When I opened my so-called publication bookcase a few days ago – the large bookshelf with the books I have written – I realized something: after all these years of professional writing, countless sleepless nights, repeatedly disrupted work-life balance and a big suitcase of experience, my bookcas now told me something clearly: „Good that you became a writer!“

These books will not only stay on your bookshelf, but also on other people’s bookshelves. And also, on the bookshelf of the collective memory. To what extent remains to be seen – a human life is too short for that.“ – I smiled in response: „But I only have one lifetime”. – No answer from my bookcase. – I took the last stacked book from the bookshelf and ran my hand over its cover. „What I Wanted to Tell You”. A novel about emancipation, being different, quick-wittedness, love, defeat and humor. What it’s like to be female. What it’s like to be single. What it’s like to live in another country. What can you do when nothing else works? And what you get out of it? And the answer came naturally: To surpass yourself. The way to overcome your own mortality. To find your own fulfillment. To bear witness to your own eternal soul. – Yes, and the books on the bookshelf helped me. Yes, for me. And for a few others too. – How do you manage that? – Well. As Oscar Wilde would say: be yourself; everyone else is already taken.