Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
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Wednesday, September 22, 2010
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September 13, 2010: Died at Rouen (Seine Maritime) Rene Pierre Cayla, resident 3 Route de la Mer
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Sunday, September 19, 2010
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Red Rash In Roof Of Mouth Not Strep
"Publish, post, sharpen your pen pretty mercenary ...
But then this manuscript , leave it aside and work.
When you're ready, you alone will tell.
So, take it to my publisher. "
Vladimir Volkoff, St James Club, September 6, 2005
early September 2005, at St. James in Paris, one more drink of whiskey in hand, I received two gifts.
The first one was the dedication that I dared to ask Vladimir Volkoff since summer 1988 when I dared to discuss at one of its signatures. That day, he invited me to share dinner where I had crossed swords with the verb and its peers. I was baptized. We were becoming friends.
In autumn 2005, we project to set up a publishing house together, we were drunk, I was happy, he liked my novel Gateway Bankovski ... canal in Saint Petersburg Griboedov . I brought with me the dog-eared copies, patched all my travels where I had walked, the tetralogy of moods of the sea . He scored his dedication prescient, spread over four volumes, which ended thus, "... that Intersection make us the Maitres du Temps .
The second gift was his comment on my new manuscript, the sixth at the time, partly teamwork. It was the continuing discussions and work that we had at heart and I have been able, after his death, despite my requests to his wife, retrieve the notes from his notebook. I had him that the remarks highlighted two chapters and initiated.
I objected to it. He defended his vision, I was fighting for-the-fool that I was right. There was a scar us, that of the Berlin wall that defined his work by registering in the past when I fantasized want to use it to define my own by creating my future. Still, I think today that Volkoff, as Le Carré or Green, was part of the cold war and refused to continue to write about this time "earned." I think, instead, that the Wall founder is because it can renew the genre of espionage by opposing the Anglo-Saxon overexploited time thriller.
Party with the manuscript in July 2005, Volkoff read it, but for once, the corrected soon. During our afternoon washed, followed by a memorable dinner, he asked me to treasure this work, waiting for the release so I can use my real name and not a nickname that was fun to draw "mercenary". "My dear baron - a reference to my grandfather - edit, publish, sharpen your pen pretty mercenary ... But then this manuscript, leave it aside and work. When you're ready, you alone will tell. So, take it to my publisher. "
since I posted, and so write, never returning to this novel with me Yet so precious momentum: it was both the end of the world of Vladimir and the beginning of mine. I've also taken some time quotes and situations, but so timidly that much remained untouched.
This July 2010, arrived in emergency at the bedside of my dying father, we chatted with them both. J'eu this chance every son whose dream of having the courage and especially the possibility of privacy to talk his father before the story stops. I told him he had beautiful hands, that I loved her. I dared to whisper big believer that I do not believe in a paradise that would cause me to wait forty years to find him. As for God, with my experience in Africa, with my research on Nazism, war, the camps of the Soviet ... Anyway, I left him the choice to stand by me, so strong. It would be very close, forever, with Volkoff, and then others too, a smiling crowd, which I kept only scattered memories of a glance, the short speech to a meeting ephemeral.
The time had come. I went down to the basement, find the small key memory and notes attached, then resumed my pen following the remarks of my favorite author, that unknown to the public, my best spell. I even incorporated a little blurb on him Riga who had moved to tears when I had received. The comments scrawl Vladimir Volkoff were less accepted, more and more a source of inner dialogue, to finally be just a line of work. With the death of my father, after that my master, I had accepted my pen, that of my name, without trying to imitate.
I accompanied my father to the end, during the rainy summer months when he breathed his last after opening his eyes and dropped the last "I love you." By leaving early in the evening, overwhelmed by these words, I knew he was going to leave us.
I started with Volkoff, I finished with my father this difficult text which speaks of a scar History between our generations, but, more importantly, it offers timeless message rarely if " oh damn Scheiße " had told me at the beginning of the novel, my hero Günther, " Love together, always .
was time to publish it.
Monday, September 13, 2010
The Sims Build Campus
Monday, September 6, 2010
I Burned 400 Calories On The Arc Trainer
S aturday September 11 :