Christina Herrströms blog

One morning before Christmas on the way to Stockholm Central, with my dogs and my luggage, sweaty, pushed and stressed, I stepped out of the subway onto the T together with hundreds of others- The central's overcrowded platform and gave a hasty, and friendly – because I'm usually friendly – glance at one of SL- the hosts who stood at the subway doors to oversee security. With my dogs, I can't ride the escalator so dragging the luggage, with the big dog eagerly pulling upwards and the small one anxiously pulling downwards, fully occupied with keeping the balance and trying to move on, I heard a voice below on the stairs.

”Excuse!”

What now, tänkte jag, you can't do it like this, tänkte jag. Fresh in my mind was the early evening when several security guards came after me and my little five-year-old grandson for carrying his little scooter, which he, despite his young age did not get. They felt compelled to reject us, he was tired and sad and now I thought ” but damn, is anyone going to complain now again?” Mycket riktigt, when I turned around, stood the SL host there. ” Vadå? ” sa jag, over the shoulder, not completely reversed. She took another step up the stairs and said ” Are you Christina??”

”Ja?”, I answered very poof, trying to figure out if I knew the woman in front of me.

”Förlåt, but I have read your book. Ödeläggaren. And I just want to thank you for your courage. I want to thank you from me and everyone else out there for writing it.”

I was speechless. We both looked at each other with equally wide and open eyes. She on me, me on her.

”You are so brave and I just want to say that there are many of us who are grateful for that. Out here. You should know that. What you have done means a lot. ”

I was overwhelmed and just trying to take in what she was saying.

”So thank you, Christina.”

”Men … thanks. Heartfelt thanks! Deg is important for me to hear. That's what I wanted to write the book. Help others. Tack!”

We just stood there and looked at each other, a warm light arose between us.

”But who are you?”

”Marie. One of those who follow you. I'm glad I got to say it. You are needed.”

I pulled her close to me, in the middle of the stairs, in the crowd, while the big dog pulled up and the little one down and the luggage wobbled between. We held each other deeply, heartily. And said in each other's ears that we wished everything well, på riktigt, all's Well.

Dazed and with a damp cloud over his eyes, I continued towards my train, in the hustle and bustle and she, Marie, continued to his. Such a gift! It was as if a light had fallen into me, I was giddy with gratitude, love and movement. Gratitude that I managed to write that book, and because what it says helps, på riktigt, andra människor. After this quick meeting I was filled with revitalized gratitude that something so constructive, important and great could be the consequence of Sam's deed against me and mine. And humility, before the strength I have received, which is that I could write about it. I was convinced it was important, more important than anyone who had not yet experienced anything like it could understand. Trots allt, there was enough will to support me in making that difficult book a reality. It's a victory. I feel humility. For those who have been able to take the book to heart, felt strengthened.
What happened there, in the stairs, I will never forget.

This is how it is,

Over the years, I have become almost allergic to most Swedish TV- dramatic, because it very rarely feels like it's really done for live viewers. The dialogues are mostly so boring that commercial dialogues are better, the tone is monotonous and there is a dull feeling about it all, the feeling of trying to sound like i ” real” which, in the first place, is not the task of art, and secondly, an untalented disillusioned interpretation of how ” real ” allows, which has become somewhat of a general tone in TV- series after TV- serie. I think it's sad. oh, I'm generalizing a bit but not too much. Even in the popular series ” Our time is now” this monotonous tone settled over the dialogues, which only occasionally sprung with a little life.

As for drama for young people ( all categories except perhaps for the very smallest ) so the tone is often heated, lines are shouted out at high volume and too fast, the dialogues full of references that are incomprehensible to most children but that their brains still have to rake through to search for meaning and logic in what is being delivered. ( not least in animated series – why?) Simply put, it's stressful, as if you believe that children should be treated at a fast pace, high volume and shout just because they sometimes behave like that themselves. Do you think it is ” roligt” och ” capturing” – how much do people who make television for children really know ABOUT CHILDREN?

I always check a few episodes of the Christmas calendar every year to see if there is possibly something that can be enchanted, attracts, and who meet the young viewers with obvious respect, and is not lousy in the hopeless way I described above. This year I have – and so many with me – really pleasantly surprised! The Crown Prince who disappeared is well written and well directed! The scenes are good, fun, interesting , enticing to see, listen to and to follow forward -. one is amazed! As a playwright, you see that this is well worked out, it is written with pleasure and joy, and intelligence, with a willingness to communicate, reach their viewers, listener. The acting is good on all fronts and the kids are very good – which is absolutely unusual as many productions seem to be fine with the line deliverers simply being children.

This director knows what he's doing! Here we get to see a lot of live games, with integrity and respect, and warmth and humor. I sit and cheer on the sofa in the morning with joy and surprise : think that this kind of television can be made today? That for once they seem to have understood the value of a good script, of good direction and editing? How is it that you suddenly manage to appeal to the audience in this way, when otherwise often some kind of mumbling is delivered – for children screaming – which you have to put in a lot of effort to succeed in arousing interest in , because you don't even feel invited.

So I am basically ALWAYS led to the tone that should be ” reality” , to show, the talk, the attitudes to be similar ” real ” and as Swedish tV- drama seems to have made it his signature, a style that makes the acting so terribly uninteresting, also the dialogues and thus
ALL OF IT.

But now! THE CHRISTMAS CALENDAR. Whoa!

That's a good sign in many ways. Above all, fun for the children to finally be offered something really good and appealing and fun and well done and exciting. Dessutom, if their adults are also curious and want to follow the story for their own interest, We immediately have something to share – which goes well without coming along ” funny things” which should appeal to the adult audience ( ridiculously!) – it is enough that it is well done, that it is imbued with a genuine desire to TELL as well as possible.

But imagine if things could turn around now, the tråkton trend in Swedish TV- dramatic?

I will never write for TV again. Many people ask, they want me to write something like Ebba and Didrik, or the gap. Men det går inte, because all ideas die as soon as you start talking about them. They must be inserted into different templates to be presented in these straitjacket templates to be pitched to the highest power and manglased between different instances and levels and layers before it can even come to a possible order and all the time you have to have others poking at your creation – this when you yourself are ON THE WAY INTO the world your creative brain has delivered and which you do not yet know everything about , because it is the creation process itself that teaches you that – and there will be styluses, formulas, points and requirements…in any case, I have completely lost the desire to be part of such a desire-killing grief. Everything becomes flattened and anxious, even if it is dressed in ” of reality ” disillusioned bitterness to be ” recognizable” eller ” in time”. The freedom of a playwright ( screenwriter as we are more often referred to – a word that sounds like a common writer and lacks esprit!) writing our unique stories without pointers and rules is, in my impression and that of many others, GONE. ( we are a few who wrote big hits for TV that still live on in the hearts of the audience, but none of us is up to writing TV according to today's anxious terms of use. )

But here, here it has succeeded on all levels! And that really makes me HAPPY. Som sagt, mainly for the sake of the expectant children, who hunger to get their longing for quality ( one collective word too many, basically respect for their audience) satisfied. By that I mean:

For example: You can think you see each other. But there is a HUGE difference in looking into another's eyes, or to look into another's eyes. A simple way for me to describe ”quality”…

Förresten, and now I swing to the screen, but Ruben Östlund's TRIANGLE of SADNESS….. was also a wonderful surprise! Good scenes, underbara! – dialog, game, a swirling feeling of being taken by the hand of the narrator, order, come along on a journey into this story. That is, there is a WILL to communicate, catch, locka, and dim down with some glowing grain into some living and curious and slumbering condition within the viewer.

Tro det eller ej, if good actors are given good dialogue, they will be VERY GOOD, sometimes INCREDIBLY GOOD and the story COMES TO SPARKLING and MULTI-FACETED LIFE- which should be the meaning and intention of it all ( it's not exactly free either)

Shortly said: now I get up in the mornings to look forward to the continuation of this year's Christmas calendar and rejoice at the thought of all the children doing the same. Even the hatch opening is fun! So nice to avoid skin stress, adjust the screaming style. Why do you think kids like it?? in that case all children would be super harmonious in too large groups of children.

Tord Danielsson has directed THE CROWN PRINCE WHO IS DISAPPEARED and Mattias Grosin, Linn Mannheimer and Isabelle Riddez have written the script. FUNNY that it could be done this way!

The other day I was at Halmstad's fantastic City Library, invited to speak about the Destroyer. It's strangely the first time I've been out talking about my latest book, perhaps because it came during the pandemic and then fell out of the organizers' minds. However, it has not fallen out of favor with the audience, readers' minds . Every week I get a few letters from readers who have experienced the book so strongly, who have found a release in reading it, a correction or only a page-turner reading that did not leave their thought and gave them new insights. It is so good, it makes me so happy, if one can now use that word in the tragic, terrible context it is about : where thousands of people suffer very badly, have lives ruined, losing themselves, loses its power, sometimes I am in the consequences of psychological violence, if it is carried out by psychopaths or near psychopaths. All those who subject others to psychological violence must still have something in common: lack of empathy and sense of responsibility. The kind that healthy people think that all other people orient themselves according to, as a common basic agreement between us all.

Now, in any case, I was invited to speak at Halmstad's City Library and, first of all, I was very happy to see this fantastic library. It was built for 16 years ago and the beautiful glass building that is partly built over Nissan is the result of an architectural competition. The library is in itself a great work of art that adorns the city, that glows with lures and heat, space, culture and community. Then I was – as often when meeting librarians – deeply impressed by the librarian Jeanette who, together with her colleagues, has so many — ja , underbara! —- project at the library. Community living room. But a living room where so many thoughts abound, and sometimes exchanged and shared. ”Here are our reading rooms” Jeanette said during her tour of the magnificent library. Including, she told, they have reading groups there that are open to everyone and there is a QUEUE for them! And it's not JUST women, as it often is, but also men and boys – the participants are from 18 to over 80 år. One of these reading groups is called

POETRY FOR THE MELANCHOLIC

Bara det! So beautiful and alluring, and such a nice environment to be melancholy and curious in, in this glass house full of so much thought and breath, a bit above the Nissan,

In these groups, she and her colleague read a poem, it is perhaps twelve lines long, and then they spend two hours talking about it, interpret it, feel around it, formulate , think, reflect, whether. IT MUST BE AWESOME to be a part of! Ja, sa hon, IT IS FANTASTIC, ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL and on such occasions you get deep hope for humanity.

So it was time for me to talk about the Destroyer. I wanted to be really structured, as if I were to teach, but I soon tired of it. It is always more fun to talk freely and in the moment, be present. Then I often regret it, because I realize that I didn't get the important thing, and not that either. But I have hopefully included enough important things that it will have given my listeners something. The librarian said ” did you not notice how incredibly listening the audience was?” – it was lucky, because you don't want to waste anyone's time. At the question and answer session, I received many substantive questions , which pleased me. The most shocking thing for everyone was actually the fact that psychological violence is not punishable. And the issue of shame and guilt that everyone OUTSIDE of the crime forces on the victim. It always should, like a letter in the mail, alleged victims of mental ( and physically ) violence remains in silence because they feel such guilt and shame. It's a good way to keep people quiet. An excellent way to go about the perpetrators' business. You have to be very careful with the language, whose business are you running in the words you use, how to focus on different things with your language. No one in the inhumanly stressful and pressured and desperate situation exposed to violence cares what OTHERS may think. That is far from the important thing. The only important thing is to survive, or trying to get a little bit of vitality to survive, and the only thing one is occupied with is trying to maneuver the whims of the perpetrator.

However, when you come out into the light, if you do it – then you can feel shame and guilt so that you almost fall over again – and who is to blame for it? For my part, NOBODY burdened me with shame or guilt in my private life – on the other hand, the reviewers did it so it was great. Except they read things into my book that backfired on me, things that didn't even appear in the book/reality. But they read in things they ASSUMED were part of the whole thing, because you THINK you KNOW, precisely because the LANGUAGE surrounding crimes of this kind is offensively ill-conceived and in practice protects the evil deeds of the perpetrator.

At the end of the lecture, during question time, spoke a nice older woman. She wanted to thank me from the bottom of her heart. She hadn't read the book, men ” to see you standing here and telling about all this so openly and so wisely, gives me hope and strength. Now I feel like I should put the lid on everything that has been in my life, and look ahead. I'm going forward, like you. I see that it works. I know I'm not alone. Thank you for a very meaningful lecture. ”

Her words, her look , the courage and strength and vindication she felt she received gave me so much strength back – and gratitude. Det visste jag inte, none of this, when I could hardly breathe, completely crushed by a person I didn't even like, a person I considered silly in many ways, a person who had usurped power over me, in the way psychopaths do.

As the librarian Jeanette said when she introduced me. ”After reading the gripping, mind-blowing book The Destroyer, I know two things. I know where shame and guilt belong. And I know that anyone can be victimized.”

Now I look forward to more meetings with readers.

Unbelievable what life has become around the reporter who happened to forget a notepad in the Riksdag's dining room where she wrote ” Ebbaslebba”.

She said it was not a negative comment about Busch, without her simply thinking about TV – series Ebba & Didrik.

As the author of Ebba & Didrik amuses me with this uproar, but at the same time it is incredible that so much energy was put into this trifle that it is even discussed in Studio Ett P1 SR, except for writings in the newspapers.

I can basically remember when I wrote Ebba Slebba, it was when I was sitting at a very small typewriter table on wheels in a small apartment on Kungsholmen. I was about 25 år. What if I had guessed that there could be any uproar about these words, more than 30 years later. There you see the POWER of art!

Everyone seems to have a relationship with Ebba & Didrik and it is quite dizzying.

Anyone who wants to can still watch TV- the series on SVT play.

After I wrote TV- series I wrote the books, which are more directly aimed at the ages 9 – 11 år. TV- the series is not aimed at anyone at all ”target group”, but in book form it was required. TV – the series appeals to all ages and it's wonderful that it has actually worked just like that. What happens between the Children in the series could just as well happen in middle age or later. It's about lies, fidelity, love, the right to be yourself, the dream, jumped, the betrayal… things we all encounter in one form or another in life and which we must understand how to relate to.

Ebba Slebba… I laugh!

One day this summer, I spotted a cluster of glistening currants in one of the currant bushes I planted about ten years ago, to my mother. They have not produced any berries before and have therefore been counted out, so to speak. Men där, in the morning light, now hung not just one but several bunches of red currants.

I threw myself up to take a closer look at the miracle and then discovered that the entire currant bush was disappearing under several decimeters of ivy. Ivy is decorative and arches beautifully over stumps and other debris, creating large green spaces, but I had never understood the power with which this plant makes its way and literally subdues everything else! I soon discovered that the ivy's tens of meters long roots were lurking under the grass and sticking up in places where they really shouldn't be, about to invade half the garden. Everywhere I turned, after quickly devouring the berries, I was surrounded by the strong, stubborn plant, which sneaks its way thanks to its decorative beauty, but with the insidious plan to take over EVERYTHING!

Since forty-five years ago, I am well acquainted with gossip cabbage, or kirskål as it is also called, and have spent many summer weeks pulling their long white roots to try to save some of the garden as my mother was the late wife of my father and he talked about paving the whole lot. I had to continue this hopeless work when they were old. But that ivy that dressed up ugly fences and stumps so beautifully had the same conquering behavior was shocking news. To top it all off, the invasive plant parkslide has seen its potential in the wild garden. So now I had three strong weeds to fight against at once.

This triggered my ancient powers. I became completely obsessed. Day out and day in, week in and week out I have devoted myself to the task of weeding back. It has been very satisfying and interesting and a kind of lesson in living. I've torn everything out so the earth has been bare and then gone deeper and discovered whole underground systems with wiring centers below the surface of the earth. Ja, control centers; large hard lumps from which mainly parkslide throws out its roots in all directions. Even if what looks up from the beginning is a small thin leaf, so the strength underground is massive! And these command centers were almost impossible to dig up, as if they were anchored so deep in the earth that it takes machines to prey on them. BUT I can dig well! It was extremely interesting for me to expose all the root systems, not a bit surprising really because you know these exist, hardly news, but I became colossally excited and even more obsessed with the work of removing it. It was all about that. And every morning the gossip cabbage had put up new stems with leaves as tireless proof of its inimitable vigor! Wow, imagine if you had that power yourself!

All roots were transported away – and so instead I have created soil beds filled with leaves and compost and worms, so next year the weeds will have to fight against flowers and berries for the space. As soon as there was some respite for everything else that lies in wait in the earth, the smurf started shyly looking forward. I will never win over the weeds, they are much stronger than me and they never give up, but I can control them. It goes a long way for you to cheer. Just like with everything else you don't want in your life, for example, psychopathic behavior, it creeps up, it's slowly taking over, right what it is, you are caught off guard and realize that you have lost control and all the beauty you have planted is suffocating under the weeds. Then it's time to clean up, as deep as you can and inspect and analyze everything, discard it and create new. And regain some of the control.

But it's still strange that weed with all the strength and tenacity weed has, IS weed. That it is not something beautiful instead?

It's getting close to midnight. The candles are lit on the table. The teapot is almost empty, and the red currant pie with melted marshmallows, which resemble killer slugs, is eaten. Fortunately, there were no killer slugs and no one could be fooled either. The pantries must be emptied, everything is eaten, even the children's forgotten marshmallows. On each side of me the dogs sleep, the one with all the legs in the air, the other sprawled pleasurably on cushions with his nose pierced between his paws.

The darkness came suddenly. It didn't seem to come at all this year. We waited earlier in August but the sky was bright, yes actually yellow above the sea, late at night. But suddenly without us noticing, the days had passed and the windows had to be closed in the evening.

The most wonderful summer in a long time- not in the world, but for some of the people, including me – is almost over for this year. The garden is secretly preparing to start approaching winter rest.

I have sat under the cloudberry tree and scratched dry leaves from sawn branches. I enjoy that. It was a big pile.

Tomorrow I will run over them and some twigs with my superb lawnmower. It was way too expensive but I'm good at tricking the pennies . not so good at trolling with the knees. Then I've arranged a nourishing blanket for those who are growing, and which will soon rest and gather strength for next spring. Tänk. Rest and gather strength for next year! Until next time there will be light and warmth and summer. How beautiful it is with seasons, with the rhythm of nature, with the circuit, so whimsical.

I participate a little in it, when I bring back what has grown in the garden and which I have tended and cut down . I'm trying to do like mother nature and make winter blankets. I like that.

I'm not even going to throw away the skinny twigs, but I will use that to warm myself. They should burn nicely, perfect to light with.

You have to have warmth when the darkness and cold come.

And glow. That's how it is under the stars.

Hey all,

Electrodes on the chest. Electrodes on the chest / Electrodes on the chest. Electrodes on the chest. Electrodes on the chest, Electrodes on the chest, Electrodes on the chest” jag har inte tid, Electrodes on the chest”

Electrodes on the chest- Electrodes on the chest. Electrodes on the chest – the feeling of imminent doom has not really been able to ebb out and be passed on to the past precisely because of the money I do not have as a security.

the feeling of imminent doom has not really been able to ebb out and be passed on to the past precisely because of the money I do not have as a security, the feeling of imminent doom has not really been able to ebb out and be passed on to the past precisely because of the money I do not have as a security. the feeling of imminent doom has not really been able to ebb out and be passed on to the past precisely because of the money I do not have as a security. the feeling of imminent doom has not really been able to ebb out and be passed on to the past precisely because of the money I do not have as a security.

the feeling of imminent doom has not really been able to ebb out and be passed on to the past precisely because of the money I do not have as a security. the feeling of imminent doom has not really been able to ebb out and be passed on to the past precisely because of the money I do not have as a security, the feeling of imminent doom has not really been able to ebb out and be passed on to the past precisely because of the money I do not have as a security. the feeling of imminent doom has not really been able to ebb out and be passed on to the past precisely because of the money I do not have as a security – until he found some peace in me ( until he found some peace in me ) until he found some peace in me, until he found some peace in me. Dessutom , until he found some peace in me- until he found some peace in me. until he found some peace in me, until he found some peace in me – until he found some peace in me, until he found some peace in me. until he found some peace in me!

I remember when he managed to get an entire heart team to pull out because he seemed to have a heart attack in my living room. I remember when he managed to get an entire heart team to pull out because he seemed to have a heart attack in my living room, I remember when he managed to get an entire heart team to pull out because he seemed to have a heart attack in my living room, I remember when he managed to get an entire heart team to pull out because he seemed to have a heart attack in my living room. I remember when he managed to get an entire heart team to pull out because he seemed to have a heart attack in my living room. I remember when he managed to get an entire heart team to pull out because he seemed to have a heart attack in my living room,I remember when he managed to get an entire heart team to pull out because he seemed to have a heart attack in my living room. I remember when he managed to get an entire heart team to pull out because he seemed to have a heart attack in my living room. I remember when he managed to get an entire heart team to pull out because he seemed to have a heart attack in my living room. I remember when he managed to get an entire heart team to pull out because he seemed to have a heart attack in my living room. I remember being in the ambulance at that moment – I remember being in the ambulance at that moment – I remember being in the ambulance at that moment. I remember being in the ambulance at that moment, I remember being in the ambulance at that moment, I remember being in the ambulance at that moment. I remember being in the ambulance at that moment, I remember being in the ambulance at that moment. I remember being in the ambulance at that moment, I remember being in the ambulance at that moment, I remember being in the ambulance at that moment. I remember being in the ambulance at that moment, I remember being in the ambulance at that moment. I remember being in the ambulance at that moment. I remember being in the ambulance at that moment ” sanningarna ” I remember being in the ambulance at that moment, exhausting or threatening ways.

exhausting or threatening ways. exhausting or threatening ways. exhausting or threatening ways. exhausting or threatening ways – exhausting or threatening ways, exhausting or threatening ways. exhausting or threatening ways. exhausting or threatening ways. exhausting or threatening ways. exhausting or threatening ways, exhausting or threatening ways, exhausting or threatening ways. ”exhausting or threatening ways!” exhausting or threatening ways. exhausting or threatening ways, exhausting or threatening ways.

What I did not know then, What I did not know then. What I did not know then, What I did not know then. What I did not know then. What I did not know then. What I did not know then. What I did not know then. What I did not know then. What I did not know then. What I did not know then. What I did not know then, What I did not know then – What I did not know then. What I did not know then. What I did not know then? No one I had known until now in my life anyway.

No one I had known until now in my life anyway. No one I had known until now in my life anyway – No one I had known until now in my life anyway. No one I had known until now in my life anyway – No one I had known until now in my life anyway. No one I had known until now in my life anyway ” our home for our future”…? our home for our future, our home for our future? our home for our future, our home for our future. our home for our future. our home for our future. our home for our future.

our home for our future ( our home for our future) our home for our future, our home for our future. our home for our future ” our home for our future ” our home for our future , our home for our future / our home for our future. our home for our future. Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament.

Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament. Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament. Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament: Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament, Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament ( Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament) Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament. Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament. Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament, Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament.

Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament.

Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament”Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament” Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament. Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament. Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament. Those who were his friends and lovers took large quick loans to help him out of the acute predicament ” Anna ”. In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others – In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others – In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others. In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others. In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others. In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others, In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others. In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others ” In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others” – In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others. In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others. In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others, In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others. In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others – Så är det inte. In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others. In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others. In those scenes, it is very well portrayed how a psychopathic person treats others. That's probably what he's doing now, by the way, That's probably what he's doing now, by the way.

That's probably what he's doing now, by the way. That's probably what he's doing now, by the way, That's probably what he's doing now, by the way, That's probably what he's doing now, by the way, That's probably what he's doing now, by the way.

That's probably what he's doing now, by the way. That's probably what he's doing now, by the way, That's probably what he's doing now, by the way, That's probably what he's doing now, by the way. That's probably what he's doing now, by the way.

That's probably what he's doing now, by the way. That's probably what he's doing now, by the way.

The children play rosy and star-eyed on the winter slopes. Along the quiet streets are rows of snowmen, snow dogs, snow squirrels and snow lanterns. The adults are involved.

It's so fun to watch. The children and the parents, the joy in the eyes. And the warm lights in the windows. I'm so glad I ended up here after the devastation, where I am, where life is expressed in a completely different way than in the middle of the city, at Medborgarplatsen, where I lived.

It's not beautiful there, rather ugly. People do not look at each other, they have agitation in their eyes and seem to struggle with the minutes. That's not the case here. Here people nod kindly to each other, ler, small talk, stays here and there. The children are playing. What is life ? What's worth something – egentligen – in life?

Strange, but I would never have come here without the destruction. Something new and different came out of it. An invitation to the forest, fåglarna, the scents – to a quiet and friendly life. Maybe a little boring, but calm and friendly. And the excitement and the movement, the city's energy is less than half an hour away. It's amazing. I desperately tried to get out of here for several years. No longer.

You have to see things in perspective. And you still know nothing about how it could have been otherwise.

Tonight I could not sleep. Så är det ofta. But I never think about misery. I stopped doing that many years ago. What keeps me going and keeps me awake are fun things I want to do. Sometimes I have thought that it is creativity that is my savior, it is the one that allows me to still always find something exciting, something that makes body and soul happy. But it's not that simple. There are many examples of creative people who are unable to move on. The secret is another. I do not know all the secrets that help, but I'm pretty sure that a strong reason why people are able to get through all the different difficult challenges life presents us with, is the ability to be grateful.

It sounds almost a bit religious, but that's not at all what I mean. I have with me two mottos from my mother. ”Drop it!” och ” Count your blessings!” They are very useful. And in recent years, I have finally learned to practice ” DROP IT!” – också.

I ordered a sewing machine that was on a midday sale. It is lime green and very simple. I hated needlework at school, just because our teacher was so bad. The needle in the sewing machines always came off when I sewed. I could never learn to wood, because I did not dare to ask properly, because she towered over us who were bad at that with her long body and an expression of contempt and impatience in her face high up there. She did not like children. The other class had a kind craftswoman, who affirmed the children's own embroidery motifs. This aunt did not. And the gloves you had to knit became small and rock hard because I had so much hand sweat when I knitted. Everything we had to perform I had to smuggle home so that my mother could do it again. In high school, I dropped out of sewing, took the subway to the other side of town and softened up with my big brothers who lived in a collective and drank tea and listened to music.

Men nu! A sewing machine.

When the children were small, I became obsessed with sewing, of trying to understand how clothes really fit together. Then I lay awake at night thinking about how to actually sew sleeves to a garment. Easy for those who can. I created freely, pants, vests, skirts for the kids and even a bathrobe with a hood. Then the needles went off again. Hela tiden. And the mess could not be sorted out.

Now I have sat and sewn seams by hand, and felt like a painting from old times and it has been very sad, for at the same time the desire to create something new has arisen. There is so much you can do ! Sew on clothes, sew clothes from old curtains and tablecloths, se tehuvor, dishcloths, even COFFEE FILTER!

All night I cut different fabrics and tried to assemble into new things in my head.

Life is not enough! There is so much you want to do! So much heaven you want to invent in all simplicity, plus all the OTHER things that are not cozy chores AND then all the other things like going on adventures! Why do not have time?

Maybe because you stare down at the cell phone!?

I'm glad I grew up without the internet and cell phones. I KNOW deep into the marrow what it is like to be lost in something – something simple and opretto – only for oneself and not to show off to the world – I know what it's like to immerse yourself in something that catches one without being disturbed by any mobile, or social media that grabs attention and triggers even constant social curiosity.

Allt det, which is …. fundamentally I think. To feel good. To be grounded. To breathe well. To have time to ponder. To have time to be grateful and to see. To remember. To plan. To gather. To feel how much you love and live and can in all simplicity. To play.

Like all the children playing on the slopes, rose-cheeked and star-eyed, who with happy open faces drag their sledges to the hill where they meet, just to play until darkness falls.

Hey all,

I have recently received some emails and other things from various men that refer to something I have written that I do not really know about, but it's certainly about sex.

I know an old article I wrote on commission ( it is always on assignment such is written, at least by me ) by Magazine M or Amelia, now available to read on the web. It's about six things you never dared to ask about sex or anything like that. I think it was written for ten – fifteen years ago and since sex always attracts and the editors thought it was good, it has been reused – and is the most read article on Magasin M's website.

But there is another text as well, which I do not know about, who is moving right now and who makes men write things to me. It's quite a lot about the fact that I'm apparently bitter about men and have bad experiences on the erotic level and that I should either go to hell or try their unbeatable ability. I sometimes get to know some details as well. It makes me laugh a little to myself.

Firstly; they think that the articles that appear in all kinds of magazines are written based on the writer's privacy? They do not understand that articles are written on behalf of editors – admittedly in consultation with the selected writer? That I have been selected to write about erotica several times is a remnant of my first adult novel ” Leontines längtan ” that came 2004 . It has erotic elements and was described at the time as ” tantsnusk” only because there was a woman on 44 years who had written some erotic scenes in his story. After these attempts to describe a general human experience on a sensual, female way, I have many times been hired in different contexts to write something that has erotic tones.

For a period of my life, I also had an almost uncontrollable desire to tease the large mass of ordinary middle-aged Swedish men, who think they are equal in a decent way, but which to such an extent are copies of previous generations of men, if you scratch the surface. However, very complacent, in the notion that they are obviously the best. This may not apply to men who are in 45 age TODAY but it was very much for those who were at the peak of life for 15 years ago. Honestly, I laughed to myself when I wrote things I knew provoked men. By the way, I thought it was fun to tease middle-aged women about the issue as well.

Not so long ago I wrote something about my blog ( maybe ten years ago though ) middle-aged men's need for young women in bed or whatever. It irritates many. And is very read. And I have written that men in general are bad lovers. That's hardly news? They have been a pure tradition for a long time? The female body is complicated, or not really, but whoever approaches it must have some curiosity with him. Many men lack that curiosity and that does not only apply in bed! I think women are curious in a completely different way than men and until they die. Of course it is to some extent prejudiced to say so but I think it fits quite well with reality – trots allt! 🙂

I do not really know why but at the moment I get some propaganda a week regarding my supposed sex life, from men. So they think I'm disappointed with men. Men! Would I – if I were- trumpet it out loud??? VA??? About my own privacy??? VA???

Aldrig i livet! The reason I can write about this is that I am lucky not to be disappointed in my men. Really not. I have a lot to look forward to. It's weird, det där; that just because someone writes about a general phenomenon ( which is really not news ) so some believe that the writer is talking about himself!? That's a concern.

Förresten, when I wrote Glappet, it seemed that especially male journalists were completely amazed

”But why did you write this? You're good-looking!”

As if the whole discussion about the demand for women as stylish objects for men's eyes, would not touch a woman who had ” the tour ” to fall within the scope of what is considered to be ” attractive” in a patriarchal society driven by cynical commercialism?

The same thing happened to the Destroyer. Journalists that I respect said on several different occasions ”But you are intelligent! You are pretty! You are successful! You are love! If only you were stupid, ugly and lonely! These are the kind of people you think happen badly!”

Something is very ill-considered here, in many, as it turns out. The comment above did not come from a man, märk väl. It was completely spontaneous. Of course, the reaction is also a consequence of the myths that continue to protect psychopaths; that is, they are drawn to the weakest. The same ignorance as the idea that ” good looking ” women would not suffer from a society that heartlessly demands female beauty.

I could write The Destroyer because I'm a strong woman. I could write Glappet because I am a strong woman. I can write that men are bad lovers because I myself have good experiences. I can write anything, because I'm a writer – above all. Author understands before. We see. We formulate what we see , which others for various reasons do not have the opportunity to formulate – or see. It is part of our mission in life. Sometimes it is superficially and commercially packaged, sometimes not.

Alltså, to be a writing person is to constantly be confused with other people's ideas about who writes and why it writes. Can one not understand that the writing is reflections on the common reality? That the person who writes is like a painting artist, or a dancer, or a musician. We capture some of the reality in our web of words, we sometimes manage to get hold of something important and we try to describe it. Words are our art. I sometimes feel shackled by other people's narrow understanding of what words are – seen from my side, as sender.

Wondering about the painting artist, which perhaps describes a situation of distance between man and woman, an intimate situation that everyone can interpret in the same way as my words really, if she / he also receives a lot of letters from unknown men who feel compelled to either ask one to go to hell with his ” bitterness ” or offer their sexual services? I think when it comes to the painted or dancing art , you see that it is a fragment, reflections, caught in an expression. But as a writer, you should always be responsible for everything. Personally.

Therefore, diaries are dangerous. You should NOT read other people's diaries! Everything that is written down has such a convincing power. It is not possible to say ”But I was just thinking about this… ” when even one reads something … catastrophic… which one has written down only to be able to view, reflect, try and understand something. You can not see the magic, the fleetingness of what is printed in a diary; that will be the truth.

Some developments in my text, as usual but this is my wardrobe! I do not correct much, here. I chat! Corrects and follows a line I get to do at work. I actually have no desire for that here. So I must blame myself.

Suck, at least I get TIRED when unknown people confuse me with something I have written. The destroyer is, of course, one thing, but of course it is not a picture of my true life either, the true man i. How could you get it down in a book? In a text you have to decide on a line.

I'll let that happen, pretty much, in these blogs. But you get it, will?

Slutsats; words are very complicated to deal with. And everything is still there after one. You would simply have done something else!

Good continuation of the new year!