Wer sich nicht selbst verspotten kann…


Wer sich nicht selbst verspotten kann der ist fürwahr kein ernster Mensch

Cristian Morgenstern .

20140628-132140.jpg. Als ich dieses Bild auf meine FB Seite postete kam als erster Kommentar die Frage auf :Wills du dich denn selbst diskriminieren ? Daraufhin andwortete ich ihr mit dem obrigen Satz von Christian Morgenstern. Ich denke man darf ruhig über das Bild das einige Menschen über “die Frau “haben lachen genauso wie man auch über das Bild das viele Frauen von Männern haben lachen darf und das nicht nur als Frau . Ich habe gelernt über vieles zu lachen weil ich ein ernster und ernstzunehmender Mensch bin .


It’s Thursday !


You r like the cherry on wiped cream . #mostimportant


What’s your writing routine?



Do you have a routine for writing? A way of doing it which has become habit and which you know will get the best out of you? I was thinking about this having read a recent article on the subject.

Many famous writers seem to have these habits. I think the reason is that, to write a novel you need to get your backside on the chair and your fingers on the keyboard – regularly and for long periods of time, just to get the work done. I know only too well that novels don’t write themselves.

Murakami_Haruki_(2009)Here’s what the brilliant Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami had to say on the subject in an interview:

“When I’m in writing mode for a novel, I get up at four a.m. and work for five to six hours. In the afternoon, I run for ten kilometers or swim for fifteen hundred meters (or do…

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A wife’s letter to her childless husband on Father’s Day



I lay in bed the other night, hands crossed over my heart and legs pin-straight, and thought of those words:

This is not about me at all, is it? This is all about you.

That’s what you said to me when I told you I wanted to have the procedure done. A procedure that would be risky, as any procedure is, but that might point us to what’s wrong. The answer to why our children are in the clouds and not here with us.

I was angry at you for saying such a cruel thing. So I went to bed in silence and didn’t tell you to sleep with God and dream with me like I always do. I didn’t kiss you or reach for your hand in reconciliation. I simply lay there, emotionally entombed, trying not to breathe too hard or feel too much as I waited for sleep…

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