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01-Myosotis extract.
You will discover in this blog, texts, either unpublished or out of print. For our first meeting I offer you an extract from "Myosotis", my first novel.
... In the middle of the conversation, I inquire about the length of our guest's stay. Florence has no idea. Judith came to Bordeaux to register at the faculty for the school year. She arrived in advance so that she could find accommodation. As of tomorrow, they will be able to start hunting for rents, rooms or studios. For now, I look with anguish at these huge backpacks filled with dirty laundry. "A little courage, old woman," I said to myself, "it won't happen by itself." So I ask my dear child to come and extract the clothes so that I can do a first laundry. She hands me peels and mixes of linen that dates from the start of the holidays: tracksuits, blouses, towels, all intimately mixed, damp, even moldy. It must be said that when she was with her friend for the last two weeks, they were there alone. Judith's mother had gone to Greece on a tour and her father was a guest on a private hunt in Scotland. I also discover, unfortunately, there, in the middle, the attractive little set of blue silk she was eyeing in a window. I gave her for her birthday: loose skirt and leotard bustier, crumpled, stained, in poor condition. I want to scream. This one, I will not wash it. I'll send it to cleaning. I even see a hitch under the armhole. I ask Florence for explanations. She is surprised. I'm not fooled. This way of turning him all over the place while pretending to be innocent pissed me off. I shout, I insist and finally wake Judith. She discovers the conflict of generations, French version. But, like any self-respecting Englishwoman, she is not moved. Seeing the outfit I hold at my fingertips, she looks mischievous, a knowing look that she directs towards Florence who, on the spot instinctively brings her eyebrows closer. She has the face of a shrew. The situation is serious. Which of the two will crack. I say nothing more, stay with my arm outstretched, holding between my fingers what had been the object of so much covetousness. Florence confesses. She had brought this outfit to go dancing. Only, she found it too chic and put on funny t-shirts and faded jeans to be like everyone else. Is. I still do not understand. We have come to look for the centerpiece of the puzzle. After a hesitation that looks like a minute's silence, she finally makes up her mind. One evening, they were invited to a costume ball. She therefore lent this delicate set to a friend who disguised himself in it. Obviously, the bustier did not resist the pecs of this young man. I am furious. Curious way to show our family climate to a foreigner. I am sorry for that. She replies that at home, it's the same. She speaks French very well, expresses herself very correctly. Is this a polite reply? Florence thinks it good to add that during this famous evening she burned pants that were not hers when she wanted to iron them. I want to believe that! It is a device which is totally foreign to him. Judith goes “Pooh! It does not matter ". Of course it doesn't matter, let's see! I am really the only one to take offense at this kind of little detail. The contents of Judith's bags are similar to Florence's and her clothes are in an equally dire condition. I close the parenthesis, but I now understand their gluttony, if they did not do more cooking than washing. Before going back to table, they have a good hour to wait and take the opportunity to go for a walk. They take the bicycles and ride around in the middle of the vineyards. The room we give to Judith is cramped: an extra folding bed in a small closet with just enough clearance to store her clothes, a bookshelf; but, for the time being, until she gets herself a studio, she will be satisfied with it. Besides, she seems to have a good character. As far as I can tell, she is satisfied with everything ......
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02-Extract from "Damnée empreinte"
Today you will discover an extract from my latest novel, a thriller, "Damnée empreinte", the suspense of which will accompany you through the pages like a galley companion.
... David arrived at the restaurant after having trouble parking his car. Evil, so to speak! No more than usual today, he did not have the patience to wait for the previous user to move his vehicle properly. He had honked the poor driver, unable to go any faster. The latter had looked at him, dazed, gesturing for him to calm down. David couldn't bear this remark. He had started to insult her for free under the gaze of stunned passers-by. His maneuver finished, the motorist taken to task, to get it over with, set off hastily, contrary to usual practice, screeching his tires.
David entered the restaurant. He spotted his friends' table and joined them. Obviously, they had heard the loud voices. Philippe saw fit not to take it into account. He spoke of the positive side of that day. David was evasive. Alexandre and Fanny, seated side by side, were arguing over a piece of bread. Coralie looked at them without flinching. Jeannie stepped in to get them to agree, but his lack of authority made his intervention pointless. They were silent when they were served. Busy eating, they forgot their grievances. Philippe spoke of his sister Claire, who had come to live with them for six months with her daughter while her husband had gone on a mission to a construction site in Finland.
During the conversation, David forgot his resentment. The meal was good, the atmosphere warm. Philippe and Jeannie hurried the waiters. They wanted to take advantage of the presence of Claire who would babysit to go to the movies. David offered to take Claire and the children home to allow them to fully enjoy their meal. She agreed. They parted. David, endowed with the role of taxi driver, had to relegate all the kit lying on the seats to the trunk of the car. He apologized to Claire, standing on the sidewalk, who was waiting, Fanny dozing in his arms. He made everyone come upstairs and escorted them back to Philippe. On his way home, he lay down on the bed, curled up and fell asleep fully dressed. The next morning her mother knocked on the door. When he went to bed, he had forgotten to set the alarm clock and the deep sleep had not allowed him to realize the time. His parents, at breakfast, were commenting on the party the day before. They had heard a lot of encouragement. People were happy with this formula. David was grumbling. Too bad, he thought, those who were disappointed didn't say it so openly. There would be a nice confrontation.
He arrived at work, at Philippe's, slightly late. The first customer was already there. He apologized. Philippe saw him worried and reassured him with a few encouraging words. David shrugged. He wasn't in the mood to take comfort so easily, even given with the best of intentions. He occupied himself, as usual, conscientiously. Around eleven o'clock, Jeannie and Claire came to greet him, followed by their children. Spontaneously, Fanny came to sit on her knees. She begged for a kiss, holding out her small muzzle and stretching to reach his cheeks. He was awfully awkward with children. He was trying to dodge this affectionate impulse that this kid had in him. Jeannie, having noticed this indifference towards them, understood his embarrassment and amused himself to see him so shy and so uncomfortable. She looked at Claire who was trying to avoid laughing at the situation.
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03-- 4 ° cover of Damnée imprint.
Who of you has not wanted to change their life? This is what happened to David. Overnight, he realized that his life in the city was sterile, inconsistent, poor, sad. He decided to go back to the source, in his town where everyone knows each other, talks to each other, communicates. From then on, he began to get involved in the life of the village with the support of the inhabitants. There he is. He has found his marks. He lives again. Alas, he receives anonymous letters. It's the start of a nightmare. The raven rages more and more often, more and more violently. Anguish sets in. The disappearance of a little girl will worry everyone. Suspicion sets in. Mistrust is everywhere. Fear reigns. It is the beginning of a long ordeal, each one seeking to flush out the author of these malicious acts. How long will he have to wait before unmasking the culprit?
The author was born in 1947. From an early age, she participated in her first poetry competition. It will be followed by many others in very varied fields, news, play (Bel Antoine). She will also write two novels, “Myosotis” published by the glass rose, a humorous novel, as well as “Les Alizés” a collection of short stories, published by Edilivre. Her 35-year career as ATSEM, in kindergarten, led her to write tales, Hardis les petits, Bon voyage Vénus, the enigmatic Renaud, (on the origin of the vine and the wine). She also wrote a One Woman show. Today, she offers you "Damnée imprint" a particularly distressing novel, an enigma, with which you will have to compose during this reading.
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04- An excerpt from a tale
The enigmatic Renaud
It is no accident that I am here today. Lately I got confidences from an old lady who once lived in Targon, yes, right here.
She had a secret, a heavy secret that she kept buried deep in her memory. Being the last survivor of this event, she confided it to me and I will try to transmit it to you, as she begged me.
But, ... let's start at the beginning.
It was at the beginning of this century, see, it's not new. A little boy was arriving in Targon. He carried a red book under his arm. A book, in those days when people lived scantily, was a luxury. He was blond, curly. He didn't seem worried, on the contrary. He walked quietly, passed in front of the houses, waved in passing to those he met. Its presence disturbed the inhabitants. Kindly, some when they passed him asked him questions: what's your name? Where do you come from? We quickly realized that he was unable to answer. Was he amnesic? In the evening, Berthe, who lived alone and had a spare room, took him in. She was also intrigued by this red book but did not ask him any questions since he had probably lost his memory. He ate with a good appetite. Since he had no name, she called him: Renaud.
She was happy with this company, and they chatted all the way through the meal. He asked a lot of questions and seemed to discover the region. Berthe was very intrigued. How did this little guy get here? On the contrary, he was not tired, fresh as a rose. She sent him to bed and heard the key turn in the lock. Here, it was not done. She shrugged. Perhaps, with him we have this habit? She lay down and could not find sleep. She brooded over this unexpected arrival in her head. He was very nice, this little Renaud. Provided that the gendarmes do not find his parents immediately ... After all, he did not remember anything then, so much to keep him. She had come to this in her thoughts when she heard a thudding sound first, then a gasping sound. She got up, opened the shutters but saw nothing. The noise was still present, more and more intense, with vibrations. She opened her bedroom door and saw, lights like lightning in a big storm. She was very afraid, called Renaud, believing him to be in danger. Renaud did not answer. She did not understand all these noises, these bright lights through the slits in the door. Little by little, this noise subsided, the lights dimmed and calm returned. Berthe was there, in front of the door, breathless, expecting to hear the din again.
She came back to bed but spent a sleepless night, terrified, fearing that this phenomenon would be repeated at any time. She was impatient for Renaud to wake up to ask her for an explanation. When he entered the kitchen in the morning, she rushed into the bedroom to check out the damage. To her astonishment, everything was in order, nothing had been burned as she had feared. Skeptical, she asked him what he had done that night and explained to him what she had seen and heard. Apparently he hadn't noticed anything.
She was beginning to doubt her sanity. She took him to school ...
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05-Sketch extract: Unexpected direct
... It is five to eleven at the village steeple.
The local crowd awaits the wedding,
Who makes talk about him in all the cottages
Because Monsieur le Vicomte marries a commoner.
I'm here, jostled for almost an hour
Ready to comment, you my dear listeners
The tasty details of this ceremony
And just thinking about it makes me very moved.
The young lady arrives, on her daddy's arm.
She is beautiful to eat, dressed in taffeta.
Very chic and smiling,
She kindly greets this beautiful assistance
Come to admire him on this occasion.
In the distance we hear the hooves of the horses
Let Monsieur le Vicomte take a little trot.
Suddenly, we see at the bend of the path
The stately procession in satin attire
'Cause I have to say things are done right
And that everything takes place as in the last century.
We keep the traditions;
What does not fail to attract the attention.
When all these pretty people finally arrived,
The mayor of the city can finally begin.
The whole wedding party enters our capitol
To finally see this very dear Anatole married.
He is seventy as the mayor says
In his pompous speech, which is a misery.
He relates his life as for a deceased,
Insisting heavily that everyone,
Understand without detour,
That it won't be a marriage of love.
The wife very upset, without turning her head
Look at this notable who spoils his party
Because she is eighteen years old, and a lot of ambition
And for her, the important thing is to have a name
Martine Duplantin, she finds it filthy,
Not distinguished enough to enter the world.
She wants particles, letters of nobility
Which she will use to put herself in the spotlight.
Did you hear that crystal clear voice
By presenting himself yesterday to radio-rose hip?
Madame la Vicomtesse, Anatole Charles-Edouard,
De Lajoie du Roy du Canular.
She believes it. His whole being shines. It's over soon
The petty cashier of our supermarket
Found the rare bird and thumbs his nose
To all these bourgeois women who thought they were smart.
After having said yes in front of their witnesses,
They are husband and wife; in other words: spouses.
They come out very happy in front of the populace,
Ignoring the annoying because we have to face
To all these jealous people, ready to criticize them
Sometimes even going so far as to insinuate
That this marriage is a marriage of interest ...
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06- Extract from the sketch "Bravo la pub"
Credule of nature,
I tend to believe everything the ad says.
It's been well five hundred times with a lot of humor
We are touted for a product to clean the oven.
It's the miracle bomb.
She will work for us, in our place.
So you spray and leave to act.
During this time, if you want to go out,
You do your nails, while relaxing,
These new methods save time.
After a few minutes they say to wipe off.
A sponge is enough to make it shine.
On the TV screen, we expect to see
The mistress of the house in front of this mirror
Perfect her makeup and all the work,
To be lovely tonight at the opera,
While her husband finishes his ablutions
In the bathroom, for the same reason.
Good viewer, I bit the hook I wanted to try, learn the lesson.
So I sprayed as they advised
And I let act: while I mopped,
The damage caused to our tiles,
The washing machine is really aging.
Yes ... She overflowed. So I have for two hours
Lived with my hands in the water, all to my misfortune.
The feet also elsewhere, as in China rice.
But don't tell me "smile", ah, no, not today ........
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07-Extract from a poem "Demain en Roussillon."
Well hidden in my head, a corner of paradise,
Hidden in the shade among a field of nettles,
Wait for the blessed day when I will savor
The intoxicating flavors of a much desired happiness.
Everything in this nature attracts and delights me;
At the foot of Canigou, flowery villages
Enjoy the sun, God of this valley
Who ripens fruits, both wild and cultivated.
In the evening, under the plane trees, we dance the sardana.
The skirts twirl thanks to the tramontana.
From Prades to Canet, as well as to Collioure,
The light spouts out, shines, shines, splashes.
The painters are delighted, armed with their brushes,
They dress the paintings, give us this gift
To see a landscape and keep it present,
Whether it is the mountain, the sea or a child .......
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08- Extract from the sketch "Mouse"
- Good evening.
- Well no, the meal is not ready.
- Because this afternoon I bought a camera and I am reviewing the instructions for use.
- I've been looking for explanations in French for half an hour. I found them in Russian, or rather, I believe they are Russian. Something that looks like Arabic, English, Dutch, but not French.
- Oh no! There is no question of going to Mademoiselle Dora Sybelle to have it translated. She doesn't need to know that I bought a camera. And then, you saw them, your diplomas? If so, she's a sweeper at our pretty neighbor's language college. Besides, I don't find him looking British at all to this little teacher.
- Ah, there it is! I found. But there are only ten lines. My word they just gave us a summary.
- Yes, it's a Japanese device: whatever… I'm wary…. When we buy in France, it's not as if we had brought it back from Tokyo.
- Of course we didn't have the opportunity to go, but it's a way of speaking. For example, I don't believe that Hamed's couscous, at the corner of the street, comes from Algiers, which makes me say that this Japanese device is perhaps made "In France".
- But no, it does not work like the others, it is a digital one. No, not like all cameras. With this one we have photos instantly. What did I buy it with? But with my money of course !!! For two years I have been saving every week to buy it for myself
- Exact. I don't make any money; but I am responsible for spending it, right? Who writes the checks for gasoline so that MONSIEUR can drive to work? Admit that it saves you a few soles and blisters; without counting the holes in the socks for the hundred and twenty kilometers that you have to do every day. You see that it is useful to know how to write, you can say thank you, it is worth my signature. So, from time to time, I give myself a little gift.
- You see, it is the last model, the most perfected. With this one, we take pictures as well as the pros. Nothing to regulate, neither in the heat, nor in the cold, in the shade, in the sun, inside, outside….
- Yes. Day and night too. Make fun of me. How many pictures have you taken in your life?
- Well okay, you leave that to the professionals. You also leave them big tickets for small photos. But from now on, the professionals can go out of business. ….
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09- Extract from a play "Bel Antoine"
Antoine enters:
- Sir, ladies, I allow myself to force your door to present you a small wonder. Let's not be afraid of words: the essential encyclopedia for everyone, aware of the dangers that threaten them at every moment. But, I did not introduce myself: Antoine Duplessy.
Dorothy.
- Du Plessy from the Du Plessy branch who made an alliance with Jeanne d'Orgueil de la Gentill ...
Antoine
- No, no, I don't think so. Duplessy is written in a single word, without particles.
Dorothy .
- I see.
Gontran
- But there is no need for a particle. Nowadays, social classes are mixed?
Dorothy
- Talk for you. G ontra n.
Gontran
- Finally, my little grandma!
Dorothy
- So don't call me that. A little respect, hell, I'm your mother, all the same.
Gontran.
- Oh! What you are old fashioned.
Dorothy.
- No scandal in front of a stranger, please. So, dear sir, what are you presenting to us? This book seems quite imposing to me.
Antoine.
- Indispensable above all.
Dorothy.
- Here, take a seat.
Antoine approaches a chair.
Dorothy.
- No. Not this one. I'm afraid she can't support your weight. For years, we have reserved it for the cat.
Antoine.
- Happy cat! Well, you see lady, you just illustrated, quite accidentally, the typical example of the unforeseeable accident.
Gontran.
- Unpredictable, not that much. Me, I impatiently wait for someone to sit on it, the breeze, wipe it out.
Dorothy.
- How can you be so detached from a past which, after all, is not so distant.
Gontran.
- But your chair is falling to dust. She is three thousand years old.
Dorothy.
- It's vintage.
Gontran.
- Yes, but from what period? If you go back to his family tree, I bet we'll get to Vercingétorix.
Dorothy.
- Don't listen to him, he's angry.
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010- Extract from a tale "Bon voyage Venus"
The blue ring
The whale, named Rachel, invited her to dive. Venus did not have the shadow of a hesitation. She dived into the sea as easily as in her bathtub. The whale made her a big bubble in which she found herself like a fish in a jar. And there she laughs. She laughed because she was the one who ended up in a jar instead of the fish, and the fish outside the bubble came to see her. What she saw was lovely. There was great clarity. Fish were coming from everywhere. They left their hiding place, came out from behind forests of algae, some appeared, she did not know where, because the sea was provided with hollow rocks which served as shelter. Still others pulled themselves out of the sand and seemed to stretch as she did in the morning when she got out of bed.
They all arrived to see this curious creature from elsewhere who could not get out of his bubble. An unfriendly grouper rushed straight at her. She screamed. Was he going to bite her? Eat it ? The bubble resisted. He insisted again but he was chased by pink fish which seemed to be dressed in veils and which must have intimidated the aggressor since he left without asking for his rest. Did they act as bodyguards? Is it in his honor? Or a daily ritual?
Still, Venus witnessed a superb ballet orchestrated by a round, black, bearded fish which revolved around a hundred lovely fish of different sizes which seemed to have been dressed by great couturiers and made up by master make-up artists. They were dancing a superb ballet. The algae beat the beat played by the waves. She never tired of looking at her surroundings. The shining starfish were so many stars in this grandiose setting. The scallops punctuated the music with their incessant claps.
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011- Extract from the novel "Damnée empreinte"
The day before the gymnastics demonstration, the field had been carefully cleaned. It looked "from a distance" like a golf course. Only from a distance, because on closer inspection there were still big imperfections. At work, they saw "the Marshal" arrive. He was president of all the companies in the city. He was very gracious, discussing the difficulties they were having in getting everything done. "The Marshal" seemed to think it over, rubbed his graying beard and put forward a hypothesis. This idea, obviously, was not spontaneous. He had come there to submit it to David. He approached the subject avoiding being direct. Finally, he suggested that he suggest that all clubs and associations follow the example of the gymnastics society and the equestrian club. Depending on the progress of the work, everyone would offer their free participation "in the Mill" since this land should in the future, as was planned, be available to all according to a well-established schedule. Paid entries would immediately benefit from the costs of subsequent work.
David was delighted that "The Marshal" understood the briefing he gave them at the meetings. It was in fact the only possible solution for this land to be available before the end of the work. Everyone got busy. At all hours of the day, there were people on the site. The day before the gymnastics competition, three months after the proposal, they put a floor. Auguste Dauris, had placed here and there flower beds and conscientiously came to water them, helped by kids delighted to be admitted among the adults. The water had been brought to the field the previous month. Jacques Legros, plumber, was thus able to install the sanitary facilities. In addition to the toilets, two showers were added. The tiling had been laid by conscientious handymen. The result was very satisfying. Electricity had been turned on at the same time. These early arrangements were very encouraging. The volunteers rejoiced and brought in other followers. There wasn't a day that David didn't sign up new members. Entire families were making time. In the evening, they saw a car arrive. It was full of boxes. Since the members of the gymnastics club had known that they would be performing at "Au Moulin", they had prepared, under the guidance of Madame Dupain, paper flowers. About ten young people, who came by mopeds, cars, or even bicycles, arrived to install them. The older ones climbed ladders, planted stakes, stretched out wire, netting and put a cardboard cart wheel at the right height. Maryse Dupain distributed the flowers, the corresponding ties and a descriptive map to everyone. Little by little, the ground took on an air of celebration. The enclosure of the esplanade intended for the evolutions of the gymnasiums was lined with a wall of ultramarine blue flowers containing the words: "Vive la gymnastique" in lemon yellow. On the wheel, we saw the effigy of a red gymnasium on a white background. They were all busy in a good mood. Jérémy Fournex's team came to bring some obstacles to make the most eminent riders jump. By nightfall, everything was ready. The weather was good. They parted ways, making a date the next morning. Everyone had worked seriously. They were impatiently awaiting the first, albeit modest, party organized on this ancient wasteland. A few months and a lot of good will had got the better of a wild nature trapped in weeds. David was overwhelmed.
In the evening, on returning, the house smelled of sweet pastry. His mother, all day long had baked cakes that would be sold for the benefit of the association. All available ladies would do the same. After the meal during which the conversation had focused exclusively on the events concerning the Mill, he consulted his files, checked the schedules, the names and numbers of participants, filed everything in a cabinet reserved for this purpose and went to bed confident and satisfied.
In his first sleep he was awakened with a start. He recognized, among other things, the sound of the motorbike of one of his young neighbors who had come to help them. Without any particular qualification for manual labor, he had mowed the grass for two days. He stopped, as did his friends. There was a violent knock on the door. David stood up instantly. He opened it.
- There is a fire at the Mill. As we passed, we saw flames. The paper decorations burned down. The floor for gymnastics has been coated with paint of all colors, the beds ransacked ....
- I arrive.
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012-Quote from the Dalai Lama
The dream is free ... But the effort to realize it costs a fortune.
Dalai Lama
13- Quote from Georges Courteline
"Man is not made to work.
The proof is that tires him."
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014- Extract from a short story from the collection "Les Alizés"
Lime tree pension "
… .Christmas arrived. The house was decorated. On the table in her room, Lise, an employee placed a small tree. Thérèse was thinking of her family. She was trying not to get overwhelmed by melancholy. She cried most of the night, mulling over her life as a young girl, wife, mother, which she had lived intensely. She received as a gift, like her fellows, a box of chocolates. She kept it intact so that she could give it to her grandchildren who would certainly come and wish her a Merry Christmas. She waited all week. Every morning she would say:
“Today is today that they will come”.
In vain. She gradually lost her appetite and often dozed off. She hoped from this visit, to stock up on tenderness, to have a lively conversation, full of enthusiasm, to marvel at the smiles of her grandchildren. As the days go by, Lise is delighted to bring him mail.
"Quickly open this letter," She said impatiently And read there. I can no longer see very well with my glasses. "
Lise sat down next to her. She was holding his arm in affection.
She read.
"Dear mom,
We very much regret not being able to come and return
visit but we are in a winter resort that you do not know.
Julien and Mathilde have made great efforts at school this term and we would have been ungrateful not to reward them. Hope you understand it.
We embrace the four of you tenderly. Happy Holidays and Happy New Year.
Your son
Gerald. "
She had closed her eyes.
“Thank you, my child. "
Understanding her sorrow, Lise hastened to offer to keep her company. "
"Would you like me to stay a bit?"
You are nice, but you still have a lot of work to do, I think.
Yes, I must change Monsieur Antoine. We cannot know why he is screaming all the time. The Doctor finds nothing for him. He thinks he is on the front lines during the war. The poor ; I will try to console him. I know he doesn't want to hear anything anyway. I can't do much for him. You do your best, that's the main thing. »….
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015- Extract from a Taupinau tale.
These are the school holidays. Children on vacation love stories. Here is an excerpt from a tale, to have a good time in good company. Happy reading, children.
Zoe and Zouc are two mischievous little moles. They are not very obedient. Zoe is the most intrepid. She is not good advice for poor Zouc. I say poor Zouc because it is always she who is reprimanded. Indeed, strong in being the eldest, Zoe manipulates her gullible younger sister who innocently does stupid things. But, Grandfather Taupinau is watching. He is very old, impressive, too big to move around. He always remains seated in a corner of his room. It is his children who bring him food. And they spoil him! Good fatty worms, slugs, snails, insect larvae. Taupinau cannot resist gluttony.
Yet, while staying in his corner, he knows everything. When Zoe and Zouc come near him, he says to them:
“So, little scoundrels, you tobogganed in Uncle Finaud's apartment again and demolished his gallery. You know, however, that I defended it to you ”.
How did he find out about Papi Taupinau?
He said again:
"Who was the one who had the idea to eat the ant dish that Aunt Adele had prepared for Aglaée's birthday?" "
They both looked at each other.
"I know": he would say, "The temptation is great but all the same, you have hurt your aunt a lot. In the meantime, pull up my pillows. I'll take a little nap. Come on, now, go, go and ask forgiveness from poor Aunt Adele and don't do it again. "
That day, the two sisters did not let each other know twice. They tucked Taupinau into his cushions and left the room.
"Did you see how papi has a big mustache?" »Said Zoe
" Like everyone.
- No, they are much bigger than ours.
- It's normal. He's also much bigger than the rest of us until he can move.
- I have an idea ”: said Zoe.
“We're going to cut them (Just a little) No, I don't want to. He always knows everything we do, you know that.
- Too bad, we'll have a good laugh. Come. "
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016- Extract from a tale "Bon voyage Vénus" The purple ring.
She suddenly found herself in the midst of ice, snow, extreme cold. An icy wind was sweeping this country energetically, lashing his face. She felt a pleasant sensation. His body was not suffering from the cold. She was however dressed very lightly but was very comfortable as well as in her garden, in the spring, under the caress of the sun. This did not surprise her too much and she began to walk. The strong gusts of wind forced him to bend. The swept away snow settled on her eyelashes forcing her to blink. She walked thus without meeting a living soul. Suddenly she heard a big laugh. She did not see anyone and wondered if she was not the victim of an auditory hallucination. Still, the laughter got closer and closer. She saw arrive, sliding on her bottom, a polar bear, a huge ball of fur rolling down the slope, shaking with spasms of hilarity. After passing it, he skilfully made a maneuver to make a U-turn which left him stuck in place. He was easygoing, waited until Venus was up to him and asked her if she would come with him to the games beach. Why refuse? Snow games should not be uninteresting. She accepted. He offered to hang on to his fur. No sooner said than done. She plunged her hands into the animal's thick fleece, sat down on the ice and gave the signal for departure. Never had it been so fast. She was having a lot of fun. Plantin had no difficulty moving around like this. He lay down on the bends and this living sledge moved his fat from right to left and vice versa with ballerina ease. The journey was long and pleasant. The beach was very crowded. It consisted of many holes dug in the ice. People, adults and children were there and, like Venus, did not seem to fear this freezing temperature. It was an atmosphere of general fair. Parents broke the ice with as much enthusiasm as if they were tasked with finding a treasure. The pieces thus recovered were used by adolescents to build real works of art which were the stake of a competition. Each brought to their preparation the most rigorous precision. They put a certain professionalism and a point of honor to build these masterpieces of ice. Each group worked with method and originality. They were helped in this by seals and even penguins who, as maneuvers, made the blocks slide like so many pucks in a game of hockey. On the way back, they brought the children who, delighted, were dragged along holding two of these animals by the hand, which turned out to be exceptional playmakers ...
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017- Extract from a tale "Bon voyage Venus"
The white ring
The vacation is over. Is . But me, today, I offer you an extract of a tale. You will meet Beloeil, a nice owl and many other animals. One, two,, three, the tale begins.
.... When she woke up she was in a fabulous place. Everything was in mirrors. Was it a house? A castle? A town? She didn't know. She walked. Everywhere his image was reflected above, below, to the right, to the left. Its silhouette, according to the angles and the lights was not faithful to its own image. She could see in her body, her parents with their expressions, their looks, at different ages, expressing very different feelings. The place she was in looked like an entrance. There was a pink light everywhere. She was very surprised because she did not know that such a place existed. She pushed open a door. The room was still made up of mirrors, but the lighting was green, a very soft green, very calming. In fact, she sat down on one of the many seats that were the only furniture in this room. He was very uncomfortable. She took the time to detail further and felt she was cold. Who could live in such a bizarre place? Because it was indeed a house since there were seats. She called, no one answered her. Was she going to wait? No. He had to find a way out. This silence was unbearable. She entered the adjoining room and was surprised by the oddly contrasting noise after the heavy silence that preceded it. This place was populated by birds. There were hundreds of them, but by the play of mirrors they looked like thousands. The multiplicity of varieties living in this closed place was surprising. On a stele, in mirrors, of course, sat an owl. It was an imposing bird. He seemed to be sleeping but was watching over everyone around him. On his arrival, the birds continued to fly without changing their behavior.
-What does she want, that one? Said the owl. She was flabbergasted to be addressed to her that way.
-How? 'Or' What ? She says.
- Are you talking? ... asked his interlocutor.
The owl was just as surprised as she was and explained to her that in the house of mirrors lived people and animals. Only the leaders of each group of animals spoke. The people living under this roof were silent. They were served and addressed themselves to them only by gestures. The birds, he explained to him, were responsible for making the fabrics for them, very light clothes, veils with which they elegantly surrounded their bodies. They wove the threads that butterflies made. They conversed thus for a long time. He showed him around the Palace of Mirrors where the animals each served the residents in their own way. Butterflies made threads, birds sewed, large turtles carried children on their backs, squirrels stocked up on hazelnuts, rabbits donated their hair to make thick rugs that were used as bedding. If a problem arose, the plaintiffs would inform Brus, the lion, who in his wisdom judged what to do. There was never any condemnation and everyone submitted to this authority. Venus wanted to have another adventure but she hesitated to ask a favor from Master owl, Beloeil, her new friend. However, when it was time to leave, she asked permission to ride on the back of a butterfly. Beloeil looked at her and wondered if this young girl who spoke like him had all his reason. She realized that his size was not compatible with the coveted means of locomotion and reassured him by explaining to him that this detail could be arranged at his will. He was skeptical but agreed. They went to the butterfly room. Master Beloeil asked for a volunteer for a trust mission. Immediately, several candidates presented themselves. The chief owl examined them and checked their physical condition by giving them a very serious medical examination, checking the condition of their wings and their respiratory capacity without forgetting an essential eye examination. He chooses a splendid electric blue butterfly, fluorescent, speckled with golden yellow. He was ready to take a long journey with her ....
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018-Extract from a tale "Bon voyage Venus"
The blue ring.
Hello dear readers, your day is over, you want rest, tranquility, peace. Accompany Venus, she will experience something magnificent, fabulous, extraordinary. She will be your guide, your confidante, trust her, you run no risk, except perhaps that of being very pleasantly surprised.
She suddenly felt carried away, tossed about, rocked. She was surrounded by blue. Ripples came bumping with light lapping on the hull of his boat. She was installed in a pretty boat, under an azure sky. It was very beautiful, and she contemplated her ring which allowed her to achieve such great serenity. Under the sun, in this calm, she fell asleep. The sound of a strange breath woke her up. Worried, she stood up and saw the jet of water made by a whale. She wasn't afraid. She watched this spectacle which delighted her. The whale approached, dived, climbed back up, and spoke to Venus in the most natural way in the world. She offered to come and see the bottom of the sea. Venus accepted. But was it really reasonable? The whale, named Rachel, invited her to dive. Venus did not have the shadow of a hesitation. She dived into the sea as easily as in her bathtub. The whale made her a big bubble in which she found herself like a fish in a jar. And there she laughs. She laughed because she was the one who ended up in a jar instead of the fish, and the fish outside the bubble came to see her. What she saw was lovely. There was great clarity. Fish were coming from everywhere. They left their hiding place, came out from behind forests of algae, some appeared, she did not know where, because the sea was provided with hollow rocks which served as shelter. Still others pulled themselves out of the sand and seemed to stretch as she did in the morning when she got out of bed. They all arrived to see this curious creature from elsewhere who could not get out of his bubble. An unfriendly grouper rushed straight at her. She screamed. Was he going to bite her? Eat it? The bubble resisted. He insisted again but he was chased by pink fish which seemed to be dressed in veils and which must have intimidated the aggressor since he left without asking for his rest. Did they act as bodyguards? Is it in his honor? Or a daily ritual? Still, Venus witnessed a superb ballet orchestrated by a round, black, bearded fish which revolved around a hundred lovely fish of different sizes which seemed to have been dressed by great couturiers and made up by master make-up artists. They were dancing a superb ballet. The algae beat the beat played by the waves. She never tired of looking at her surroundings. The shining starfish were so many stars in this grandiose setting. The scallops punctuated the music with their incessant claps. Rachel returned. Venus understood that she had to leave these places where she was a stranger. She rode the whale still in her bubble.
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019- Extract from "Damnée empreinte"
.... Usually the waiting room was quiet. One by one, the customers remained silent, their eyes on a magazine they were leafing through, rarely interested in long articles for lack of time. They quickly went through several monthly magazines like children who do not yet know how to read and turn the pages without remembering their content. Few engaged in conversation with David, still busy filing his papers. Rarely, old people, as soon as they were seated, let themselves go drowsy and had to pull themselves together so as not to fall asleep. Some, unable to fight, were awake when their turn came. Today the waiting room was full, four people. The climate was no longer the same. They began to speak. There was Bruno, a young student, very active at the Moulin, Father Chevillot and his wife, inseparable, and Maxime Fretain. The Chevillot couple, accustomed for fifty years to function in unison, made almost only one being, Siamese who would be united by the same brain. Which of the two was manipulating the other? Very smart who could answer. Gisèle struck up a conversation with Maxime. They spoke of their children and by inference of the grandchildren. Maxime was proud of his seven-year-old daughter, Joanna. He spoke of him as an exceptional being. She was smart, pretty, ambitious. She had a passion. She dreamed of participating in the Olympics. For this, his parents were going to enroll him in a sports club. Antoine approved of this choice, adding that the Moulin association could bring him a lot. Maxime made a face of disgust. Never ! Her granddaughter would never set foot in the Mill. He lowered his head and as if to talk to himself, he confessed that the confidences he had received did not encourage him to enroll Joanna in a club at the Mill. This band, he said, must sooner or later end up behind bars. Bruno gave David an amused look. Monsieur and Madame Chevillot thought they could tell him that Philippe, the dentist with whom they were staying, was its vice-president. Yes, he did know. He regretted that a man of such a good reputation had chosen his friends so badly.
- Do you know this David?
- No. By name only. But I have no desire to meet him. Think about it, he comes back home, buys a property ... You have to have your pockets full to allow yourself this madness, right? He's still a youngster. So, honesty in these cases? I can not believe. The proof, these anonymous letters which arrive frequently. My friend Douxe has his own idea. He's investigating. He's a sleuth, you know, a pro. This is another story that will make the headlines. Remember what I'm telling you trafficking, drugs, pimping or something like that. It's certain. I pity his parents. I bet they don't even think about it unless ... No, really. I don't want my granddaughter to come and waste her time here. There are more frequentable places if she wants to make a sporting and artistic career. Philippe opened the door to the waiting room. -The next one please. Mr. Maxime Frontain, I believe. Maxime got up and followed him. Monsieur and Madame Chevillot continued to speak in low voices. Ten minutes later, Jeannie and Claire came to tell David that they were picking up the children from school. They would then go to the Mill and keep it informed of the progress of the work. As they left, they said:
- Goodbye David.
Gisèle Chevillot was speechless. She looked at David who obviously was the one Maxime was talking about a few moments ago. She looked at her husband and whispered something to him. They got up, without saying anything and left discreetly. Bruno and David laughed at their surprise.
- What jealousy is! Said Bruno.
- Yes. If they only knew how broke I am and got into debt to get this Mill!
- We will never prevent people from talking.
- No, but Philippe lost two clients ....
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020- Extract from sketch "Bravo la pub"
… ..I have a patience credit, in my head for months.
So it is, folded in half for the second time,
Forced to hold me for at least four hours
To keep morale up and be in a good mood
That equipped with scraper sponges and squeegees,
I track the burn to its hiding place,
The flushing out, the scouring and the scratching.
Eliminate it without mercy, destroy it and chase it.
When it's all over
It's obviously time to cook the chicken.
But putting the oven back in dirt is very unpleasant to me.
I change the menu, too bad, it's regrettable:
We will eat tuna and rice as a salad.
You are all witnesses, between each show
Of this long parade which unleashes passions.
Everyone is concerned and comments on the images.
There are the excited and those who are wiser.
Collage we are entitled to glowing flashes
Concerning both the young and the old.
Beautiful creatures, men, women or children
Breathable health, often very elegant,
Say beautiful sentences, have happy faces
That they show off on the screen to force our desires,
Invite us to eat, drink or buy
Because everything is enticing and of good quality.
We are used to seeing in twenty minutes
At least thirty foodstuffs ... The competition is tough
To the rhythm of the music that tears our eardrums,
Every evening, we ruminate with discontent:
Cheeses, cars, perfumes, credits,
Some ads also that we did not understand.
It's part of the game, you have to rack your brains.
What was that thing? Where that? Over there, behind.
I dunno. I have not seen. Mom, look at the chocolate
When you go shopping, say, you won't buy any?
I already tasted it on Wednesday at Sophie's
The packaging is practical, her mother said so.
Of course, I will find some; maybe on sale.
They sell it by the ton, it's so good.
You will have chocolate, filled with vitamins
Me, the moisturizer that removes wrinkles… ..
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021-Damned imprint
Presentation
“Damned imprint”, this thriller, can intrigue or surprise. Don't be afraid of him. Open it up. It will take you from page to page, from chapter to chapter, to heights that you cannot imagine.
David, a young man, full of spirit, enthusiasm, generosity, entrepreneur on occasion, was able to persuade the inhabitants of his village, by convincing arguments of the merits of the rehabilitation of a large communal land on which still remains a ruined mill.
After having discussed the modalities with the representatives of the municipality, they are attracted by this project in a large proportion and agree to participate in the construction of a house of associations. More or less concerned, they invest themselves with ardor, courage and determination.
Unfortunately, over the days, they find little words, which quickly make them understand that a crow is resistant to this realization. Indeed the warnings are always followed by misdeeds, more and more often and more and more serious, until the disappearance of a girl.
From that day forward they will all be concerned and tormented. They will experience a permanent nightmare, fear, suspicion, anguish.
Be the witness, the investigator, observe, write down, follow this story and don't miss a beat.
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022 - Poem in homage to my parents
I wrote this poem on the occasion of my parents' wedding sixty.
My father was a great and passionate pigeon fancier who had boundless admiration for these birds.
They were the object of all his attention; and U.S. too.
A wing-puller.
No; it is not a tale, nor even a fable.
The story is real and it is with pleasure
That I can testify in a notable way,
Luck that together they wanted to seize.
They are two lovebirds, two pigeons, two adults,
They built their nest with their fingernails and beaks.
Sometimes found themselves on a steep slope
Always avoiding old logs of dry wood.
Here are two backpackers, traveling companions
Who for sixty years have been walking step by step
In the same universe, slipping in their luggage,
Their best memories, those that we do not forget.
They have come a long way, their wings are burnt
When sometimes the sun got too hot,
And refreshed themselves near the river
Who consoles, heals, soothes torments.
Today, very serene, they stay in the loft
Having abandoned their reckless races
To watch their little nest from afar
As only a father and a mother can do.
We are very proud of them, of their vitality
And to honor them as they deserve
Today all in chorus, we will coo
"Living on the wing is a success."
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023- Extract from "Damnée imprint
The first days of August we saw our campers arrive. Monsieur le Curé and his young people disembarked one fine morning at the station. They had spent the night on the train, slept little, but were ready to face a vacation the hard way. They were loaded. Each carried a huge backpack to which were often added various heterogeneous objects. The two largest in size were pulling a homemade wagon. It contained the kitchen utensils, gas bottle, buckets, basins. They reached the Mill, often on the road because of their team, sometimes by taking the shortcuts that the paths allowed them. They walked slowly. It was getting hot when they arrived. They were pleasantly surprised when they saw this picturesque setting. Benoît put down his gear and began to undress. The workers advised him not to take a bath in the river. The water was cold, very cold. Monsieur le Curé, who called himself Father by these adolescents, forbids them to swim. But his words must have been lost before reaching the ears of Benoît who, in his underwear, felt the water with the tips of his toes. Before anyone had a chance to intervene, he dove in. He swam underwater like a fish. When he got back up he snorted like a young puppy and said:
- She's fresh.
Monsieur le Curé was reluctant to explain to them that, as a matter of priority, the canvases had to be set up. Benedict's example was followed by three or four brave men. The others took advantage of this interlude to relieve their shoulders of the burden they bore. The luggage piled up. The young men lay down in the grass. Benedict invited his friends to come. He dived, swam, went up, bubbling, splashing the nearest ones. Samuel wanted his first bath. He dipped his foot in to assess the water temperature.
- My word, it comes from Norway, it is frozen.
- No, come on ... Come on.
Denis, face down, grabbed Samuel's ankle, which, unbalanced, fell unexpectedly. He went up like a cork, screamed. He was furious with his boyfriend. He came out of the water, morally supported by Benoît who looked like a smurf. He was blue, blue with cold. The workers, accustomed to the river, disapproved of this swimming. They warned them against a hydrocution. Monsieur le Curé, torn between the desire to satisfy the young people and that of ensuring their safety, decided to talk about it with them that very evening. Everyone picked up their package. They made their way to the corner planned for their camp. In passing, they greeted the workers busy pouring the foundations of the hall planned for the association. Monsieur le Curé asked them to form a group of two, three or four depending on the places available in the canvas tents. From the outset, Denis and Samuel agreed not to be together. It was a good thing; at least there was no wrong note. When they had agreed for their respective places, they set up their mini camp.
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024- Extract from a sketch: Business to do
Low prices, sales, discounts, reductions,
What have I not heard during this day
Where much more than Mimoun, I feel washed out
By this mad race through the rays,
From store to store like a real marathon?
When we arrived, a party atmosphere
Greeted customers and turned their heads.
We feel attracted by all these windows,
These cotton fabrics, these wools, these felts.
The temptation is great because all considered well,
All labels offer low prices.
But looking carefully, if we are difficult,
There is always something, a little visible detail,
Which does not attract the eye, finally that we neglect
Which make them immutable, are a source of litigation
But where to start?
Between pants and trendy sweaters,
At sacrificed prices as the ad says,
We look, we choose, finally we deliberate
It is a question of whether to leave or to buy.
After choosing three different sizes,
I finally make up my mind and I will try
This pretty blouse, simple but very pretty.
Fitting room...
At least fifteen people are rethinking their planning,
Moan and impatient, finding inadmissible
To take so long to try on jeans.
So I wait five minutes, retrace my steps,
Put down my blouses, reluctantly, all in a pile
And with a determined step left the store,
Its comfort, warmth, silks and satins
To melt into the streets, all hooded,
Shivering in the street with frozen feet
Regretting not having for the occasion,
A fur jacket, a mink coat .....
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025- Extract of Damnée imprint "
.... All night long, she brooded over this news which in fact was not news. For months they had been working together, side by side. Claire, having no particular attachment to the Mill, it was obvious that only feelings played a role in this attitude. She was going to have to get used to this idea. Of course, Claire was a fragile, emotional young woman who still had the scars of cruel mourning within her. She had to face life and raise her daughter. What could be more normal that David was the most available person to help and support her? But love is in it all. Did they realize that their couple would support Coralie? David was to replace the absent one. Will he be able to assume?
She had asked herself a thousand and one questions. By morning she was exhausted. She had made plans and thought about
beautiful attic furniture containing wonders. When David got up, she made him his coffee and offered him
to remove the furniture from the attic as well as their contents. He nodded, looking disillusioned. Apparently he had other plans.
- It's good, he replied. I'll talk to Claire about it. It will be up to her to decide.
Marc and Blanche had a twinge of heart. It was already up to her to decide. Yet David had always known how to take initiatives. Was he so dominated that he had to ask Claire for advice again? During the day he telephoned them. Claire would come to eat with them in the evening and they would discuss the proposition they had evaded this morning.
In the afternoon Blanche went up to the attic. She searched for a long time for the key to the chest. She ends up discovering it hidden in the drawer of a dressing table. She opened it. From the yellowed linen appeared napkins, tablecloths, sheets, blankets. Everything was well aligned. In drawers she found gloves, ribbons and in a box, jewelry. It was for a fortune. She wondered how and why all of this had been abandoned. Who had they belonged to?
When Marc returned from the Mill, she showed him her finds. He was just as surprised as she was. Could it be that his parents were ignoring all of this? Why had his mother never told him about it? In the evening, Claire and David were in turn confronted with this discovery. Claire did not dare to accept this very tempting offer. However, in their Mill, these antique pieces of furniture would be completely highlighted. They decided to clean them to find their patina. Marc and Blanche emptied them during the week in order to properly refurbish this furniture. It lasted the whole month. Blanche took stock of everything she discovered. There was enough there to furnish an entire apartment.
Since when had the dishes and linen been so neatly put away? She had no idea. It
was filling boxes that Marc gradually descended to clean their contents. All the linen was embroidered with the same initials CD Marc recognized in this those of his mother, Célestine DEGUERRE. The smallest tea towels, the napkins, everything was marked. Blanche admired the silk nightgowns, dreamed and imagined the one who once wore them, admiring her figure in a mirror ....
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026- Virtual book fair
by Sadirac
I am pleased to inform you that this year, the Sadirac book fair in Gironde will be virtual. It will take place on March 28 and will be available for a few weeks. As soon as possible I will give you the address of the site.
You will find the videos presenting the books by their authors, as well as the links to follow to obtain them from the publisher.
Personally, you will find them in bookstores, on various platforms and, if you want a dedication, you can contact me on Messenger or find my email address on this site on the contact page.
These books are available in paper or digital format.
-Les Alizés ", the collection of short stories is at 13.00 € in paper format and 4.99 € in digital format.
- "Damnée empreinte" the thriller is at 19.00 € in paper format and 9.49 € in digital format.
Living room
of the book
Sadirac virtual
From Sunday March 28
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027- Extract from Damnée imprint "
Captain Douxe was behind him. He rubbed his mustache, looked at the tiles.
- Come in: he said to her.
He made him sit down and clearly explain what had happened.
- I just told you.
- No. You yelled, shouted insults at my colleague, but you didn't explain anything.
- Every time it's the same. I bring you the facts, I bring you the anonymous letters, and I don't hear from you again until I come back to tell you the same story with one more despicable act. There are enough; fed up; you hear.
He was shouting.
- When do you make rounds to surprise him? When? That doesn't interest you, does it? You don't feel like you're in the crosshairs. Ah! If it was someone in your family who was targeted, their photo would have been in the headlines a long time ago.
- It's finish ?
- Yes. But I will have it. One day or another, he will have to make the wrong note. That day, it is not a blank sheet that I will bring you back .... It is a corpse.
- Oh dear ... Oh dear ... You get carried away again. Let's sum up if you don't mind. This afternoon, the Curé and the children went for a walk. What time did they come back?
- I don't know, I didn't ask him.
- I'm asking you the question because, as far as I know, there is always someone there. You are at work at the Mill, in the dining room. Maybe a witness saw something? Is that the case ?
- I don't know. You just have to go and ask them. It's your job, not mine. I come
report the facts to you, that's all.
- All right, well, I'll go find out. One more quick question. The last anonymous letter you received, you found it on your windshield, didn't you? ... Let's see ... It was the day before the party
school and you stood guard to surprise him. Exact ?
- Yes. But we had fallen asleep in the morning with Robert Authin. In fact, there was another, so to speak. I didn't bring it to you, because the papers stuck on it were white, blank. It was the day after the campers arrived. Stones had been thrown at night in the cool cement and nearby, we had found this sheet signed by the absence of any specific text. He is very clever.
- Okay, I'll put all of this in the file. I thank you for your collaboration. Rest assured, we will take care of it. Your nightmare will soon end.
- I hope.
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028-Photo of Rome
029-Chronicle of Nath
Hello my friends,
Busy all these days, I apologize for leaving you (es). As you may have already seen, a columnist took an interest in my book "Damnée empreinte". She wrote a column about it, which I am happy to share with you.
I hope she will seduce you and that you will get this book to spend wonderful moments in the company of my characters. They are endearing and ask for your help and advice. Be charitable, extend your hand to them, if they
please.
Nathalie Millet shared a post.
3tStposns1noar meSidnld •
Good morning all . My return from SP on Sylvie Niffle-Cassagne's “Damnée imprint”.
A thriller with suspense from start to finish. Terrible family secrets will resurface with serious consequences. A very good reading time .
Nath-a-lu
mtS3p8oh tmlnsiSnrnored •
My return from SP on "Damnée
imprint ”by Sylvie Niffle-Cassagne whom I thank for this SP.
SUMMARY: David has only one desire, to flee this city without interest. He makes a resolution; leave as quickly as possible this is a place that suffocates him, in which they are bored and return to the sources, find the fresh air, the countryside, the green grass, his friends and his parents. He quickly returned to the country. As soon as he arrived, he intends to invest in a very commendable project to energize the town. This program does not appeal to everyone, for it finds here and there anonymous letters which are followed by more and more frequent and serious misdeeds. Who in this village has an interest in harming this generous initiative? Gaining momentum, this situation becomes intolerable and suspicion hangs over everyone. Life is chaotic. Clinging to a hope is vital, finding a culprit, imperative.
MY OPINION: The author offers us a thriller whose plot will rise as you read. A girl who disappears, a crow, well-kept family secrets that will resurface, everything is there to have a good time reading. Tired of this life in the city which brings nothing to him, David decides to abandon everything and return to the sources near his parents. Need fresh air, nature and to give meaning to one's life. He will find this by embarking on the project to rehabilitate an old mill. A daring project to revive the village by creating a house of associations. But this project does not seem to please everyone. A first anonymous letter asks him to stop everything and will sign for him and the village the beginning of the nightmare. David befriended Philippe, a dentist with whom he works. Married to Jeannie, they have a daughter Fanny. A quiet family, parents without history ... until the day when, at the mill, the little girl will disappear ... the investigation stagnates, tongues are loosened ... Very quickly an atmosphere of suspicion, gossip will hover on the village. Everyone knows everything, everyone has seen it all ... Why does this mill seem to bother so much? Who is hiding
behind the crow? You will see that the tension will rise as you read it. An attic with David's parents will be the source of terrible discoveries. Family secrets buried for many years will resurface breaking the lives of 2 families. The characters are for the most part endearing. How not to feel empathy for Jeannie who has no more news of her kidnapped daughter. Not knowing is the worst thing for a mother. We are going to witness her descent into hell until she is no more than a shadow of herself. A whole village will find itself at the heart of this gossip. Will David be able to complete his project and finally find love with Claire, Philippe's sister and his little daughter Coralie? What happened to Fanny? The author's pen, perfectly mastered and full of poetry, plunges us into a thriller with present suspense from start to finish.
The plot is present and well conducted, the psychology of the characters is well transcribed. A mill will be at the origin of terrible revelations which will leave open wounds to many characters. A very enjoyable read with suspense, revelations and an inexorable ending. LINK:
Damned imprint: A well-kept secret https: //www.amazon.fr /.../ ref = cm_sw_r_cp_api_glt_i ...
You can order it directly from the bookstore of the BoD publishing house in paper version or
digital.
Good reading.
https://www.snc-auteur.fr/
030- Author interview by Nat à lu
Nath-a-lu
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AUTHOR INTERVIEW
Author's presentation:
• Can you introduce yourself in a few words?
Hello fellow readers, I would first of all like to thank Nathalie who had the curiosity to get closer to my book.
I am an author, I have just published my third book. It is a thriller "Damned imprint" it was preceded by "Les alizés" a collection of short stories which itself followed "Myosotis" a humorous novel which today is out of print.
• How did you get the urge to write? How long have you been writing?
I was still in elementary school, in CE2. I was passionate about an exercise that our teacher at the time imposed on us every week. It was a question of writing a free text. We had the whole week to prepare it and we read it in class on Saturday morning. Then followed the vote which consisted in writing the name of the comrade who had written, in his opinion, the best text of the week. You just had to write your first name on your slate and raise your hand. The teacher counted the one who had obtained the most votes. The text was retained and we did all the French exercises the following week based on this text. It was extremely enriching. Everything related to it appealed to me very much. I always looked forward to getting to Saturday at the time.
I started doing my first poetry competition when I was fourteen. Later I wrote poems on special occasions, wedding anniversaries, birthdays, birthdays etc ...
Working with children in kindergarten, I wrote stories, then short stories, sketches as well as a play. I did a lot of competitions which encouraged me to continue.
• What are your writing rituals?
Frankly, I don't have a ritual but when I have the possibility of isolating myself to write, I do it with pleasure. I really like to write at the beach for example or in the evening in peace.
• What is your writing pace? When you write, rather computer or paper?
I write when I am alone, I cannot write if there is noise, or music. I need a lot of calm.
I wrote on paper for a long time. Now I write on the computer.
• When you write, do you have the plot or do you allow your characters to evolve?
When I write, I have a starting point for my text. Then, I let myself be guided by the words that arrive alone, without control. I don't plan anything, I don't have a plan. For short texts, short stories, tales or sketches, I have the impression that I am watching this story and that I just have to transcribe it.
As for the novels, I choose a subject, a title and an ending. The story unfolds alone, the characters make their lives as they please, I follow them, accompany them. In reality, I discover them as if I were watching a movie. I see the images, I hear the dialogues. I only have a role of translator.
• Do you have passions outside of writing? A work ?
Fortunately for me, I live like everyone else. Writing is a simple derivative, a passion which is only a small part of my existence but which matters a lot. I had times where I did embroidery, mini cross stitch, hand or machine knitting, painting. In short, I really like to create. I also rode a racing bike for about fifteen years. Today I am walking and hiking.
• Who are your favorite authors, those who inspire you?
I like to read a lot but I never confine myself to one style. I have read TolKien as well as Bernard Clavel, Pierre Bellemare, Christian Signol. Recently I have also read “The Laws of Heaven” by Grégoire Courtois, and “Four White Roots” by Jacques Saussey. These are just a few examples of very different readings that bring me so much pleasure.
I like to write in different registers, for children, adults, stories, humor, sketches in verse, scary and haunting thriller, poetry. Whatever the subjects, I enjoy writing them as much. I never tried to look like any writer. Life offers us such a display of emotions that we just have to dig into it and everything becomes possible.
• Do you have literary crushes? Books that marked your youth?
In my youth, I did not have the opportunity to read, yet I have a memory. I had gone to a cousin's who had bought me an illustrated book. It was called "Captain Hook". I was terrified just seeing the illustration on the cover. Then there was the series of “Martine” and “Les petite filles models. It was another time and another time.
• Your current bedside book?
I read "Harricana" by Bernard Clavel.
Presentation of your book:
• Can you summarize your book for us in a few sentences?
“Damned Footprint” is a thriller that tells the story of David, a young man who, tired of his life in the city, decides overnight to change his life. He returns to his native village and engages in a project in which he trains a large part of the inhabitants. It is, after the acquisition of a large vacant lot to build a house of associations. The old ruined mill which is there will remain its property. All being concerned, they are happy to invest in this project.
The work is progressing but they discover little words followed by more and more serious misdeeds. A crow roams ...
The story will take a dramatic turn the day a little girl goes missing.
• Can you tell us about the universe you created in your book?
This book depicts the chaos provoked in a village, a series of incidents which gradually amplifies, leaving the protagonists in doubt, anguish and suspicion. Fear reigns supreme.
The story goes crescendo, from page to page, from chapter to chapter.
Just imagine that the 330 pages of this book are the steps of the staircase of a beautiful building that you come to visit to have a splendid view from up there. During the first few steps, everything goes well. Around 100 ° you start, even if you are, as I think, in good health, to be short of breath. You are missing your breath. But you are not going to stop there, it would be unfortunate. So you go up again, holding on to the handrail. Now your legs are heavy. You will soon arrive at the 300 °. You quickly make a small stop, a way to catch your breath and, mustering all your courage, despite more and more persistent pains, you proudly climb the last steps. True ; you suffered. But wasn't this climb worth it?
• Who is your book for?
To all those who like to vibrate, who are looking for suspense, strong emotion, adrenaline. To those still who form one body with the characters, support them, carry them and share their fight.
• Did you want to convey messages through your book?
Not especially.
• Are the characters imagined or did they exist?
The characters are all fictional. None of what is written here ever existed. It is only the fruit of my imagination.
• How long did it take you to write your book?
About a year, on time.
• Self-published or in an ME? Why this choice ?
This is my third book. It is self-published. I have been self-published and this experience has been disastrous. So I chose self-publishing.
• Do you have any plans? Do you do trade shows?
I am currently only looking to sell my books. I have other books to edit, but I would like to wait to know how this one sells before moving forward on other projects.
I will gladly do exhibitions in my area when sanitary conditions allow.
• Where to follow you?
You can find me on Facebook on the page “sylvie niffle-cassagne my books. (Sylvie Niffle-Cassagne) ”as well as on my site which I invite you to enter for a visit. Do not forget the blog "Our little recreational pose" in which I post a lot of excerpts from unpublished texts.
https://www.snc-auteur.fr
Happy reading, dear readers. Looking forward to hearing from you.
Thank you for this interview, hoping to have made readers want to discover your pen by immersing themselves in reading your books.
