and violence in so many forms that looking back at it I feel like I should be at least twice as old to have had time for it all. It feels surreal to know that over ten people that have played a significant role in my life has died, only half of them by old age and/or sickness.

Death is an inevitable byproduct of life, it’s the only thing we can ever be certain of. I don’t mean to be morbid or depressing, I’m only trying to reassure myself that it’s natural and it’s one of the few things that we all have in common.
The loss of a person you love, is on the other hand one of the most unnerving and emotionally disturbing things one can go through. A sudden void, the lack of a voice and a presence. An event that you can never be fully ready for, even if the person is diagnosed with something mortal. There is no preparation.

Creativity is a complex thing. It’s fickle, fragile, forceful, fascinating, foolish and other fantastically suitable adjectives, not only those starting with an f. Creative is defined as being “marked by the ability or power to create” according to the Merrian-Webster dictionary.
My desire to be creative went away when R passed away. I still created things but I didn’t write any songs or stories, I didn’t sing and I didn’t draw. I kept away from the ways I usually pour out my feelings. Most of all I escaped into books, into the world of literature, where all things are imagined and if it gets too sad or scary I could just close the book and rest. I felt the need to press pause and get over the shock before I could process anything.

I’m ready to write now. I’m ready to sing. I’m back, with another hole in my Swiss cheese heart but I’m also stronger than ever.

Thank you for the support, it meant the world to me.

My 10 favorite singer/songwriters - Part One

These are 5 of my 10 favorite singer/songwriters, as before in my lists, they are in no particular order. They are not the only musicians I look up to, like listening to and admire but merely a few of the many I see make an incredible contribution to the way I view how music should be.


1 David Bowie
He has successfully written songs in more genres than I thought it was possible for an artist to do. Multi instrumentalist, painter, actor, producer and much more... No matter what he endeavors, he knows his stuff.

2 Alanis Morissette
From Canadian pop-star to world wonder. In my opinion she has a song that corresponds to every feeling I have ever felt. Honestly, there are only two songs of hers (since she stopped being a Canadian pop-star) where I can’t say, this song is about me... And that’s a lot of songs to take to heart.

3 Freddie Mercury
Queen - Do I have to say more? Even if I don’t have to, I will. Freddie Mercury was a genius. He not only had a voice with tremendous power, he also had an ear for producing. He revolutionized modern recording as we know it today by inventing ways to make his creative ideas possible. A true perfectionist who was never afraid to do what he believed was best for the songs he was working on.

4 Dolly Parton
I have to admit I’m not specially fond of country music, but Parton is on this list because she is one of the most amazing songwriters ever. She has written over 3000 songs (almost 600 of them listed with BMI) and plays at least ten instruments that I know of. She more than rightfully deserves her place in the Songwriters Hall of Fame.

5 Trent Reznor
The heart and brain behind the industrial rock project called Nine Inch Nails. Industrial rock is surely not everyones cup of tea from what I gather but Reznor has done so much more than taking care of his own career He also happen to be a big fan of David Bowie and Queen, just like I am.

What's in a name?

I’ve been thinking a lot about names. All my life actually. When I was just a little girl I didn’t see my name as something very significant, not until I started school and people, mostly kids my own age, remarked on how unusual my name was. I had already heard the story many times.

My mother had decided, at the age of sixteen, what her daughter would be named. She loved those names so much and she kept them in her heart for years. She got her first child when she was 24, a boy. He got strong, traditional names. One name from our mother’s side of the family, one from our father’s side and his first name from a very intelligent and industrious man that founded one of the most successful companies in Swedish history.

A year later they got another boy. He got two names from our fathers side of the family and my father suggested the name of his beloved, departed uncle, Bernard, for the first name. My mother cringed, she couldn’t name her son after a dog, so they chose another name that just felt better.

Two years later I came into the world. My mother was devastated, the names she had in her head for so many years just wouldn’t due. Two of the names were too common to have as a first name, all the girls the same age as me had those. The third name was her first name, so that was out of the question.

My father, who wisely enough thought it best to not interfere in the matter of my name, called me Q-ball, because of my lack of those downy little strands of hair my brothers had been sporting at birth. So Q-ball I was for a few weeks. My mother, horrified over the suggestion the midwife had given at my birth (and got the entire ward to call me while we were there,) tried desperately to find a suiting name.

The search was intense; books were devoured, friends were asked but nothing felt right. One name searching sessions took my mother to go through her records (yes, real records, not Compact Discs) and she found it. In between her countless albums of Stevie Wonder and the queens of disco lay a humble album with a smiling woman. I had a name.

There’s a feeling of identity in a name. Just imagine being called something else for an entire day.
I have many nicknames, pet names that my friends and family have given me. I have had occasions where I’ve used a different name, not because I don’t like my name, just as a part of a social experiment (long story.) I also avoid using my real name on the Internet but that’s more of a safety precaution.

I wonder how much a name forms you into the person you become. I got a few jeers and snide comments but I would never say I was bullied because of it. I’ve only met one woman with the same first name, she was thirty years older. I know there are more of us out there, but they’re all considerably older than I am. Did the fact that I had a very unusual name affect the way I looked at myself? I’ve always been singing, I can’t remember not doing it. Did the fact that I was named after a singer have any subconscious effect on my choices of education and career? To answer myself I say, no.

No matter how many different names I have had I’m still the same little Q-ball, although I must stress the fact that I have more hair on my head now.

My kind of poetry

Friday I'm In Love lyrics - The Cure

I don't care if monday's blue
tuesday's grey and wednesday too
thursday i don't care about you
it's friday I'm in love

monday you can fall apart
tuesday wednesday break my heart
thursday doesn't even start
it's friday I'm in love

saturday wait
and sunday always comes too late
but friday never hesitate...

I don't care if monday's black
tuesday wednesday heart attack
thursday never looking back
it's friday I'm in love

monday you can hold your head
tuesday wednesday stay in bed
or thursday watch the walls instead
it's friday I'm in love

saturday wait
and sunday always comes too late
but friday never hesitate...

dressed up to the eyes
it's a wonderful surprise
to see your shoes and your spirits rise
throwing out your frown
and just smiling at the sound
and as sleek as a shriek
spinning round and round
always take a big bite
it's such a gorgeous sight
to see you in the middle of the night
you can never get enough
enough of this stuff
it's friday
I'm in love

And I don't care if monday's blue
tuesday's grey and wednesday too
thursday I don't care about you
it's friday I'm in love

monday you can fall apart
tuesday wednesday break my heart
thursday doesn't even start
it's friday I'm in love

Procrastination

Today I didn’t get much written on my book, I could tell you that the reason for my blatant negligence was something noble like...
- I was serving food to the homeless
fun...
- I helped proof-read Tarantino’s new script
or otherwise valid...
- I got arrested and had to wait for someone to bail me out

Unfortunately this was not the case today. I was merely procrastinating my time away, reorganizing my sock drawer in system of color*, making a display device for my necklaces** that before was kept in a big jar tangled up and I spent much time gazing out the window hoping for some ideas.

One of my favorite words in Spanish is mañana - that can mean both “tomorrow” and “an indefinite time in the future.” It’s only natural. I like doing things in my own time, smell the flowers and sleep in in the morning. I don’t care much for stress and obligations, deadlines and A.S.A.P.s

Procrastination is a beautiful word that was concocted in the 1540’s from Latin procrastinationem "a putting off.” *** Wikipedia informs me that such behaviour is a “mechanism for coping with the anxiety associated with starting and/or completing any task or decision.” But I don’t feel anxiety... Maybe I’m more properly classified as lazy. But at least I’m lazy and happy about it.






* & ** Photographic evidence can be provided at request.

***procrastination
1540s, from L. procrastinationem "a putting off," noun of action from procrastinare "put off till tomorrow," from pro- "forward" + crastinus "belonging to tomorrow," from cras "tomorrow," of unknown origin.

Wednesday Musings

My dictionary says

“ Muse n.
1. Greek Mythology - Any of the nine daughters of Mnemosyne and Zeus, each of whom presided over a different art or science.
2. muse
a. A guiding spirit.
b. A source of inspiration.
3. muse A poet.”

The original Muses were from Greek mythology. They were goddesses or spirits who gave inspiration. Much argument and discussion about the number of them has gone on through the centuries. Three, five or nine. How many the “correct” amount is doesn’t feel like an urgent question to me, but most people seem to be of the opinion that there are nine of them.

There are so many things and people that inspire me to write. I have written notebooks cover to cover filled with songs about the things I see happening to those around me. It’s my way of processing the surrounding world. My way of trying to understand why people are the way they are and through that figure out how I can change myself for the better. Most of the songs I write are far from great, but every now and then a melody attaches itself to the words in a very special way and it feels just right, I feel blessed. Those instants make it hard for me to see it as my composition. I was merely there at the right moment, in the right state of mind, to scribble it down. The sensation that it came from somewhere that wasn’t of my conscious thought is so strong that if I didn’t know better I would have guesses it was nothing but pure luck.

My muses are usually my closest friends and family, who are most of the time unaware of the inspiration I find in them. Everything I write has a root in reality, I wouldn’t be able to write anything remotely interesting if I just pulled it out of thin air with no reference to my surroundings, my feelings, my dreams and my past. The question of if what I’m writing is a literal or metaphoric rendition of events, I will leave that unsaid for the time being. I think interpretation is half the fun of any kind of art and I wouldn’t want to ruin it for you.

Despite all this, I will try to make my ramblings here on the blog a little clearer than my songs and stories, let you know when I’m making things up so you know when I’m trying to keep a dialogue. I’m an old dog stuck in her habits, trying to learn this new trick called blogging.

Thank you for the inspiration

Marriage of the minds

Me and my friend sit together somewhere nice. We tell people that the discussion came up somewhere nice even if it actually had been three in the morning after a party, some things are just for the two of us to know. We discuss our hopes and dreams and notice common ground. We discuss books and music and secrets that we’ve never shared with anyone before.

Suddenly this story takes form, we both sense it in the air, something that needs to be told and we want to share. So we get it out in the open, we’ll write a book together.
Soon all our friends know we’re writing companions, they wish us good luck and hope they will get to go to the book launch, some secretly hope it goes in the trash and pray that we’ll fall out and start fighting over names of characters, where the story is going to take place etc, before we’ve even get our first chapter together.

But we stick to it. We have our disagreements and nights of staying up talking. Maybe moments of tears over the other persons stubborn ignorance to the obvious. We have many lyrical and enthusiastic moments of total compatibility. Thankfully most of the latter.

We see some of our writing buddies break promises and deadlines, get jealous if they talk to other writers about creative ideas, run over each other for the leading position and being the one in control. After a while they stop writing, stop talking and go their separate ways.

Finally one day, after what seems like an unnecessary amount of planning, me and my friend stand there at the launch party. I feel sick and want to hide. I can’t take the press or all those people watching. I can’t believe it is actually official, we will share this book together, for the rest of our lives. But then I see my friends face and know it is all worth it.

Agatha Christie once said “I've always believed in writing without a collaborator, because where two people are writing the same book, each believes he gets all the worries and only half the royalties.”
I believe it takes as much openness and will to communicate, to write a good book together with someone else, as it takes to have a successful romantic relationship. It takes someone special to find the right connection. Maybe Christie knew something I don’t or maybe she never met the right person to share her creative ideas well enough with.

My life, my languages

Since this is one of my first blog posts here I thought an introduction was in order. I am a song writing/tune singing, amateur novelist and wannabe linguist. People ask me what I do for a living and to be honest it’s not easy for me to give an answer to that. Most of the time I answer that I’m a singer/songwriter, because that’s what I have always been and always will continue to do until the day someone decides to press mute (and then I will continue anyway).
To pay for my bills, on the other hand, I do various translating jobs and have just got involved with a small business to be their official photographer of online goods.

I was born in the north of Sweden in a little house in a big forest and has to days date moved 14 times, a fact that I blame on my traveling ancestors. My native tongue is Swedish and thanks to the Swedish educational system I started learning English at a young age and quickly became proficient in this. I was not terribly gifted in school so I was happy to discover that I was at least good at music and English. I also started studying German and Spanish but quit both classes for various reasons. Let me just say that a bad teacher can severely ruin the pleasures of learning.

After the normal run of school years I was tired of homework and exams and decided on a sabbatical year. I worked teaching little children to paint and sing and spent my days reading stories and playing, which was fun until it got to the end of the day and I had to go home to an empty apartment, without any friends, in a town I didn’t know. In hindsight the year passed quickly but I know it felt like an eternity. With my sabbatical year finished I couldn’t wait to get back to studying and I thirsted for singing something else than “Twinkle, twinkle” all day long. I applied to a Rock Musicians College and got accepted after auditions. Another year passed and I applied to study abroad, English speaking places only. I got accepted to two very good universities but chose the one in Scotland since they offered one-on-one instrument tutoring.

The following is complicated but please bare with me. I managed to understand the Scottish accent and got my diploma in Music Performance. I got myself a boring job as a switchboard operator for an international computer company, just so I could make enough money to get away from the constant rain I had endured during my years in Scotland. By a series of fortunate consequences I moved to France. I didn’t know a word of French before I arrived here less than two years ago and now I’m close to fluency level of understanding and speaking but in writing things are a little slower. But I am still learning and I enjoy it tremendously.

I’ve always found languages very interesting and my dad always told me that people will listen to you if you speak in their own language, both literally and metaphorically. I call myself trilingual plus extra and I try to constantly learn more in as many languages as possible. I’m not sure, but I suspect my love for languages is closely linked to my firm believes of the notion that music is a universal language that can speak straight to our hearts.

There you are, the factual me. If you want to learn more I guess you’ll have to stick around and read as I update.

Tack, thank you and merci for reading.

A book a week - Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Some might not find reading a book a week to be a very daunting task at all, some devour books like they were air. Not me, not anymore.

I often find it hard to sit and read for a longer period of time, not because I don’t like it, quite the opposite. I enjoy reading to such extents that everything else disappears and I need help snapping out of it to do important things like eating and sleeping. So I try reading in short snippets, restricting myself by putting a bookmark where I need to stop reading and check my vital signs. It actually works, together with a big side portion of discipline.

Because of my fear of falling into what I like to call a reading coma and because of all the various projects I’m involved in, I rarely take as much time as I would like for this wonderful task called reading. So I decided, almost two weeks ago, that I should read one book a week and take notes on my process and my various reflections about the plot or author. Anything the book makes me think of, really.

So far, second week into it I’m still on target and I’m currently enjoying a reread of Douglas Adams - (The Ultimate) Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Since the volume is comprised of five separate novels, I count it as five weeks safe reading. Slow start, nothing too extreme.
Those of you who read my previous post will know that this is a very dear book to me. I find Adams way of playing with with words absolutely wonderful. The way he compares the trivial issues with things of decisive importance in the same breath makes logic and reason take on a whole new meaning.

I’m not really capable of writing a review of the books themselves and I wouldn’t even think about doing it until I had finished all five. So I’ll just leave you with my opinion that if you are a lover of the slightly crazy crew of Monty Python, if you’re a sucker for word play and remarkable turn of events, or if you would just like to know the answer of life, the universe and everything - this is a book for you.

“In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and has been widely regarded as a bad move.”

I’m off to continue reading, let’s hope someone wakes me up in time for dinner.

What these 15 books have done for me

Following is a list of 15 of the most important books in my life. They are in no special order, numbered only so that I could hold track of the fact that it should only be 15 books on the list. I hope you'll like it!

Before we start, thanks to Astrid and Cat that got me inspired to write this list!

1
Lord of the Rings - J.R.R. Tolkien
The first time I tried to read it I only got a few pages into it and absolutely hated it. I couldn’t understand how anyone could think that *that* drivel was one of the best books in the world. Then, a few years ago on a sunny spring afternoon, I was in Belfast visiting a friend and was trying to get some alone time to pass quickly. I walked into a second hand shop and saw a bookshelf where this tattered and frayed old pocketbook lay and I bought it thinking that I’d give it another chance, in it’s original language. I forgot about it for a few months and one rainy summer day I picked it up and started reading. I read slowly, savouring every word on every page, afraid that if I read it too quickly it would also end. A love was ignited and it still burns, living alongside a deep respect for its author, who is today one of my greatest inspirations as a linguist, writer and foremost as a reader.

2
The Belgariad - David & Leigh Eddings
This is the book series that I’ve read more than anything else. I’m up in over 15 times of rereading it and I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it. They’re not written in a particularly beautiful way, the story is, in lack of other words, predictable and filled of all the fantasy stereotypes that if it had been written today, all critics would have sighed and threw it in a corner after just a few chapters. But I just can’t help loving it.

3
God of Small Things - Arundhati Roy
I’ll just give a quote from the book on this one
"It didn't matter that the story had begun, because Kathakali discovered long ago that the secret of the Great Stories is that they have no secrets. The Great Stories are the ones you have heard and want to hear again. The ones you can enter anywhere and inhabit comfortably. They don't deceive you with thrills and trick endings."

4
House of the Spirits - Isabelle Allende
Just because it’s a beautiful story.

5
Sold - Zana Muhsen
The first biography I ever read, it sparked an interest in me about the lives of others. I wanted to know and feel the things they had been through and I could learn without going through all those horrors and struggles myself. All these people who had helped change the world, if they were famous or not didn’t matter to me, as long as it was ‘for real’.

6
Live Girls - Beth Nugent
For I have not before or after, read any other book where I’ve met: a young woman who sells tickets in a porn theater, her boss who is a wife-murderer, his oafy nephew, and an anorexic drag queen, all existing in unwavering misery - and ended up loving the book.

7
Let the Right One In - John Ajvide Lindqvist
It has vampires, but not like the sparkly ones like in the films. It has violence, but more shattering and heart wrenching. It has the Swedish 70’s but without the hippies and collectives of peace lovers. It has a cold beating heart and unimaginable terror and disgust.

8
Human Harbour (Människohamn) - John Ajvinde Lindqvist
Another excellent book by Lindqvist. Expected release, in English, 2010 or 2011.

9
The Brothers Lionheart (Bröderna Lejonhjärta)- Astrid Lindgren
My all time favorite story. The love between two brothers that extends even death. Hope, loyalty and pacifism mixed together with disease, death, tyranny, betrayal and rebellion. It contains a magic that can only take place in “the campfires and storytelling days”

10
The Darkest Room (Nattfåk) - Johan Theorin
An great crime novel. I don't usually like reading crime, so that makes this book extra special.

11
Harry Potter - J.K. Rowling
I’m not going to say much about these, everyone has heard of Harry Potter. Think whatever you want of me, but I like them and I’m proud of it. I like the symbolism, the references to mythology, WW2 and everyday life. I don’t care very much for the films since my favorite characters get way too little screen time and the storyline has been treated like something mashed into a paper shredder. If you haven’t read the books yet, why not give them a try?

12
Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Adams has a way of playing with words and sentences in a way that just makes me purr like a kitten, happily playing with the tassels at the end of a big fluffy scarf. It is nothing but sheer enjoyment to jump into a world that in the most illogical way makes absolutely no sense at all, but still is perfectly evident that there is no other way things could work out. At least not when you look at it through the eyes of Adams.

13
Nordstedts Franska Ordbok (French/Swedish Dictionary)
I have never used a dictionary so meticulously and frequently as this one. And it has still never failed to help me out of the ditches of a language barrier.

14
Lingonben (Lingonberry legs), collected lyrics by Povel Ramel
One of my dearest possessions. Nonsensical, funny and beautiful. In this book I can find my most precious childhood memories, singing with my mother.

15
Whitenose meets Browneye (my very literal translation of the title) - Marie Louise Rudolfsson
I had just turned five years old and someone had given me a few books for my birthday. Real grown-up books, without pictures, just a bunch of text. To me they seemed to be the thickest books in the world but I would guess they were not many pages at all. The actual story about the little pony Whitenose who meets the deer Browneye is long since forgotten. But I will never forget the joy I felt after had finished my first non-illustrated book.