I’m out on my rock, the sun is shining, sending beams to the waves, making the whole ocean glitter. At least from where I’m sitting.
I came here, and I have all day, I was going to write. I’m working on a short story now, I’m calling it The Elephant Letters, but in Swedish, of course. I should be writing, but I can’t get started. I’m feeling sleepy. I’m hungry, even though I just had two eggs, a sandwich and a nectarine. I can’t stay here.
I could go back to the house, cook an early dinner and maybe pick up a new book. I just finished the one I have with me today. Every day isn’t a writing day.
Katja Malmborg 