The Woman Who Collected Signs

It all started one summer morning. The sun shone through the open window, showering my room in a golden light, and made the brim of the clouds look like burning red iron hammered out with the most delicate tools of the heavens. My love lay sleeping, his kindness and love obvious to me in his youthful, relaxed features. I kissed his shoulder. He turned and held me. I smiled.

It that moment a poem came to me. A poem about a rune which holds within it all other signs and letters needed to write good stories with happy endings. I grabed my pencil and wrote the poem. Then realised there was a story hidden behind the words, a story that wanted to be told.
The story of the woman, who collected signs. Who misreads the signs she finds, looses herself in the maze of signs and significance, until she has no choise, but to leave her home and lean to read the signs, and change the course of her destiny. The story had premiere this Thursday evening at Besttellers in Copenhagen. Up

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until the day before I had been working on the story, changing the story board, finding the voices of the different caracters, finding better and clearer images. “When she opend the door, she was overwhelmed by the smell of dispair, as the stench of rotten lemons…”
Eventhough the audience is not used to magical realism, it worked out well. May there be many more opportunities to tell the story about the Woman Who Collected Signs.

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