MNVR | In the forest of paradoxes
Why do we write? I guess everyone has their own answer to this simple question. Predispositions, environment, circumstances. Impossibilities, too. If you write, it means that we do not act. We feel the difficulties facing reality, the action chosen another tool, another way conversation, a distance, a time of reflection.
If I examine the circumstances that have led me to write - and this is not mere self-indulgence, but by a desire for accuracy - see the starting point of all this, for me, is war. War, not as a time of major upheaval historic hour in which we live, for example the French campaign, the campaign told by both sides of the battlefield Valmys, from Goethe to German side and my ancestor etc smartfade François on the side of the revolutionary army. It must be exhilarating, pathetic. No, the struggle for me is what civilians, especially etc smartfade young children. She is not never seen a historic moment. We were hungry, we were afraid, we were cold, and so. I remember my first window under Marshal Rommel's troops who were climbing the Alps in search of a passage to the north of Italy and Austria. It has not given me a memory of that event. Rather, in the years that followed the war, I remember I have not had anything, especially something with books and writing. In the absence of paper and pen, I draw and write my first words on the back of ration books, using a red and blue pencil builder. This left me some taste for tough surfaces and ordinary pencils. In the absence of children's etc smartfade books, I read dictionaries grandmother. They were wonderful doors to be launched in recognition of the world, to wander and daydream illustrated, maps, lists of unfamiliar words. The first book I wrote, at the age of six or seven years, was entitled etc smartfade to wet Globe. It was immediately followed by the biography of a fictional king named Daniel III - did not Sweden? And from a story told by a seagull. It was a period of separation. Children do not have the freedom to come out to play, because etc smartfade the grounds and gardens near my grandmother had been mined. In one of my wandering, I remember walking along a barbed wire fence on the sea shore, etc smartfade on which was hung a sign in French and in German, which threatened the table those who approached it with a danger sign death .
I understand that we were in a time when we want to escape - to dream and then to write these Dreams. In addition, My maternal grandmother etc smartfade was an extraordinary storyteller, which long hours of the afternoon telling of stories. Her stories were always plenty of fiction, and indicated a forest etc smartfade - maybe African, or maybe the Maccabi maurician etc smartfade forest - where the main character was an insidious monkey who always succeed etc smartfade and the most dangerous situations. Later, I made a trip and a stay in Africa, where I discovered the true forest, no animals or less. But a district officer Obudu village, on the border with Cameroon, made kërcëllimën hear the gorillas on a nearby hill, beating chests. From this trip, this attitude etc smartfade (in Nigeria where my father was a bush doctor) I got no case for future novels, but a sort of second personality, both dreamer and enchanted by the reality that has accompanied me throughout my life - and that has been the opposite proportions, huajësi in myself, which I felt sometimes until suffering. Slowness of life is such that I had the better part of this great existence to understand the meaning.
Books entered my life somewhat later. It came in the form of some libraries that my father had come to collect or distribute coming from his inheritance when he was deported from the family home in Moka (Mauritius Island). And it was this that made me realize this truth, which the children did not appear immediately, so that the books are a treasure more precious than any real property or bank accounts. In these volumes, most old and reconnected, I discovered the great universal literature, Don Quixote illustrated by Tony Johannot, La Vida de Lazarillo of Tormes; The Ingolds etc smartfade by Legends, Gulliver's Travels; big novels inspired Victor Hugo, Ninety-Three, workers Sea, or the man who laughs. One hundred stories of Balzac to laugh, too. But the books that attracted me were the anthologies of travel, most devoted to India, Africa and the islands Masacareignes, and major texts Dumont etc smartfade d'Urville research or the Abbé Rochon, Bougainville, Cook, and of course, The Travels of Marco Polo. In ordinary life of a small neighborhood sleepy province under the sun, after years of freedom in Africa, these books
Why do we write? I guess everyone has their own answer to this simple question. Predispositions, environment, circumstances. Impossibilities, too. If you write, it means that we do not act. We feel the difficulties facing reality, the action chosen another tool, another way conversation, a distance, a time of reflection.
If I examine the circumstances that have led me to write - and this is not mere self-indulgence, but by a desire for accuracy - see the starting point of all this, for me, is war. War, not as a time of major upheaval historic hour in which we live, for example the French campaign, the campaign told by both sides of the battlefield Valmys, from Goethe to German side and my ancestor etc smartfade François on the side of the revolutionary army. It must be exhilarating, pathetic. No, the struggle for me is what civilians, especially etc smartfade young children. She is not never seen a historic moment. We were hungry, we were afraid, we were cold, and so. I remember my first window under Marshal Rommel's troops who were climbing the Alps in search of a passage to the north of Italy and Austria. It has not given me a memory of that event. Rather, in the years that followed the war, I remember I have not had anything, especially something with books and writing. In the absence of paper and pen, I draw and write my first words on the back of ration books, using a red and blue pencil builder. This left me some taste for tough surfaces and ordinary pencils. In the absence of children's etc smartfade books, I read dictionaries grandmother. They were wonderful doors to be launched in recognition of the world, to wander and daydream illustrated, maps, lists of unfamiliar words. The first book I wrote, at the age of six or seven years, was entitled etc smartfade to wet Globe. It was immediately followed by the biography of a fictional king named Daniel III - did not Sweden? And from a story told by a seagull. It was a period of separation. Children do not have the freedom to come out to play, because etc smartfade the grounds and gardens near my grandmother had been mined. In one of my wandering, I remember walking along a barbed wire fence on the sea shore, etc smartfade on which was hung a sign in French and in German, which threatened the table those who approached it with a danger sign death .
I understand that we were in a time when we want to escape - to dream and then to write these Dreams. In addition, My maternal grandmother etc smartfade was an extraordinary storyteller, which long hours of the afternoon telling of stories. Her stories were always plenty of fiction, and indicated a forest etc smartfade - maybe African, or maybe the Maccabi maurician etc smartfade forest - where the main character was an insidious monkey who always succeed etc smartfade and the most dangerous situations. Later, I made a trip and a stay in Africa, where I discovered the true forest, no animals or less. But a district officer Obudu village, on the border with Cameroon, made kërcëllimën hear the gorillas on a nearby hill, beating chests. From this trip, this attitude etc smartfade (in Nigeria where my father was a bush doctor) I got no case for future novels, but a sort of second personality, both dreamer and enchanted by the reality that has accompanied me throughout my life - and that has been the opposite proportions, huajësi in myself, which I felt sometimes until suffering. Slowness of life is such that I had the better part of this great existence to understand the meaning.
Books entered my life somewhat later. It came in the form of some libraries that my father had come to collect or distribute coming from his inheritance when he was deported from the family home in Moka (Mauritius Island). And it was this that made me realize this truth, which the children did not appear immediately, so that the books are a treasure more precious than any real property or bank accounts. In these volumes, most old and reconnected, I discovered the great universal literature, Don Quixote illustrated by Tony Johannot, La Vida de Lazarillo of Tormes; The Ingolds etc smartfade by Legends, Gulliver's Travels; big novels inspired Victor Hugo, Ninety-Three, workers Sea, or the man who laughs. One hundred stories of Balzac to laugh, too. But the books that attracted me were the anthologies of travel, most devoted to India, Africa and the islands Masacareignes, and major texts Dumont etc smartfade d'Urville research or the Abbé Rochon, Bougainville, Cook, and of course, The Travels of Marco Polo. In ordinary life of a small neighborhood sleepy province under the sun, after years of freedom in Africa, these books
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