Two years ago to this day I finished my second ever short story in the top-floor communal kitchen of my boyfriend’s apartment, located in Copenhagen’s cheapest housing district some 10km NW of Copenhagen central. The former hospital housed people from all walks of life – Russians, Chinese, Danes, English, and a DJ from the Faroe Islands. The story was 15,000 words long and concerned a tale of cult devotion, murder and revenge. Nothing out of the ordinary, but an alpha reader at the time reflected on how grey, dark and miserable the world was. In a sense, it reflected the mood Denmark was giving me that winter, so I took it as a compliment that I had conveyed this so effectively into words. The window looked out upon an old school, and each day of writing I'd sit across from the balcony and watch as it was demolished piece by piece. Alex and I had met five years earlier through an online forum and I had been there every step of the way, proofing, drafting emails, supporting him to achieve the best he could in life. He was my second partner to carry a Russian passport, the first being Veronika from St Petersburg. For some reason, I’ve always found the romantic advances of Russians more tolerable than any other group of people. All my efforts to support his growth culminated in me kissing him goodbye to take a job at Danmarks Tekniske Universitet Danchip late in 2017, and for the first time I was finally returning to him after six months in a job I hated back in England. I had been writing all manner of short stories back then to escape the drudgery of every day life as a poor graduate in an underpaid job. I had not travelled since I got back from my job between the Caribbean and Mediterranean in 2013, and my first visit to the country was memorable for all the wrong reasons: an hour-long wait in Copenhagen airport while Alex fumbled to understand public transport timetables and international time zones, a pair of leaky Converse Chucks, and Copenhagen’s wettest December on record (I’m sure I made that last part up). Still, leaning against him for the first time in six months on the back seat of the bus, listening to the diesel engine straining beneath us and watching the rain streaming down the windows - I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Since I finished that first story, which was well received in its initial guise, I’ve often felt that I was misguided through life in believing a novel was the apex of literary structures. I had a finished work, whose foibles were doubtless that it was too long rather than being too short. It had taught me the importance of pacing and characterisation in a short space. It was also something I managed to finish in a matter of weeks, so that it didn’t bog me down to the point I would give up when the going got tough. It also meant it was easier for others to read, and offer me feedback on crucial elements such as style and plot. There’s less room for mistakes in a short story – every word has to count. There are no boring chapters to be forgiven. I still have feedback to action on that story, though I've been told at this point it is as good as publishable. Which leads me to wonder why I haven't tried yet. The characters in the story are, in many ways, the antagonists. They’re not out to save the world, or crush the dark lord, or find love. They’re cutthroats guided by an hedonistic leader. One of them is beginning to question her purpose. Another reflection of the mood I was feeling back when I worked for a small music agency in England. How do you make a reader support a ‘bad’ character? When I found out that Alex had almost joined in with a Russian conspiracy within DTU’s nanotechnology labs to sell corporate and research secrets to Moscow, it seemed an odd coincidence. My latest story, set in the same world as the last one that I wrote in the communal kitchen, concerns itself with betrayal and conspiracy. Only this time, real life has followed fiction, not the other way around. Either way, it's exciting material and yet more evidence that time spent in Denmark is the perfect way to be inspired. In the meantime, it’s to be hoped Alex can sort out his residency papers without any problems. Sadly there’s no sign that Brexit is going to be U-turned before January 2021, and this might be the only way we can retain those oft overlooked rights as European citizens to work and live anywhere across this beautiful continent as we please. If grey, dark and dreary Denmark can so easily inspire, imagine what the rest of the world can do.