Denise Milani 2010 Despida

Before reading this post humor you had, for some of you noticed that I had removed. Changes were necessary. What is done. Happy reading .

For more than three years since I have met through my blog of a person who loved what I wrote. I thought so sincere and my thoughts on this issue had not changed until the day he showed me otherwise.

Enthouisiate and encouraging, it inspired me to start writing a book, I offer up the foreword to me unless I asked. Surprising! I did not know what to think and say: What did he want in return? I confess that the question crossed my mind. To son for days, weeks and months I was convinced it was a purely altruistic act ... beautiful quality that is so lacking in our days. But the time apart many ideals and shows you in broad daylight is the person in his deepest nature.

Partitioning a written ...

Sunset on paper the words of my woes is the outlet I needed. Better than all the therapists who will listen to fifty euros, writing lets me say what I want to say at specific times, without questioning from a third party. I like writing is undeniable. I have so much in my heart and in my mind that this is the best therapy that I insist. The words are scrambling on my lips as they are numerous, they all want to be taken first. So yes, the suggestion to create a story captivated me. Was I just there? The fear of not doing enough Well, not to be up chasing me at odds with the desire to get started.

Sonata for novice.

Sitting in front of my screen, the ideas come to me, I begin by making a map of each. Then my fingers glide endlessly on the keyboard, each letter words that give shape to life sentences. It's like a melody that soothes my ear, I played her. Run my fingers on my qwerty, the perfect piano juggling between my fingers and my imagination, piano crescendo out of my heart the first results of a chapter ... not unfinished melody.

From one end to another

YC (his initials) occasionally takes the temperature of my progress. JP, it is at the forefront, it helps me in my grammatical misunderstandings between the conditional and imperfect ... I am furious, I grumble against me is so obvious, why did I not pay attention ? Because you're in your story, your ideas you fly your grammar, they want you to register before the wind takes them. That's what I'm doing from one end to another of each chapter.

Chapter broken

Sometimes he calls me from his car, our discussions and vary over time we get to know each other. We speak with passion of the book is our motto. Then it becomes less and less. This annoys me, I always want to feel confident, to be reassured again and again. The rivers of our words flow like a different platform (especially in my case). The wavelength has already changed. A first storm appears, darkening our sky. He told me to practice what I disagree and I am afraid (not by ignorance but by exact knowledge) ... my blood missed a beat, my hands are trembling, suddenly I feel uncomfortable ... and my voice Indoor said sadly: Oh no not that! Later I will give my opinion and we do talk more.

Tear

How to tell him that my fear remains intact, I know that because of this practice that is passed under the aegis of science, we never occurs. This is the brake. Tear brutal and painful but real. He also tells his side on me, it does not stick, I understand that's his choice, mine too. Discomfort is felt on both sides, calls are fewer, our discussions are almost nonexistent. Referrals from our roads, our belief, that the departing train "friendship" that held us together I said goodbye, explaining the reason ... He gets angry. Accusatory, contemptuous limit on what I think he gets carried away in any mail limits odious ... that's not without pain.

And yet ... More

back? Only time will dira.Peu recognizing what I write here and elsewhere, never satisfied, 100% perfectionist, never satisfied, always wanting to put his bill, noting that what is negative, he proudly always wants to be right at the point of becoming unbearable. Not a "What is good writing! (What he said at the beginning). Where is he who spoke to me of my chapters? What happened to the one who showed compassion facing the illness of my husband? Pff ... Disappeared without leaving a forwarding address.
If vai it was me who told him "Goodbye", I expected him to read between the lines to understand that this was not a "Goodbye".

In the meantime I would like to dedicate this post mood because apart from my husband, with whom he conversed occasionally, I owe him for pushing me to write as well as reassured me and gave confidence to start and continue to put words on these virtual sheets which I hope for me and we will quickly become real.

Thanks Yves.
A big thank you to Jean-P, I love my husband, who despite his serious disease continues to support me in this great adventure.