An hour’s drive towards the mountains there is a lake. A quiet, beautiful place, almost like a Norwegian fjord. I use to go there to write, ever since I started writing in earnest. They now print my picture on back covers, so I reckon I am an earnest writer at last. The hefty advance I’d been paid for my second novel seems to support that theory.
Three months after my debut has been published I go back to school, and if only for one night. Just to see who got fat, who got married, and who else got famous during the last ten years. Continue reading