Soul coffin to the pressure

Last Thursday called Yvonne, my editor.

"Now it has gone away!"

"Wow," I said that was home with sick children. We talked for a while before we wished each other happy Easter, and it felt almost strange when we hung up. Something I thought about and worked with for a long time is out of my hands. The file is sent to print and can no longer change in. Nice!

Now I have gathered all the papers lying scattered in the study. There was a voluminous tome, almost half a meter high. I sat for a moment and looked at the pile, the colored post-it notes. So I took a picture before I cleared the rest of the desk and sat on the coffee. Outside it had begun to rain, heavy drops pattering on the veranda roofs.

I poured coffee and sat down to flip through the old books of Marstrand, which I started to locate. The dream is a small library. Just being able to pull out an old book and lands in a story, to suddenly stand in the middle of the quay among sillådor and cut captains in 1810. Sneak aboard a boat and hide under the sails ... So much exciting history it is!

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