I have been writing since I could hold a pen in my hand. Back then, where I come from, we had ink bottles and beautiful slender pens with sharp, long, replaceable, golden tips. It was a happy day indeed, when I could run to the stationary store and, with a little coin, buy a few golden "pennini" (small pens).
Maybe that's why I love to write. That magic spell, whereby words would emerge out of that shiny point, but only after it had lost its innocence to a thick, short, unmovable square bottle, filled with midnight blue, never quite left me. Even though, for a long time now, I've had to fall back onto mass produced, consumer friendly, disposable writing instruments, without pennini, filled with all sorts of fluorescent ink colors.
I guess I could write a more impressive biography, about my literary and other accomplishments. But I never do what is expected of me, nor do I like to color myself as an expert at anything. I prefer to leave things to the imagination, mine and others.
I only wish to make clear one thing: that I am grateful to whomever will take the time to read what I write, or listen to my words. And so, at least for now, all I have left to say is thank you for being here.