Author Archives: angelikarust

About angelikarust

My name is Angelika Rust. I was born in Vienna in 1977. These days, I live in Germany, with my husband, two children, a despotic couple of cats and a hyperactive dog. After having tried almost every possible job from pizza delivery girl to HR consultant, I now make a living knowing English. No, I haven’t yet figured out what I want to be when I grow up, whenever that may be. In the meantime, I write the occasional book.

Daughter of Magic

I know, I’ve been AWOL for a while (again), and it would have been nice to come back here saying that I seized the time to come up with another book, but alas, it is not so. Fact is, over … Continue reading

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Stay Safe

This happened to me today: My dog got into a fight with another dog in the park in the morning. She’s generally a friendly, good-natured creature who loves kids and cats and pretty much everybody, but something about that dog … Continue reading

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Oh, the horror

Since I occasionally tend to lazily put things off, I’ve been sitting for months on a pile of to-be-written book reviews that just kept growing to the point where it really started to look like work. That made me feel … Continue reading

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Here’s To Another Year

I may be a bit late to the party, but we’re only two weeks into 2018, so I guess it’s still okay to wish everybody a Happy New Year. Hopefully it will turn out a good one for all of … Continue reading

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Kissing Santa Claus

My husband and I, we never made our children believe in Santa Claus or any other mysterious gift bearer. Quite the opposite – the kids always know precisely which gift comes from whom. We didn’t decide to go for the … Continue reading

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Little Red is coming home

A while ago, when I couldn’t sleep, I asked my husband to tell me a story. He was too tired to really comply, but mumbled something about an alternative Little Red Riding Hood, who gave the cake to the wolf … Continue reading

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The end of the world, and superheroes

It’s been quite a while since my last confession… no, since someone else’s confession, meaning me inviting another writer over to spill all their secrets in reply to my silly questions, so I thought I might let C H Clepitt … Continue reading

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