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Let's do it again.

Modifié le : 2019/07/20

On the writer’s weav­ing loom, sev­en, eight, a hun­dred times hand in your art.

It was high time I got down to work. The year 2013 will have been full of sur­pris­es for me, start­ing with the sign­ing of the con­tract with VLB, then the decline of my busi­ness and, final­ly, employ­ment at Spiria. All the roads seem fer­tile again, and even the one of singing becomes clear­er, frees itself. Some­thing is hap­pen­ing in my head as much as in my throat, in my heart. May 2014 con­tin­ue to build on this momentum.

So I took the text back, as par­tial­ly anno­tat­ed by the edi­tor before she stopped and hand­ed it to me so that I could review the “oral­i­ty of my char­ac­ters”, i.e. the lev­el of lan­guage some­times a lit­tle too bor­rowed. She would also like me to describe the places more, to put less empha­sis on the­atri­cal­i­ty to some extent and to return to a more lit­er­ary sweetness.

First of all, I get rid of the dash­es of dia­logue, I dare the French quote instead. Equipped with a small Word macro of my own, I scroll through the dia­logues with­out too much trou­ble. Remov­ing all these dash­es in the text, I feel like I’m giv­ing the char­ac­ters back their voice. Maybe it’s an illu­sion. Nev­er­the­less, my text is also very visu­al in the way it is thrown to the read­er. We live in an era of images, fram­ing, sym­bol­ic short­cuts. I try, in my own way, to dust off my poet­ry and I don’t want to take any­thing away from the rhythm of the dia­logues, the vivac­i­ty and the frag­ile spon­tane­ity of the feelings.

Adding text is dan­ger­ous because it is still the first draft and I would not want to appear too clum­sy, to get caught up in the col­or of too thick a car­pet of good inten­tions. Doubts imme­di­ate­ly beset me with the sen­tences thrown out. Damn it, three times the word tray, what the hell are you think­ing ? And then, of course, land in the shape of a rice field in Que­bec, you’re kid­ding a lit­tle bit, there.… (see pic­ture). Well, my coun­try is total­ly invent­ed. I have been doing this since The Casimir Effect. My Que­bec remains imaginary.

Get­ting back into the minds of the many char­ac­ters in the nov­el is both mov­ing and desta­bi­liz­ing. They still chal­lenge me and I don’t want to rewrite them, dis­tort them or even delete them. These imag­ined beings are as many echoes of my per­son­al­i­ty and I must make them live even if the act is, in itself, lost in advance.

I don’t know what I am, but I have to com­mu­ni­cate, I have to come out of the shell in which I was born. I have a mis­sion and it is writ­ten nowhere else than in my will. No one can do any­thing about it but me.

I can’t wait for this one to come out !

And my man­u­script is still called Les Mailles san­guines. I’m going to have a lot of trou­ble, I think, dust­ing off the title…

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