Making life a novel Last night I watched a movie. Not bad indeed, a good thriller, with good actors "36 Quai des Orfevres".
I thought this was great idea
Balthazars , I like nothing better than lightning strikes and favorites. Because it must be admitted that after a certain time or a certain time, you get tired of seeking that which pleases, and then, we are so so many!
Yesterday evening I was sprawled on the couch, telling me that fatigue.
Often I think of writing. A "matter". This gives us the impetus, which feeds and nurtures texts.
In this blog here, is my real life romance that I slightly, but otherwise, I try fiction. Is this really the fiction? Basically, I'm not quite sure, although we do not talk of what is familiar. We can document, or put themselves in the skin, but there is always one of us in history.
So here, I note, I compile, I pondered aloud. Checklist too. Like the old diaries that I found a few months ago in the attic parenting. It is surprising to read that. I do not remember much and at the same time, I know it's me who was there, I recognize myself as I am still now. It is reassuring or scary, that fact that I do not get older or worse, I did not grown!
Yesterday evening, in real life, I started chattering teeth.
I took all the throws and I got wrapped. My head was heavy.
An idea crossed my mind, take my temperature ... it's something I never do for me and for children only when I have a doubt. Because if you have a fever anyway the goal is to bring it down, so why be scared from a 39 or 40?
So I took it, and before the bulb goes off and I add the 0.5 degrees (in the mouth, it seems to do), I was already 39. A nice size for shoes I will not buy.
I shivered.
I have not managed to keep the glass with effervescent tablet in to climb the stairs, I was shaking like never before. My muscles contracted, I was the effect of a single muscle being paralyzed.
I mounted the stairs, went to bed in jeans, socks, t-shirt and two sweaters under the feather duvet. I was too cold. The only solution I found to calm my tremors, breathing type painless childbirth. I concentrated, it worked.
During the night I got too hot and then too cold, I have not slept, j'adhérais the cloth, like a sandbag immovably each movement being a creator of pain.
I have the flu.
I remembered that my 15 years I had lost 5 kg, I remember that I had been delighted.
You know what I spent my night? I would write about how this or that event. This text
here this is not the same as last night, obviously. Sentences, when you come, do not release them, must be noted. But not strength.
It is often a specific event that starts the text. Sometimes a word. Sometimes even a combination of words that seems successful, and this is especially to be noted. Otherwise, believe me, you'll beautiful repeat a thousand times, it will go away.
Most beautiful lyrics are written the night. Between neurons from midnight to midnight and a half.
When I awoke, I see more color, just a substitute.
That's what I tell myself when I think that's what I write Noul!
And you? when you write? how? often?
