My name is Charlotte Luxhoej and I was born on May 12th 1984 in Esbjerg, Denmark into a loving family. A professional soccer player starred in the role of my dad, and a wonderfully creative and colorful woman in the clothes of a bank assistant, as my mother. Almost as soon as I’d opened my eyes, my love affair with books - stories - began. It was my grandpa whom served as my nanny, with my grandmother as his sidekick, until I began kindergarten that opened the magical world of stories to me. It started with fairytales that were read aloud. The Brothers Grimm, H.C. Andersen were among some of the favorites. Later on, when I started reading on my own there were no limits to the worlds that I found and explored through those lovely beings that are books.
When I was in my early teens I sat down to write my own first novel. It was a love story taking place in New York. (Where I'd never been at the time.) However, I never got around to finishing it. Halfway through it I got the idea that I needed a little more experience in life and with love before embarking on my own career. As it turned out I wanted to write about love - as it seemed to be the only thing ever truly occupying my mind. So I began studying the subject of love. I read books, watched movies etc. That’s when another path emerged. The path of dreams, of magic. I started to dive into that world too – reading books on the interpretation of dreams, divination and even tried my hand at love spells. Neither the symbols of the interpretational books, tarot cards nor the spells opened up to me what I was on a quest for. I started feeling that there was something I was missing - I couldn’t put my finger on what, though.
At seventeen I decided to finally give up my search for the answers I was seeking. But when I stopped trying so hard, the answer found me. I met the mysterious soul mate and found that Love, first and foremost, is concrete.
Wanting to be a writer wasn't something I had openly admitted to harboring a dream about. Not until I was 23-24 and had fought my way through a depression. Before having to fight my way back toward joy, happiness and pleasure I thought that being a writer was only something for the super-intelligent, eccentric people who lived in small, dodgy apartments above bars, pawnshops and the likes in the darker parts of big cities.