All I Want


Once again I feel like I’m not in my place, I’m too old to do some things and too young to do others… Being a young adult totally sucks.
But anyway.
I love to write. For now, I basically write for myself and sometimes, I let my boyfriend read what I do. But let’s be honest. I HATE when he reads me. The only thing he sees in my stories is all the details that sounds weird to him. What about the essence of the story? What about the characters? What about the feelings I try to make you feel? Ok, sure, I said he was there and not here but who cares?! No, it seems to be super important for him. Changing a word, misunderstand something I tried to write pretty easily… And, even if I know I asked him to read me sometimes, that pisses me off…
I wanted to publish my stories (call them however you want, it’s not big roman or novels, it’s just some character having a life during less than 50 pages and then, they disappear) on the net, just so people can read them and also give me any kind of advice or suggestion or anything.
Long time ago, I had a few readers. It was such a big pleasure to come back home after school, do my stupid homework (with the help of Google and Wikipedia, for what it worth…) and then write another part of my story! Read all the kind comments, sometimes I had such surprises when my readers tried to guess what was coming next… I loved that! But I finished high school, went to university and just lost the time to maintain them. I continued to write but only for myself. then I stopped writing. Why would I continue if none was there to read…
But writing a drug for me. I couldn’t stop! I had to write again, to put all my ideas, feelings and visions on the paper. Yes, I sometimes still use a pen and a sheet of paper…
So, today, I’m working on something I began in February 2007. It’s a story in three little parts. I’ve already two parts done and complete. I’m now working on the third and it’s going pretty well! I like what I did, so far. Hopefully, I’ll find anything to do with this three-parts-story…
Stocked by my new story, I was like “well I can try to publish the other two parts to see what people think and then publish the third to see if they find that everything is good”. Oh my god, I never thought I would have so many difficulties to find a place where to build my new reader base… I actually don’t even know for who my stories are written: kids, teenagers, adults? I don’t know…
I think I’m just going to finish my last part of the story and then see what to do. I even thought about translate it… It’s actually written in French, my native tongue. Maybe I’d translate them, but I’ll need some help…
Anyway. It was just a midnight random thought.

Cheers, Lady of Flesh



I always loved to create. Usually it stays in my mind but since I’m 15 I used to write everything I was thinking about. It ends up creating stories, fictions and poems. The more I wrote, the more interesting I found that.

Today, I really wish to publish my ideas as books. My few friends are behind me and give me a lot of time to help me out with all my ideas and questions. Being creative is awesome but sometimes it messes my head up…

I found something interesting earlier today… It’s called 10 questions every author should ask. Here they are with my answers, as sincerely as possible…

  • Can I handle subjective opinions of my work?

Of course I can! That’s the point of get published, I guess. I think other’s opinions are important tp build our own style and get better. I think that if someone is really rude, I’ll feel bad but I can handle it after a while.

  • Do I have time to build a platform, market, engage in social media, and continue writing?

If I don’t have that time, I’ll create it. Writing is not everything. But I think everything needs us to create the appropriate working environment. So yes, I’ll take the time to build all that I need.

  • Is my family prepared and willing to lose a big part of me to a second job?

I think so. In a few years, I’ll live with my boyfriend, we don’t think about having kids so far so, we can purchase our dreams and try to build them. I think – and really wish! – he will understand my writing job is going to take a lot of time for me.

  • Can I afford to build a quality book: editing, cover, formatting?

It’s one of my dreams so I can say I can do anything to aim it. Even if I don’t really know what it’s like, I will learn anything that I need.

  • Am I in this for the long haul or do I expect instant success?

I wish to be able to live of my passion. I don’t expect instant success because whatever comes fast falls fast apart too. I will take my time, work on my style and take any good and helpful advice.

  • Do I have time to read and hone my craft?

Totally! I want to evolve.

  • Am I willing to add more friends, contacts, associates and partners to my already hectic life?

Honestly, my life is not so hectic… And I have some problems to add more friends. It’s probably the hardest thing I that, so far, for me.

  • Am I really ready for publication?

Yes! I’m too ready!

  • Am I willing to support and promote other authors for your mutual benefit?

It sounds pretty interesting so yes, I’m ready to help promote and support another writer as long as he/she turns the favor back…

  • Which is the true monster, my book, or the business of publishing?

The business seems to be the biggest monster… But it’s just another one, like school is the first monster we all fight. I can handle it.

That’s pretty interesting, isn’t it? I didn’t think I had to think so far about publishing but I liked this little reflection. Read the entire blog here.

Cheers, Lady of Flesh


I remember the last time I saw you. It was near the music store. It was in winter. The snow was falling down and the way you look mesmerized me.

You were finishing your cigarette before going inside the shop. I tried to watch you, stare at you as much as possible. My brain wasn’t working anymore. None of my thoughts were rational anymore.

You wore a black studded leather jacket, a black skirt, black and white stripes panty, and rider boots. You looked so punkish and rebel. Your pretty face was delicate but I feel your dark thoughts painted in your dark lined eyes. You had a red scarf. The only color on you…

You finished your cigarette and got in the shop. I waited a few seconds but it looks like ages for me. I followed you. I tried to stay away from you, to not risk scaring you. You were checking some guitars. Your attention was totally on the guitars… You were so beautiful…

Every time you looked on my direction, I hid behind anything, anyone. I was impressed by you. And, yes, a little bit afraid. I wasn’t the kind of guy you would meet and hang out with so easily. You were way much more charismatic.

You tried a guitar. The sounds you made were easy but powerful. I recognized the rhythm. I knew that song. You played it a long time. People starred at you but you were on your own, doing what you like whatever people said. You played that song and I saw on your face that you didn’t choose that song for nothing. You were living it. Your whole body was sweating the feelings of that song.

I didn’t hide anymore. I tried to get closer to you. I walked between people. They didn’t let me go closer. But I had to come! I had to be close to you right now. The song was near the end… I wanted you to see me!

You finished the song, said to the seller you wanted to buy that guitar immediately, and you ran in the shop. I hate music stores because there’re all so big! I tried to see you. You disappeared… You ran away…

I walked between guitars, drum sets, pianos, amplifiers and accessories… You weren’t there. I walked up stairs, down stairs. Nothing. I lost you.

Holding my thoughts and memories, I got out of the shop. I was already planning to wait in front of the shop to see you one more time. Even if it was freezing and snowing outside. You were in my mind since months, since that show where you almost felt on me. You looked at me. Not a word came out of your cute mouth. No “sorry”, no “thanks”. Nothing. But your eyes were so expressive! So many things are hidden inside of you and all the black you were should be for a reason, but I’m sure you are not as strong as you want people to see you. You look like ice but inside, you’re just a lovely and fragile flower. The walls you build are supposed to protect you. Your eyes were like windows where I took a look and saw that.

But maybe I’m wrong… I don’t know you but you ruined my head…

Suddenly, you stopped me at the doors of the shop. You were outside. You were so close to me, a heartbeat from me! Your eyes were fixed on mine. No smile, no trace of happiness or anger. You slowly said “I know you follow me since the show”. My breath went away. I couldn’t find anything to answer you. You continued by saying “I don’t know why you do that but I like the way you look at me… You seem to respect me for what I am”. I finally moved my lips to tell you “I respect you. I don’t judge. I’m just a man.

You smiled. Your smile burnt my heart. I wanted to hold you so bad. You walked away. I don’t why, again, I followed you. You asked “Are you going to follow me in silence or do you want to go for a drink with me?” No smile this time. I said “Let’s go for a drink”. I was pretty shy beside you. You lighted another cigarette. I don’t know why you looked way much older with it and used by life. Tiredness and maybe desperation were drawn on you.

We went into a little bar, you asked for drinks and we began to drink. You were not talking that much. I wasn’t feeling good but awkward. Your look at me was two knives driving in my direction. Even alcohol didn’t help me. I finally feel bad enough to take my stuff and go out, run out of this little dark place. You didn’t stop me. You didn’t even look at me!

But your face, your eyes were still on my mind! I was obsessed by you. I was a little bit drunk. The world wasn’t real. People weren’t there. There was only you. You. You! You? You followed me… No smile, no happiness. Are your eyes always so expressive but the rest of your face so empty?

You came close enough to whisper to me. You first kissed me. It was a long, quiet, sweet and weird kiss. It was good and scary in the same time. My heart was about to break. You didn’t show if you feel anything. I was sure my face was full of conflicting feelings. You took your red scarf and put it around my neck, gently. You whispered “Are you afraid?” My head said yes. Yes, I was scared. But I was attracted by you anyway. You continued whispering…”Go away and never follow me again…

You put something in my hand. I don’t why, I feel like something really bad would happen if I didn’t run away from you. My legs moved. My body turned. I ran away from you. But my heart was screaming…

I woke up in my bed. I didn’t remember how I get back home… My clothes were wet because of the snow. My head was melting. I tried to get up but a violent headache put me back in bed. I tried to hold it with my hands. I got something in it…

A piece of paper. It was written “I poisoned you. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Don’t follow me anymore. You’re stuck on my mind since the show… Don’t follow me.

My other hand held something else… The red scarf… Her perfume was on it…

I hid myself under my blanket and closed my eyes. Maybe I cried. Maybe I just felt asleep. I held the message and the scarf and dreamed about you. My Poison.