Tuesday, October 04, 2016

Mrs Egeland's Adventures In Carpet Cleaning

Strictly speaking this isn't my recipe, I like the good 21st Century homemaker that I am googled it and found it somewhere else. However I did quadruple the measure and with a bucket and sponge scrub my large geometric patterned area rug, which though it has been cleaned regularly hasn't been white in about two years.
Here we have said rug under our old coffee table

Now I know most of you will have done these kinds of labours in the springtime, except this spring wasn't particularly healthy for me and the weather was horrendous, then summer came and we went to the south coast of Norway on holiday and well time, as it does, flowed by and left me hoping for some unseasonably good autumn weather to get this job done before the winter rains and snow settle in.

Thankfully, I was fortunate enough to get some, and while it doesn't bode well for environment or ozone layer, it quite answered this homemaker's prayer.

You will find the recipe and another more informative blog here. To increase this and use it as an all natural carpet shampoo, I turned all the teaspoons in to tablespoons and put in about a liter of water.

And so, armed with my bucket, my sponge and the aforementioned grubby area rug I sallied forth to behind the apartment building where I live, and blessed the 1960 something builders for having the sense to build a now fairly disused outside clothes line with concrete base. Where I unrolled the offending area rug and began to scrub.

Of course, it didn't occur to me that the bloomin' dickens would be twice the weight after I had scrubbed and rinsed it with four buckets of water, until I tried, in vain to hang the thing over the thick steel piping that holds the, now unused, clothes line.

However being the stubborn mule of a woman that I am, and refusing to give up, because I knew it wouldn't dry otherwise I rolled that sainted area rug up and bending with my knees hauled it over aforesaid piping; and so it hangs like a geometric burrito dripping for all it's worth and I pray that in a few hours when some of the water has dripped out it will be once again light enough to unroll.

I also pray fervently that the darned thing dries before the beginning of next week, when the weather forecast tells us this patch of dry sunny weather will return to Bergen's finest rainy season once more. Because if not, I will be kicking myself for thinking I could get this particular pesky job done this year!

Unfortunately the carpet was hiding a few coffee stains and sticky residues underneath so one job has brought me yet another, oh well, as I sigh in the customary resignation of homemakers everywhere, at least washing the floor won't be as strenuous as washing the forsaken area rug.

Until next time, my patient and long suffering readers,

Mrs Egeland

P.S Don't forget to follow me on Twitter (@a_davita) and check out my fantasy novel on Amazon for Kindle.

Monday, June 06, 2016

Mrs Egeland Confesses: I'd Make A Lousy Fifties Housewife

Yes, readers it's true. I've come to accepted that I would have made an absolute pigs-ear of being a good housewife in the 1950's.

As much as I would love to live the lifestyle others have so bravely and dedicatedly taken on, living to as far as possible to the standards and social norms of that era I do not. As much as I admire the ways of life, the traditional stay at home wife role, the domestic goddess who always looked her best and kept her husband happy, in an age of patience and good manners, in a simpler time, I have come to accept that had I been born, had my personality been as it is today, I would have made a horrible housewife.

I am at heart an artist, a creative who will quite happily sit and paint rather than wash the floor. I can easily get zoned- out whilst writing or drawing and completely ignore the war zone of dirty dishes in the sink and the hoovering left undone.

A Woman Of My Era

 
I like my home to be tidy and clean, as do we all, but so long as there are plates to eat off and clothes to wear I can and will leave the chores until later to do something more enjoyable, more creative. I have more self-will than self-control and as much as I dream of the day when I will be able to stay on top of my laundry, ironing, cleaning schedule in a zen-like state, with perfectly coiffured hair, and manicured nails I know that in reality, that day, is far off and quite possibly will never arrive.

I am, it has to be said, a woman of my era. I work part-time, I find entertainment online and via my iPhone, I like using my free time to pamper myself and indulge in my passions. I am not as organized as I could be, not always on top of my chores, I expect my husband to do half of them, I don't bake as much as I'd like, although I cook daily, and as much as my little heart yearns for the pastimes of past times I find my knitting is always half done and my sewing is always waiting to be finished. Even this blog has, as you will have noticed, fallen by the wayside.

Without the modern conveniences of a dishwasher, a tumble dryer and a washing machine would I have to spend more time washing dishes and doing my laundry? No doubt I would, and that would require my spending more of my free time doing those things, but I doubt that it would make me more organized. Because at my core I am a creative, go-with-the-flow, spontaneous sprite who revels in writing fantasy novels and painting pictures of Vespas whilst listening to big band music and RPG soundtracks.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

Mrs Egeland talks about: 21st Century Syndrome

We live in society obsessed with photo-shopped images of our favourite celebrities, with iPads, iPhones, Smart TV and Android phones which makes us available 24 hours a day, and bombarded with information, most (like this blog) trivial and some banal.

We inhabit two worlds, one online in video games, social media sites and forums and the other in the quote/unquote “real world” . In one we can make ourselves as beautiful, and intelligent as we want, in what you could almost describe as rustic roleplaying virtual reality. We can take and filter photographs until they no longer look like the real version of ourselves,  we can post these and say to ourselves that’s how we really look. We can post witty diatribes or make profound statements that we’ve stolen from some poor sap, we can quote author and great thinkers just by googling them. We can make out to be better than we are, richer, better looking and smarter than in reality. In the other we’re just exercise addicted/couch potato zombies, striving for the appearances we see in the media, and forever failing except in our other lives in our other world.

Except that the longer we spend enveloped in this virtual world the less human we become. The further we fall down the rabbit hole, the less we appreciate reality, the more we crave the fantastic, the virtual, the impossibly perfect. I live in Norway, in a country surrounded by beautiful fjords and dramatic vistas, its people spend hours and hours in around the countryside and yet you will still find them online, posting photos of themselves being sporty, wearing branded clothing to impress their fellows. I’ve heard people tell me that living in Norway made me lucky because there were more countryside to explore, but that doesn’t make Norwegians any less addicted to that other world.

Our entire infrastructure is now set up to inhabit that virtual world, there are online banks, online supermarkets and online boutiques that mean that we hardly have to leave the shelter of our virtual lives. Even when our work is outside the virtual world, we have our devices to enable us to continue to be connected to the unreal world online.

No wonder the ideal for men and women these days is to look as if we were created by a programmer with a computer. No wonder celebrities have all there photographs photo-shopped, its the only way to look as if you are about to star in a video game. No wonder there is an uproar when we see un-doctored images.

We don’t want to see reality, we don’t want to see humanity, we want a produced image. We want to live in the virtual world. We want to pretend we can achieve that in the real world.  That if you’re thin enough you will look the pictures in the magazines, or if you have plastic surgery and enhancements you can look like the virtual women online.

Except that living like this will eventually destroy humanity, because there are no laws online, there are no consequences and that breeds chaos and crime. Eventually we will lose what makes us human, because we will be all the same, carbon copies of those false but beautiful creations online. If this world survives, what will the generations to come find? What will the archeologists of the future discover buried in the earth?

Will the internet survive? If the world was hit by a cataclysmic natural disaster akin to the one that killed the dinosaurs will all our online endeavours survive? As it is the chief of Google believes that the memories we keep on our computer and in virtual space will be incompatible with the technology of the future and all the information online will go to a virtual rubbish pile.

I both despair, and contribute to the problem.

Till next time, thoughtfully,

Davita

Monday, December 08, 2014

Mrs Egeland Apologises

Dear Readers,

I’m writing to apologise for my absence. It mightn’t be over yet.

The last few months, I have been struggling with some personal issues, that I would love to share with you but I don’t know quite how without sounding like I’m whinging.

My health has worsened. To the point where I’m teetering on the edge of a total breakdown again, this time I’m emotionally stronger. But I’m not sure how long I will be able to last.

My creative impulses are still there but I’m not making anything new, I’m not writing hardly at all, what little creativity that is created is mediocre and not worth anyone’s attention. The new blog lies unused and unappreciated, as I am unable to cope with the level of stress creating a new form for this blog would entail.

The only really worthy creation is my novel, which is right in the middle of publication. Artwork and cover colours are really the only honest-to-good creation I am able to work on, and that is in conjunction with a layout artist and my editor, so my input is minimal.

Unfortunately, I can’t share that with you, not yet, because I’m anxious that the results be seen at their finish rather than half-way through.

Its closing in to the world’s biggest, most expensive festival, Christmas. Something I personal don’t celebrate, so I’m not even doing anything for that. I have a GREAT idea for a homemade decoration that could be customised for every occasion, but even that lies stagnant inside my head as I am too exhausted to even near my sewing machine.

Sometimes, there are moments in life when health, mental and physical have to take precedence over everything else. It seems that if I could just improve a little, I would have the impetus to get back to blogging, creating and sharing the results with you all.

At the moment though, I feel stuck in a rut. As if I had fallen down a deep pit and without a huge shift I can’t get out. No matter how hard I try to pull myself out, to call for help, to see the light I can’t. I merely wear my already worn body out.

So for now, you lovely readers will have to wait it out. I have hope to be able to show you my new book in the next few months.

Thanks for you patience,

Until next time,

Davita

Monday, October 13, 2014

Mrs Egeland Apologises

Yes, I have to apologise because I have neglected you all terribly. IMG_2040

I do have plenty of excuses though! I’ve had numerous visits from lovely, lovely, interesting people and I will have more visits this week. Yes October is a month of visits for me and I’m enjoying the company, however that, plus the fact that I got bitten by the inspiration bug just recently and have felt the desperate need to write fantasy fiction has left me little time to write tutorials or think of recipes to share with you all. IMG_2036

So I apologise! I will try hard to do better.

Mrs Egeland’s News

I have been trying to start a new blog page, which will be a slightly more improved version of this one, a tad more classy. However its taking a bit more time than I imagined, basically because I haven’t gotten around to posting the tutorial I have in mind, because I haven’t gotten around to doing the tutorial I have in mind. I will eventually get around to posting it and then I will post my new web address and say goodbye to my blogspot account.

In other news, my fantasy fiction novel is going into print. As of yet we have no bookshops on board but that I will keep you informed, and as soon as its available to buy I will let you know where you can get my debut novel. For more information and a story synopsis check out Mrs Egeland’s Other Projects, which you will find in the page list on the right side.

How Do I Make It Up To You?

Jolly good question! Would you settle for a sneak peek at my debut novel? Yes? No?

Well that’s what you getting, so I hope you can forgive me!

The Trials Begin

Eventually, when their bodies complained with every fiber, they stopped footsore and exhausted camping that night below the stars in a forest clearing. They pushed themselves to build a fire, collecting wood in the clearing itself, not daring to venture too far from the others. Eyes meeting and smiles exchanged as they nervously collected what little wood they could find, all of them, eager to sleep but aware that they were surrounded by the unknown. Soon the fire blazed with heat and light, giving an atmosphere of familiarity in the dark, unknowable night, drawing the travelling companions together and strengthening the ever-strengthening bond of friendship and family that the mark seemed to bring to them. The trees were dark and haunting compared to the warm fire, and animal sounds echoed eerily in the darkness like some signal to begin the hunt of our unsuspecting campers. But of course, it was no such thing.

“To be honest,” said Agatha with a little gulp of nervousness, “I’m a little…um… uncomfortable in this forest.”

“You mean that you’re scared!” sniggered Jorden.

“What’s troubling you my lady?” asked Loreliana patiently and calmly.

“Um… wild animals… monsters… thieves… murderers… etcetera etc,” said Agatha looking over her shoulder, every word coming out faster than the last.

“My lady, you needn’t worry about that. We’ll protect you and the fire is blazing; animals might be attracted to it but we scare them more than they do us, and ‘monsters’ are usually more frightened of the light than we are of them. Thieves and murderers, well, we only have the strength of Jorden and if they can overcome him, then we shall be in trouble. But I seriously doubt that there are any thieves and murderers who would want anything to do with us, we are after all just three seemingly poor travellers,” said Loreliana, “with little or no trappings of the rich.”

“What a mouse!” whispered Jorden, but shut up when he saw Loreliana raising her eyebrow at him and rolling her eyes, her seeming disapproval sent a stab at his heart.

“So, we’ve told you about where we came from, what about you? What made you decide to start on the road?” asked Jorden quickly changing the subject.

“My father was a local physician; he knew herb lore and anatomy. One day as he was on his rounds, checking on his patients in the village he noticed a woman was following him, she seemed like a beggar or something so he took no notice. Then that night someone knocked on his door, he wondered who it could be at such a late hour but he picked up his bag and opened the door, ready to leave if it was some kind of emergency. There at the door was a man, dirty and dressed in rags, he asked my father if he could come in. My father was a bit suspicious, but he couldn’t see any weapons on the man and so he let the man in. The man was my real father, he told my father that he and his wife, my real mother, had been watching him for a few days, saw how he treated people with illness and that they thought he must be a very clever and kind man. He told my father that they were both very ill and would die very soon, but that they had a small daughter, of a little more than three years old and would he be willing to take care of me? He told them that it was a very big decision and that he wanted a day to think about taking on such a big responsibility. The man seemed to agree and left him to think it over. The next day my father wasn’t so eager to take on a child, he was quite sure he couldn’t be a good father, but it seemed my real mother and father were dying faster than they appeared because the very next morning he found me on the doorstep, wrapped up in cloth with a note, telling him about my special gift and apologising that they had to leave me like that. My father told me he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to cope but soon he fell in love with me and was glad that my real parents had left me on his doorstep.” Said Loreliana.

“Wow, that’s a much better story than mine!” said Agatha looking at Jorden.

“Or mine,” said Jorden.

They slept around the fire, and for Agatha’s sake Jorden kept watch, his sword in hand, ready to fend off anything that might strike. He sat there, alert for two hours looking in the direction of every peep, and slowly like the thief of time that it is, sleep crept upon him and stole his wakefulness. He crumbled like a well-loved teddy bear after five generations of care. He slept for mere moments but it was enough, an opportunity for a real life animal to come upon the camp, a brown bear, thin and starving. It smelled what little food they had and thought of it as an easy meal, a table set and all it needed do was sit and eat. It nosed into the camp, and its sniffling was what woke Jorden, his eyes flashed open and cried out at the bear who stood nearer him than the women, suddenly the bear swiped its heavy paw, like a glove filled with lead and threw Jorden’s body across the camp where he landed on a protruding rock. His body lay prostrated across the rock as it slowly and painfully slipped down into a crumpled heap. He waved his sword from the grassy floor with no real strength in the air, more like a call for help than any real threat. The growling and snorting of the angry bear as it stood on its back legs awoke Agatha and Loreliana from their sleep, and it thumped down from its position back on to all four legs. Loreliana screamed. Agatha jumped up and spun on the spot, facing the bear.

“A bear!” said Loreliana breathlessly, recovering from her first shock, as she began rising to her knees as slowly as possible. The bear watched as the two once lane figures rose and once more rose itself, until it was standing on its back legs, six or seven feet tall; roared once more, aggravated by its hunger and fearing this movement when it had expected none. Agatha’s hand automatically reached for the stone that hung over her heart, her life-long protector. Loreliana began to dance in front of the animal, hopping from one foot to the other doing her best to keep the bear uncertain and distract it from Jorden’s prone body as he passed out once more. The stone shone. Agatha wished in her heart that there was something more she could do, something that miraculously would automatically solve the problem and rid them of this danger. The stone shone even brighter, stronger. The more fear she felt, the stronger the light grew. She remembered her adopted father’s voice telling her how when he had found her she had screamed in anguish and that the stone had shone so bright that it almost blinded him. She realised that now, with a combination of wishing and pure terror, she might produce the same blinding light and almost with her every breath the light grew stronger, intensifying and burning till it was as strong as the light from the sun. All this took seconds to happen, and takes longer in the telling than its occurrence. Quickly the light from the stone was so bright that the bear, scared, shocked by this blinding light, turned tail and ran lumbering back into the forest and then as quickly as the light had shone it dwindled back to nothing. Agatha was frozen to the spot, blinded and shocked at the light that had come forth from the stone around her neck. Trying desperately to understand how her thoughts and feelings had produced it.

“Jorden!” cried Loreliana running to his aid, wiping the tears of fear from her eyes. She looked over his broken body, his right side bleeding from the gouged wound, that was long and thick like trenches into his flesh and he held his left side groaning in pain.

“My lady, I need your help!” cried Loreliana. She watched as Jorden bled excessively, his eyelids fluttering as he apparently slipped in and out of consciousness, she had to do something. Agatha was like a zombie, catatonic, stuck in the moment that she had frightened away the bear, filled with the fear of her own capabilities.

“AGATHA!” screamed Loreliana, in some vain attempt to return her to the present. “I need your help. Jorden is bleeding, and I need your help!” It was enough to snap her out of it. She blinked, shook her blonde head and soon was running to her aid.

“I’m sorry Jorden,” said Agatha running to his side. “I’m sorry Loreliana.”

“I need you to find something to use to put pressure on that wound,” said Loreliana firmly, it was the voice of experience and it held a magic tone of authority that could lead even generals. Loreliana carefully pushed on Jorden’s chest. He tensed and groaned in anguish.

“Sorry Jorden,” she said almost under her breath.

He nodded and frowned with the pain. His breath was light and his face contorted in agony at each breath.

“Jorden, do you feel sleepy at all?” asked Loreliana searching for the symptoms that would agree with her own diagnosis. His pale face nodded with a grimace. She leant her head next to his chest, listening to his beating heart and uneven breathing.

“Your ribs hurt don’t they? Tell me, got a headache?”

“No, just feel dizzy and I can hardly breathe,” replied Jorden wheezily

“All right Jorden, do you know any good folk songs?” said Loreliana in a soothing voice

“Here, what about this?” said Agatha, who after searching began ripping at her petticoats

“Perfect! My lady,” she said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. “Put pressure on the wound, cover it and press hard on it, to stop it bleeding.”

“No,” croaked Jorden, as pain from Agatha’s pressure suffused his face with pain once more.

“Sorry, but I need her to press on your wound!” said Loreliana worriedly.

“I meant, no I don’t know any songs,” he croaked painfully.

Loreliana smiled shaking her head mockingly her forced joviality covering her shaken nerves as she tried to bring tranquillity to the situation before her and said, with a “Well it’s good that I do!”

She started to sing,

In the days of the Queen of the sun,

There will be a company,

Together with one.

She will travel along the road

To the land where she belongs,

The land that calls for her aid.

She sang on, weaving melodies in the air, like an expert basket weaver. Somehow the song made Agatha and Jorden feel better. It made Agatha’s shock melt into nothing and Jorden’s physical pain ease. It was as if someone had stopped time and taken them to their mother’s lap, where she was crooning over them, tenderly stroking their heads. All of the bad feelings, even the ever constant homesickness disappeared like snow under the hot rays of the sun. She stopped singing a moment,

“Jorden, give me both of your hands,” said Loreliana quietly as if in some sanctified place.

She resumed singing, and her lilting song hovered in the air like some kind of incense, soothing the cares of the world, blanketing the clearing like a quilt. She pushed Jorden’s hand out flat with her palms and closed her eyes as she continued to sing the soothing lullaby.

“My caring angel,” he mumbled as Jorden felt his eyes grow heavier, filled with the sand of dreams and sleep invaded him, washing away the aches and pains in his injured body like hot water after a long day. He dreamt of green pasture, ripened wheat fields and heavily scented honeysuckle, of ripened orchards, of deep orange sunsets tickled with indigo clouds and the warm arms of his mother and the scent that pervaded her. He felt himself once more a child and he felt the caring hand stroke his head. He slept heavily and deeply.

“He’s strong, he’ll be well soon enough, my lady,” whispered Loreliana over Jorden’s sleeping body. “His bones will have by now knitted well enough and the wound…”

Agatha lifted the corner of the piece of cloth she had been holding over it that was tinted by the brown red stain of blood.

“Wow, its healed fast!” she gasped at the miraculous feat, removing the bloodstained pad.

“We shall have to stay here a little longer than we’d intended, my lady, but I should think he will be well enough to continue the journey the day after tomorrow,” said Loreliana still in the deep, quiet whisper that seemed to reach Agatha’s ear with ease.

“Did you do that?” asked Agatha

“Do what my lady?” asked Loreliana

“Make him heal so fast!” replied Agatha

“It is the body that heals. I merely gave some of my strength to his body, nothing more. That’s what enables the body to work harder and therefore heal faster,” said Loreliana modestly and matter-of-factly as she stifled a yawn.

“I should keep watch,” said Agatha, picking up Jorden’s sword.

“My lady, I think that you will have scared any dangerous animals off for miles around. I should imagine it is safe enough,” said Loreliana looking at Agatha’s tired face.

“Maybe you’re right, Loreliana,” said Agatha, clutching once more at the stone around her neck, she lay down near the burning embers of the fire. Loreliana, assuring herself of Jorden’s sleep, threw a few more pieces of wood on the fire, moved Jorden’s sword out of his hand and making sure it would be nearer her own position she also lay, positioning herself between the fire and Jorden, in case she needed to attend to him in the night, and they all slept undisturbed the rest of the night.

 

So Opinions?

So what do you think? Does it leave you wanting to read more? Please leave comments below.

Well, that’s all for now, I will post again on Wednesday, I promise.

Until next time

Davita

Friday, September 26, 2014

Creative Cookery: Warming Up With a Hot Drink

It’s the 26th of September and autumn has officially arrived in Norway. With it comes, the beautiful golden leaves falling, foggy mornings, and copious amounts of rain. Now when I say rain, I do not mean the heavy rain of the UK. No. Before I moved to Bergen I thought I knew rain, I was merely an interested amateur until I’d lived through a Bergen Autumn/Winter. Rain here comes in walls, like waterfalls from clouds, my husband occasionally describes it as “it’s raining elephants” and he is so right!

With the weather turning, everyone’s thought in the Northern hemisphere turns to warm drinks, hearty meals and woollen underwear.

So when, after asking my followers on Facebook for inspiration, I was asked for a recipe for a warm drink that was neither coffee or tea, I thought it was very apropos.

Three Hot Drinks

I started looking through my recipe books, and researching online for some candidates. The following three are what I found.

Pineapple and Ginger Punch

This recipe came from the reader’s digest page.

You will need:

  • 4 cups pineapple juice
  • 1 cup sliced fresh ginger (no need to peel)
  • 1 tablespoon honey
  • 1 cinnamon stick, split lengthwise
  • 8 whole cloves
  • 1/4 teaspoon pepper

In a medium saucepan, combine the pineapple juice, ginger, honey, cinnamon, cloves, and pepper; bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook for 10 minutes. Strain and serve warm.

Hot Butter Beer

I have never made this drink outside of the UK, and as you can probably guess it is a nod to the famous “Harry Potter”, even if you’ve never read the books, or seen the films this is a delicious if a decidedly sweet drink. Not for diabetics!

You will need for 4 servings:

  • 1 litre of cream soda fizzy drink
  • 2-3 tbsps butter
  • 2-3 tbsps brown sugar
  • 200ml single cream
  • 4-5 wether’s original butterscotch sweets.

Put the cream soda in a pan and boil. In a separate pan melt the sugar and butter together, stirring constantly, until the sugar has dissolved. Then making sure that the cream soda is still boiling, pour the sugar and butter mixture into the soda. Add the cream and the sweets, stirring constantly until the sweets have melted. Serve hot.

Mrs Egeland’s Note: For a night-cap add butterscotch schnappps.

And last but by no means least…

Chilli Hot Chocolate

It is a winter warmer, I promise, in spite of its name.

You will need for 4 servings:

  • 1 liter of milk
  • 40z of dark chocolate, chopped into small pieces
  • 1-2 tsp cinnamon
  • 1 tsp chilli pepper.

In a saucepan warm the milk gently with the cinnamon and chilli pepper, until its almost boiling. Stir in the dark chocolate, over a medium heat, stirring constantly until the chocolate has completely melted. You can throw it into the blender and whizz it up now, if you want it to be frothy. Otherwise pour into cups and serve.

Mrs Egeland’s Note: The chilli should be barely tasted, and only leave a warm tingling in the back of the throat.

Keep warm and enjoy. Feel free to follow me on Twitter, Facebook and Google+. Don’t forget to subscribe.

Until next time

Davita

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Mrs Egeland Is Inspired

But unfortunately not to write a blog post.

9960_women-fantasy-art-elves-artwork-sakimichan-1920x1080-wallpaper_2560x1600You see I am a writer, an unpublished author and my novel is waiting to be published via Amazon e-books. You can read the “blurb” on the “Mrs Egeland’s Other Projects” page which you will find on the right.

I am so devoted to my characters that I had decided that I would write at least two more novels, one about the characters parents and another about the characters 1o years on. Except that getting my novel published has taken such a lot out of me, with drafts and the simple pressures of getting things done, that there has been no time or basically any inspiration to write.

I think as well that by deciding to write two more novels about the same set of people, or at least the same setting has stifled my inspiration.

Not so long ago I met a young woman, a sprite of creative spark, she’s a graphic artist who writes her own graphic novels. She’s young and full of vigour, she has her own style and generally a wonderful person. She is the sister-in-law of my friend, one of my best friends, a woman who has raw talent, seemingly unlimited patience and four beautiful children. This friend and her husband live in beautiful Kvinnherad, which is quite a distance from the city of Bergen and thankfully my husband and her husband are good friends. So we occasionally take a weekend and go visit, and that’s when this little sprite shows me all her drawings.

This time, on my way home, I tried to picture my little sprite as one of my characters, and I was inspired. Suddenly I could see her, her hair streaming out behind her, her arms outstretched with a piercing light shining behind her. I don’t know what this character is, or who, or even if she’s going to be in one of the books, but I know that she needs a story. She can’t just inhabit my mind, even if she is based on my friend, she must live in fiction.

As I said, I’m inspired, but not really to write blog posts.

I hope that I will soon be able to tell you where you can acquire my first novel, so that you can all read it and tell me what you think. I’d love to know, its nothing like this blog! However its the facets of a personality that makes it interesting. Creativity comes in all shapes and sizes, domestic and otherwise.

Until next time

Remember to subscribe and comment! Don’t forget you can follow me on Facebook and Twitter.

Davita