Typical

Hier, je lisais ce passage à haute-voix à mon amoureuse et je me projetais dans le futur proche, en me disant: moi aussi, je pousserai bientôt vingt soupirs de bonheur et déjà ce sera fini, on passera à une autre étape, mais j'aurai connu ce moment, j'aurai compris cette belle description:

No man can know what it is like to be a woman taking her firstborn in her arms for the first time; but a writer who holds a freshly printed copy of his first book must have a fair idea of what the woman feels. It lies rectangular and spotless in his hands, with his name on the jacket. It is his pass to the company of the great. Fielding, Stendhal, Melville, Tolstoy wrote books. Now he has written one. It does not matter that the dust lies brown and thick on millions of books in libraries everywhere, it does not matter that most new books fall dead, it does not matter that of the thousands of books published every year only a half dozen will survive the season. All that may be. Meantime he has written a book! The exaltation does not last. It cannot. It is too sharp. It is gone before he has drawn twenty breaths. But in those twenty breaths he has smelled the sweetest of all savors, the savor of total fulfillment. After that, no matter what success he may achieve, he is just another writer, with a writer's trials and pleasures. That joy never comes again in all its first purity.

-Herman Wouk, Youngblood Hawke, 1962, p. 131.

En attendant, c'est confirmé avec mon éditeur: mon premier livre sortira bel et bien au printemps 2012. Check tes évènements Facebook pour le lancement.