Even as a child, the first thing I ever picked up was books instead of toys. Not very enthusiastic about Lego and dolls, I was rather drawn to bookstores, where I could spend hours deciphering the letters. The ability to express myself through language, to create atmosphere, excitement and gripping stories inspired me even then. When I was five, I learned to read, probably so as not to bother my parents with it in the middle of the night. To their advantage, I flipped through it on my own and devoured one book after another. Immediately after I had learned the craft of writing, the breakthrough came – my first novel. With 7 years, perhaps it is still a detail worth mentioning. 20 pages handwritten about a lonely soul that lost its owner. Highly philosophical. To my astonishment, the breakthrough just unfortunately didn’t leave our four walls. I did not let go of the way and while all friends wrote “Princess” as a dream occupation in friend books, stood in my “writer”. I was probably right to this day, only that my novels are better than my debut back then.