Here I am on this remote island in a sleepy little fisherman’s village. When I arrived it was already evening and the first thing that greeted me when I took a stroll on the beach was a shooting star. I took that for a good sign. The small hotel is everything you could ask […]
„What?“, I can almost hear you think, „when being published becomes heartbreak? Are you crazy? Whatever you’ve taken, it can’t be good.“ I have taken nothing. But yes, it’s not good. And I know it sounds absurd. But here are the facts: I’m an unknown writer with a literary agent who has to quit her
Last night while I sat down to work on my new novel I had a serious conversation with my heroine Florentine. She is a lovely young woman who deserves a loving man at her side but guess what, she fell in love with a writer. Here we were, both of us, creation and creator, me
In Berlin more people live alone than in relationships or families. It seems the German capital is also the capital of the German singles. And I can’t help but wonder if they are all lonely. Or are they so busy they don’t feel the loneliness that might spread slowly through their souls? Maybe I am
The Echo in the Void or why Loneliness is an Asset Read More »
I should be happy. I should feel great. I should look into a pink and purple future with eyes wide open and glowing with excitement. I’m not. So, what went wrong? After hearing from agents and publishers one time too many that my writing is beautiful, the talent clearly there, the handiwork elaborated but, unfortunately,
Here I am, in this rather unfamiliar place. I’ve come this far and now I stand at the age of the cliff blindfolded and don’t know if I’m able to jump. All of a sudden I lost my selfconfidence. All these years that I’ve worked and learned and strived to become the writer I yesterday
I might never write one word of fiction again. I thought so. I was convinced for days. Now, I looked at my hurt, smelled and tasted it. It’s a dish I can’t find a real appetite for. I may be at the end of my rope but that means there is still rope.
I might never again write any word of fiction. I deeply love words, to put them together, shuffle them around, polish, make them glow and shine. I love to tell stories, to create characters, to live with them, to see them evolve and then give them the freedom to leave me and wander off to
You shook me to the bones Broke my heart, broke my soul But Can I walk from all the pieces That have once been me Try to put them back together Try to mend what cannot heal Because the one who lives right on the edge Must be prepared to bleed And all
After 20 Scarpettas and at the end of the year number 20, The Bone Bed, saw its birth I think it’s time to review the series in its whole. Many critics have said a lot, and I won’t sing in their chorus about Patricia Cornwell being a gifted writer, the mother of CSI, the bestselling
Scarpetta – a Window into Patricia Cornwell’s Soul Read More »
How much control do our politicians still have? Isn’t the old saying that money rules the world more true than ever before? And if so, is there anything we can do to stop this? A way to restore equality of rights? A way to bring back morals, ethics, reason, humanitarian aspects into political and financial
Can the power of social media counterbalance the power of financial institutions? Read More »
That strange mood that a lonely evening at the lake can put me in when the sun choose to set in yet another spectacular way and a warm quiet wind stirred gently. The evening, one of the last of a summer that was too short, one that already hints of autumn. That mood that comes