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Malin Persson Giolito: For me writing has never been the most pleasurable

”Great desire to start a new history; gave not after. It would be pointless,” writes Franz Kafka in his diary on 4 January 1923. Through the notes, it is possible to follow his writer's block (and headaches, the agonies of love and the reading of Strindberg's ”the Black banners”). There is no good time for Kafka. 20 January he writes: ”the End of the writing. When will it catch up with me again?” And despite the fact that the calendar is moving towards brighter times, it's not better. A week into February, he is – also to be Kafka – rekorddeppig. ”Totally paralysed”, he observes. ”Endless torments.”

It was during this period that Kafka wrote clear, inter alia, ”the Process”. I try to see it as a comfort when I, once again, create a new document in your computer, rename it to the title of the New Novel and thinking that now indeed, now we run! ”You and I, Franz”, as well.

Malin Persson Giolito: What is said about wisdom ”never Slept with a Kulturman”?

with the encouragement. Kafka was, after all, had to die before ”the Process” came out. It is difficult to rejoice at the sales figures then. And it doesn't help that I'm trying to console myself with the fact that he in all cases did not die of performance anxiety, for I have read Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf diaries also.

For over two and a half years ago, my genombrottsroman out. Then, I went from a broad author with a very narrow audience, to be... something else. It goes well now, that Jimmie likes to say. It must feel wonderful, as all (who don't know me) say to me, all the time. And it does well there. Runs great and feels amazing. If it were not for that little snag that I expected to write more novels. Like better than the ones I already have written, so that everything can be even more amazing.

”you Write something new?” It ended up to be an innocent question about half a year after ”the Greatest of all” came out. It doesn't matter how benign it is. I hear only one thing.

One reason for writer's block is that you simply do not have the difficult to pay the bills anymore.

I do not believe it. Considering how much I write, it feels unlikely. In contrast, the writing increasingly difficult the more I work with it. The better I become, the greater becomes the wager. Moreover, the actual writing has never been joyful for me, just the final product. It is only when I get read as a satisfaction to appear (to the extent it does). Sorry, Karin Boye, but I like to travel for travelling's sake is beyond overrated and I sleep skitdåligt in places where I sleep only one time.

”Shakespeare wrote for money”. So called a (lovely) collection bokkrönikor by Nick Hornby and it is also a generally accepted truth that one of the reasons writer's block is that you simply do not have the difficult to pay the bills anymore. Regardless of how it is with the thing so I can say that when I still worked as a lawyer (to write), I got paid to fill out other people's forms. Now, when I have their own forms that must be filled in, I pay to avoid having to do this so that I get time to write.

And speaking of writing time. ”I am a merchant in lingerie”, I usually say, if someone asks ”what I do”. When I'm not traveling around on book fairs and författaraftnar to ”stand on one leg and whistle like unusual birds or to talk about family tragedies or do conjuring tricks”, as Karolina Ramqvist expresses the matter in ”It is night”, yes, when I go out with my dog, drive my children in different directions, just see too many tv series and read. I read, like Agota Kristof writes in ”Analfabeten” ”instead of ... clean, or wash last night's drive, go shopping, wash and iron, cook jam and bake cakes ... And most of all, most of all! Instead of writing”. If I had to choose between to read and to write, I would not hesitate a second. The writing has no intrinsic value, I don't know how I would be able to write something of importance if I did not read.

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But almost always reluctantly. Not that Liza Marklund, so intense that I may bind up the wrists with rulers so that they can not bend. I write about and stryker and write about and then I write probably about one more time. So, I hold on until it is sent to press, and after that, I rely on hope. (Hope that there is a reader who is waiting, or that there's a pressure over the chest is a liberating, aggressive form of tuberculosis.) I am also not afraid of writing my own books, John Ajvide Lindqvist, in contrast, has it happened that I fall asleep in the middle of your own sentence, in particular after lunch. It also happens that I'm crying while I'm writing, but I suspect that it only indicates how self-absorbed I am.

It will linger, the next book. Despite the fact that I did not suffer from tuberculosis or is depressed. But to write about writer's block is well in all cases better than not writing at all? It should also have the Franz agree with, I think.

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