About me

I am a mom, a wife, and an author—in that order. I’m originally from Copenhagen, Denmark, but now live in Seattle with my amazing husband, Jeppe, and kids: Alfred and the twincesses, Emma and Olivia. 

When I’m not ‘mom’, I spend all my free time writing what readers call compelling, fun, and loving stories. You will often find me at Starbucks with headphones on, sipping Lattes, laughing or crying with my characters.

My Favorite Authors

John Irving who introduced me to the concept of ‘loving to read”. I mean who didn’t fall in love with little peculiar Owen Meany or reading novels (or John Irving) the first time you read one of his books. All his characters are so amazing. They come to life around you.

Jodi Picoult. Her novel, Small Great Things, is one of my favorite novels. Her way with words is amazing. But what's even more amazing is the way she just gets people. You wouldn't be able to build such strong characters without looking into the souls of them. I'm in awe.

Jane Lotter--the author of The Bette Davis Club, a fantastic and humorous novel that really shows how the author knows the human soul. I was hooked! Sadly, Jane Lotter only got to write this one goldmine before she passed away. I hope she knew what a talented and an amazing writer she was.

What all these authors have in common is that their novels are all filled with “endearingly flawed characters and emotional complexity” (I actually stole this description from a review of Emily Giffin because it sums it up so beautifully). We don't want to read about perfect people with no flaws, no complex past or feelings. We want to read about people who overcome their problems, who learn from their journey. People who grow.

This describes my novels pretty good as well. And no, I'm not comparing myself to any of these three amazing writers above, but I do believe that one of my strength is building strong, real, and endearingly flawed (mostly female) characters dealing with emotional problems, troublesome pasts, and complex feelings! You are what you write. You write what you are. Which leads me to why I write…

In my family, words were big. My dad was in sales and very devoted to politics (like the rest of his family), so in order to be ‘seen’ you had to be heard. The louder the better. Confident was measured in how much ‘speaking time’ you were able to get at the dinner table. Silence was definitively not gold—on the contrary. Silence was for the weak people—the bystanders, who were perfectly happy to sit in the corner and just listen. Needless to say, my family were bad listeners. I thought I was confident as hell! I was loud. I could participate in any discussion. I had an opinion. I could speak out loud. I was not afraid to enter the stage and talk, sing, or act in front of a hundred people.

Life as I knew it came to a brutal end when my mother and father announced that they were getting a divorce. A few months later, my mom moved out. What had I done wrong? I remember that little 11-year-old girl asking herself. Of course, I spent the next many years trying even harder to get acknowledged, to be loved, seen, heard. I was craving attention and did everything I could to make people notice me. Except when it came to my writing.

My own private writing was the only thing where I could express myself without having to worry about what other people thought of me, if they approved of me, or even loved me. I didn’t have to impress anyone. So, in a sense, I guess writing was a way out.

But slowly writing became more and more a part of who I am. I wanted to be a writer. An author. I wanted this to be my call and something I, maybe—down the line—could do as a living (though that’s almost impossible unless you’re are, indeed, John Irving or Emily Giffin). But, of course, this would mean that I had to put myself out there. If I ventured down that road—publishing books for the world to see—I would, once again, have to prove myself good enough. There would be the constant pressure to get everyone’s approval and recognition. And love. Would a bad review mentally kill me? Kill my dream?

This is where my husband steps into the story: When I met my husband I find the "home" I had longed for all those years. I find someone who I didn’t have to impress for him to “see” me. I didn’t have to earn his love. He loved me for who I am. Needless to say, he changed my life. And he encouraged me, indirectly, to pursue my dream of writing and to write for an audience no matter if they like me or not. I didn’t have to prove myself anymore.

So. I. Published. My First Book.

Was it nerve wrecking? Hell yes. Is it worth it? Hell yes. Did I get a bad review? Hell yes (I was swearing too much). Am I still concerned if people like what I write? Hell yes, but not as much as that little girl/young woman who, sadly, for years, was constantly seeking recognition and love. I know now that I can still feel loved even though people don’t love my book, and knowing that is what gives me the courage to keep writing because I love, love what I do.