Launch | Guy Verville
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Launch

Modifié le : 2017/10/22

It was the big night, as they say. The book is already in the memory of others. For a few weeks, I had been asked if I was nervous, people were exclaiming in front of this feat of writing, wishing me success in bookshops, interviews and, why not, the making of a film of the story.

I wasn’t saying no to all this. That evening was my feast day, my pride and, next to it, my humility. I know what the cultural world is like in this little beautiful big province, a world that is probably no different from the one that is experienced in all the tiny universes on the planet. Publishing nowadays is the act of the troubadour walking his life according to the inns and cities where he stops.

I don’t make fool myself. I drink from my bottle and, for the drunkenness, it’ll be extra!

All this being said officially, I was pampered, happy, moved to be with my friends, to go with my little speech.

Real postpartum feeling, before, during and after that date of January 26th and, all week long, I wasn’t quite there. So it’s done, assumed, life goes on. And since the longevity of a work is measured by the support of its readers, Falaise is no longer really my child; it is a book in its own right. Inchallah.

I have already received some enthusiastic reports from friends. I have asked everyone for honesty and I believe that I will receive it, at least I hope so. How could I not? What’s the point of lying politely to others? Do you like it? Say it. Are you confused? Say it again. Do you hate it? What can I do about it? I will take note of it and make my own opinion.

What to write now? I have ideas, I have many dreams. There is this universe dreamed of several years ago, a large island wheel, like a clock, a zodiac dramatically inclined in the water. I get there naked, frozen as if my consciousness had escaped from my body to finally live as if I had dreamed of my death. A beautiful dream anyway, because I was walking on a silent, cold, white site, the branches of the trees translucent like ice.

I used to read science fiction, perhaps not the one that feeds cinemas but rather extrapolated philosophical exercises. I will always be like this, semper ipse ero, as my motto says. To be constantly in search of meaning, like a blind man tapping his cane in front of him, smiling and his soul perched at the top of existence.

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