Recovered manuscript

Modifié le : 2019/08/06

My for­mer pub­lish­er returned my anno­tat­ed man­u­script. The pack­age was dam­aged, insert­ed into a Cana­da Post enve­lope, which mechan­i­cal­ly apol­o­gized in the strongest pos­si­ble terms. Twen­ty per­cent of the pages are still miss­ing. The pack­age obvi­ous­ly fell, the enve­lope used by my pub­lish­er, which was not designed for such a large num­ber of pages, opened and some of the con­tent van­ished. It took me half an hour to order what could be recovered.

Beyond this incon­ve­nience, the pages thus erased are like a reminder (with­out pun intend­ed). I see, sur­round­ed like in small school, stu­pid mis­takes, oth­ers more sub­tle. I prob­a­bly rushed too quick­ly to send this man­u­script, a tan­gi­ble sign of the anx­i­ety that eats away at me in front of oth­ers. And I fear that this haste is worth anoth­er refusal on the part of pub­lish­ers. And if, in the end, no one wants this man­u­script, I will hire a pro­fes­sion­al edi­tor and pub­lish it, because times have changed a lot. We have curi­ous­ly returned to a time when it is rea­son­able to self-pub­lish (and tech­no­log­i­cal advances make it eas­i­er [Book Baby is a good example]).

Although my edi­tor’s opin­ion is that this text is worth it (my sto­ry is told, he says, with brio), I under­stand that at the French lev­el, I still have work. I will be told that I am too strict ; I will retort that we do not win medals to apol­o­gize for.

So I’m get­ting back to work. I did­n’t buy a small, ultra-light and lux­u­ri­ous com­put­er for the pure plea­sure of own­ing one for noth­ing. I cer­tain­ly need my lit­tle com­put­er com­fort to move for­ward, but I don’t buy any­thing for nothing.

So, lazy, get to work !