Even if I had pretty much made up my mind when I was 14 that I was going to dedicate my life to the muse of poetry, I got bored with it when I had achieved to have my first book of poetry published when I was 21 by the largest publisher in Iceland at that time. I wanted to explore more creative sides of myself. And so I did. It wasn’t until about a year ago that I called upon the muse of writing. I had finally made up my mind about what I wanted to choose of the very many different creative expressions I had experimented with through the years. It is a work of much solitude, but at the same time it requires life to be explored and tasted by all the senses.
Ever since I called upon the muse of writing and the muse of poetry. (They are not the same), I have been sorting through the various qualities of material and ideas that have piled up in my computer through the years. It has been a massive process, because I am not only processing the written words of almost two decades, but also many emotional attachments to them. As a result of all this work I have one novel, 10 small books of poetry on different themes and a handful of short stories. Once I have got these published I will be able to start writing my new novel. I mean it is impossible to get pregnant while giving birth… even if I am sure there is at least one freak incident in our human history of that too.
I am now an art correspondent for the Icelandic Grapevine and it has forced me out of my solitude into the whirlwind of other people’s creations. I like that challenge, part of it is to be a critic and I am a little bit freaked out about it, it is a lot of responsibility to be in that role. I promise myself not to be judgemental, but rather act like an observer. Try to be transparent about it, I mean I can never really write about anything that is not coloured by my own self, viewpoints and opinions.
Soon I shall be walking a shoreline of another country, feeling, sensing the smell of the ocean, the smell of citrus and feeling the fingers of the sun play with my hair.
What country does this shoreline belong to?
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