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Final corrections

Modifié le : 2019/07/17

Final meet­ing of cor­rec­tions with my edi­tor. I’m set­ting foot for the first time at VLB. It is a build­ing that does not look like a build­ing, a rec­tan­gle of grey stuc­co topped with a sign wor­thy of a con­ve­nience store. The more mod­ern let­ter­ing on the door reas­sures and, inside, you are quick­ly immersed in a lit­er­ary uni­verse that prides itself on the pres­ence of some por­traits of famous authors, includ­ing that of Gas­ton Miron.

Of course, there are books every­where. It intim­i­dates me, I don’t know well Miron. Annie, my edi­tor, intro­duces me to Mar­tin Balt­haz­ar, the big boss. Cute lit­tle guy, who reas­sures me about my nov­el. “I only read pages here and there, but I real­ly liked the atmos­phere of this com­plex fam­i­ly. I look for­ward to read­ing the final prod­uct.” I tell him that I am proud to have been cho­sen by them. And that’s not a lie. Who would­n’t be ? They are con­sci­en­tious peo­ple and obvi­ous­ly in love with their profession.

Annie and I sit in the meet­ing room and I go through the pages that have been over­writ­ten by the proof­read­er. My for­mer job as a typog­ra­ph­er allows me to go fast, being used to the acronyms of the pro­fes­sion. I am shar­ing my last obser­va­tions that I had not­ed on the com­put­er, so I report­ed incon­gruities that no one had yet noticed.

It’s always like that. It takes sev­er­al brains, dif­fer­ent per­spec­tives to suc­ceed in smooth­ing out the last rough­ness­es of a text. As I had not fin­ished my own read­ing of the pages, I had to type the last fifty pages of the nov­el when I returned. It is now done. I sent every­thing to Annie. It is 7pm, night has fall­en, I am writ­ing, try­ing to real­ize that it is now the end, the real end, of this nov­el that I no longer want to read again !

Pub­lié le 20 jan­vi­er 2015.

Il me faut penser organ­is­er un lance­ment. Où pour­rais-je bien trou­ver une salle ? Une librairie serait sans doute le meilleur endroit. Y’aura foule ? Pas cer­tain. C’est encore loin et si proche en même temps. 

Mis­sion accom­plie ? Inchal­lah, à la grâce de Dieu, au bon plaisir du démon, à l’énergie des elfes, à l’espoir, oui, oui, à l’espoir d’intéresser quelques com­men­ta­teurs. Ma six­ième pierre blanche sur le chemin de ma courte exis­tence. Ce qu’il restera, un temps, de moi.

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