Since yesterday, I’ve been reviewing a poorly written chapter. Les Mailles sanguines will consist of 81 sections, each occupying a maximum of two pages. The latter, however, are longer. This text has been in my head for seven years. It has undoubtedly matured nicely, just as I have reached the age to want to do things right.
My first publisher, seeing my impatience at the time, and especially my jealousy at the instant success of some, had told me to calm down. He was right. To have been successful too soon, I believe that my pride would have killed me, as it has afflicted many.
Now that my texts are sleeping in a few libraries, and no one really remembers me, I find myself persisting. So much, the better if success comes with this novel that is just coming out. It doesn’t matter if no one reads it. I will then post it here, as the troubadours roamed the roads with their poems and songs thrown to the winds and the ears of passers-by.