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and I hope you do, will.

I don´t think I have ever told you about my writing.
Sure, I´ve told you about my writers identity, I may have implied something about something – but I never really told you about the work.

Because my life has been revolving around so many other, more important, things since we came to the forest.
And that, right there, is the revelation.
That I just had.

My entire life used to be centered around my writers identity.
My entire life used to be about media/presence/popularity/success.
And again with the why?
I guess it´s something about my childhood. Or maybe it´s something we all suffer from… .in this overly individualized culture of ours.
We all want to be seen. As if we are from birth invisible. Are we?

To be seen you need success.
Success is meassured in money. Or, for the artist, in popularity. How many likes you. Still just an economic transaction though. It´s called social capital.

(and this is why artists are more genereally fucked than everbody else I think; because the large majority of us never make any money, we dance around for them dirty dimes of social capital)


( A writer walks backwards. A writer reads her own tracks. A writer is only shadowly there)

We all dream the american dream of “making it”. Don´t we?
This single dream keeps thousand and yet thousands of people in their places. Conformed. Confused.
“You can do whatever you want to!”

Only we can´t.
It´s a lie.
You should know by now.
We can´t all be on top of the world. If we were-  being on top would be nothing fancy.
So no. This culture needs you to loose. To NOT make it. But to believe that you can.
Win the lottery.
Win the contest.
Write like Hemmingway.
As if being famous would somehow empower you or make you free.

It´s a form of dillussion and I think we all suffer from it.
Old time readers of this blog (and the blog before this) knows that this is something I have been struggling with for quite a while.
My writers identity. My need for success (= love)
This is the battle that I fight. Letting go of ambition. Letting go…

What I havn´t told you however is the work that I do. What I´ve done.

I wrote a children’s book. It was released in collaboration with a popular Danish christmas television show (Jul i Valhalla) and it really was a strange entrance into the scene. I got a lot of attention. I got a lot of applause. I did a lot of speeches about nordic mythology and the children, oh, the children, I love the children, and they liked me.
Or, get this- they liked the BOOK.


( A writer dwells in the mist)

Later I wrote “a facebook biography”. It was about my self and my shitty life in the time between my divorce from my x-husband and my meeting my childhood compadre Jeppe.
That book also got a lot of attention, because it was the first “facebook”book, mixing media, bringing the internet into the sphere of the book.
I liked the attention. I liked being on tvshows, doing speeches, posing before the camera, wearing silk and lipstick and gloss and glitter all over me.
OH, sprinkle me with fairy dust, will you!

THEN I wrote some 3-4 collections of poems for cell phones.

THEN we ran away and into the wild. Because everything was simply too much. Or not good enough. Matter of perspective.
And BAM there I was, in the middle of the wilderness, spending all of my time learning how to do all the fucking basic stuff that nobody teaches you anymore.

And now, after these two hardcore years…. I´m beginning to be a writer again. As my self- my work has changed though.


(a writer is the sender. Not the recipient)

I write poems now. By hand. On real paper. I send them to people. Real people.
In real envelopes. Because people need that, you know. They need real contact.

I´ve begun to write for children too.
I want children to know about nature. I want children to have the experience of receiving a letter.


( writers work)
Did you hear it?

It´s not about me anymore. It´s not about what I need.
It´s about you. And the world.

I love this!

UPDATE UPDATE: We´ve formed a writers collective, me and some friends.  We´re working with this old litterary tradition of writings letters. Check it out. It´s wonderful:

This entry was posted in Blog.

6 comments on “A writers job

  1. Michael says:

    After living 47 years I’m coming to the conclusion that I’ve spend the larger part of my life trapped in the psychology of a boy rather than a man, embedded in a society that is based in on the psychology of boys rather than men/women/human beings.

    Focusing on _me_, my identity, my status, my income, my women – basically the stories about me – “look at me, see what I can do (mom)”.
    Ever so dependent on the women in my life and the same time angry (in a passive-aggresive way of course) about their apparent control over my life.
    Work is about status, income, learning (indulging in my needs), personal satisfaction for being able to do what _I_ feel _I_ need.

    And society has rewarded me handsomely with money and opportunities to continue my quest for becoming an even better “me”. Based on the values of boys of course.

    Nothing wrong with being a boy – it just need to stop at some point.

    So congratulations to you as well as Jeppe for taking yourselves seriously in a way that actually seem to be mature, adult and based on values that focuses on humanity over the attention needs from kids. I don’t know if what you’re doing is “right” or “wrong” (in fact I’m inclined to discard the distinction as yet another boy-toy). I know I like that fact that you’re doing it and that it inspires me to finally begin my own initiation as an adult.

    And I’m starting to suspect the whole identity thing is a red herring by the way. It’s not about improving “me” – that’s actually the initial mistake. It’s about letting go of words and talking enough to realise that whole modern identity concept is the actual sickness.


    1. Michael, this was so beautiful. Thank you!


  2. “( A writer walks backwards. A writer reads her own tracks. A writer is only shadowly there)” OMG this is soooooo IT. I LOVE this idea, thank you so much for directing me here andrea. It is so fortuitous that since I committed to doing this hand written thing, I have connected with SO many people who share the same thoughts as me; a tribe. I did not do the famous bit like you, although I got to pretty much experience some success with my profession which was/is weaving (cloth). Now I quietly weave stories and auto*fiction (love that word), sifting through the black sand of the river bed that runs through the bottom of our garden, trying to interpret bird song and fox track. We have been in the wild (of the french alps) for ten years now, after running away from our ‘civilised’ realities, learning from scratch about hunting and foraging and how to read the clouds which bring snow in early winter. Its all good stuff, I want to pour out more to you right now but I will stop, suffice to say a big thank you, I love your writing and where you are coming from and I love the land that nurtures you so beautifully ❤


  3. You read clouds too??!! I´d like to know more. And I´m writing about weaving right now. The world is such a super strange place…


  4. tabz says:

    Hello, all is going sound here and ofcourse every one is sharing facts, that’s really good, keep up writing.


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