Winter has arrived. Time to count. The waiting.

It’s always like that, winter comes roughly during the holidays. There will undoubtedly be a thaw, but in the minds of many, this period marks the end of recess. January and February we will give a taste of their medicine, but it won’t be any worse.

The light of the sky in winter still comforts. I prefer this icy blue to a more Parisian grayness. I also intend to take a real break from my computer cravings, if only for a day and will go to Mount Royal this afternoon.

I just did my accounts. It has been a good year financially, but no more. I should put my finances in less greedy hands than mine...

I have a bourgeois artist’s greed. I also still live in this humble expectation of those who have submitted a text to publishers who naturally take their time. It has now been two months since I sent them [Les Mailles sanguines](/en/books/falaise/). It’s still short, especially since there’s the excitement of the many book fairs. I don’t really have any experience in a manuscript submission. I was relatively lucky on this subject, as chance put me on the right people’s path.

I don’t dare to reopen this text, but I have trouble thinking about anything else. I am ready to redesign it, to refine it, to make it even more beautiful. I tell myself that if at the end of January, it is refused or even, worse, ignored stupidly, I will console myself by revising it again and, stubbornly, will believe that it is worth publishing.

Maybe I should have received communion at midnight mass to please the good Lord... Is this thing still working?