It is often said that the most boring there is, is to hear people tell you about their dreams.
But I have never understood why it has become such a cherished show. I think that the features are of great interest, both in reality and fiction. It is exciting to see how the author tries to place its protagonist in a state where anything can happen, and how he or she portrays it. But writers often get the council to avoid having the dreams in their books. As well as sex, for that matter. But the problem, in reality as well as in fiction, is hardly the substances themselves, but that they sometimes end up in the hands of the bungler.
" you Know what I dreamt last night? Well, my aunt Henrietta and I sat on the bus and... Henrietta, she is living in Svalöv, have you met her? I don't know how we got on the bus, by the way. Before its was I under a bridge, and...
Stop, stop. Clumsy produced. Start.
a genre that it is worse to with. That makes me want to flee for life, the pula, in the snow in the ears, do anything to escape.
And this is the travel book.
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I thought about it when I met a friend, and we came to talk about the joint bekanten Allan who have recently been in Australia. I asked if Allan had arrived home from his trip, and he did, and I asked where he had been, but my friend shrugged and said that he had not listened so carefully, because the travel was the worst he knew. He had perceived that Allan was at home, and that everything had gone well, but when it was time for all the presentations of the restaurants and the views and beaches were my friend zonat out and started to think of other things.
I felt so well again in the reaction, and began to think about what it could be.
the tension before the trip that lingers, and is that a glossy veneer over the story. Travel is big bets, in time and money, and no one wants to come home and stifle a yawn and say ”oh, it was well as you had expected”, or ”hmmm, pretty overrated”.
In april I will go to the Portuguese countryside. And then the devils are you going to get.
But I can marvel at so many people, at least when it comes to travel writing, lose all sense of what constitutes a story. Or rather, a good story.
So we'll have to clarify some things. A good story has a beginning, a middle and an end. It also holds the drama. And drama requires a measure of excitement, that you as a listener wonder ”how will this end”. And to wonder how it will end requires someone to strive after anything, and is hindered in his quest.
that is plaguing us with his travel stories would draw a Bellmanhistoria in the same way as the echoes of his sailing trips in the Ionian sea, or the culinary prancing along the Highway One would obey something like this: Bellman and rysken and the German sat in an airplane. Then landed it. And they went off.
No engines that stop, no one discovers that there are only two parachutes.
If they told the tale of hansel and Gretel would be about two small children who go out in the woods, and then they come to a house built of candy and buns, and then they eat proppmätta of the sweets and go merrily lallande home to mom and dad again.
the Weather was fine. Everyone was please. And the poor audience will soon receive one of those sockerchock that they start to feel bad.
if reseberättelserna spreads such misstämning because they contain a large measure of aggressiveness, which is just redressed in floral fabrics.
The intended audience has vadat around in a day with slush, bredbandsräkningar and mikrade tisdagsrester. Now the mulas with the reminders that there is another world, far away, where life is easy, the espresso is constantly fresh and the locals relentlessly eccentric.
And according to all the pennalistiska principles if one allows oneself to mulas of the one solskenshistorien after the other, and the only one to stay inside with their spydigheter is that you know that soon it's my turn. In april I will go to the Portuguese countryside. And then the devils are you going to get.