The Writer's View: Robin Heggelund Hansen

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I don’t think anyone would look at my so-called writing desk and actually think that this is where I write my books. I don’t blame them. My writing desk is actually a coffee-table located in the living-room, and for the first couple of years that I lived here, it served as a nice place to rest my feet while I was watching TV. I have a counter in my kitchen which also serves as a table. Here is where I assume most people think I do any serious work. It is the only real place in my apartment to sit and write. However, the chair provides no support for your back and, as it’s made out of wood, quickly becomes uncomfortable to sit on.

Instead, I’ve chosen the coffee-table for my scribbles. Sitting on the floor between it and the couch works surprisingly well. The rug also proves more comfortable than the kitchen chair. Of course, this alone is not enough, it’s still my living-room.

Before writing I pull shut the curtains. This is mostly to keep the sun out. I live in Norway where, in summer, the sun doesn’t set until late. After I have done this, I turn on the TV and go to RainyMood.com. This transforms my TV to a window with raindrops, and it also surrounds me with the sound of rain. There is something about rain. It keeps me at ease and allows me to focus on converting my surroundings to become the place of which I’m writing. My world of dreams.

Nine years have passed since the tragic and mysterious deaths of Mr. Phillips and his daughter. A new clue surfaces, one which the lead investigator will follow to the brink of insanity.

Enjoy an excerpt:

To whoever reads this: I feel that I must apologize if what you find on these pieces of paper appears to be nothing more than a collection of near-indecipherable words. I can assure you that I have tried everything I can think of, and yet I cannot keep my hands from trembling. This, however, is only a symptom of my much greater problems.

I cannot eat, or sleep, or even close my eyes for longer than the briefest of moments. I feel as if I’m about to lose my mind, but I’m clear enough to realize that I have to get this story off my chest, before it consumes whatever sanity I have left. Unfortunately, the only recipient I can trust with a story as bizarre and horrible as this are the same pieces of paper upon which these words are written.

About the Author:

Robin was born on a cold winter night in Oslo, Norway, 1989. Growing up, he was always fond of telling stories, leading people to wonder when, not if, he would move on to writing stories of his own. Inspired by the works of H.P. Lovecraft, he wrote his first short story, 'Beneath', in 2015. Facebook ~ Blog

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