The fear of beginnings is paralyzing to me. Creating this blog feels like being at the top of the high-dive, not knowing if the water will greet me in a warm, sensual way or if I will plummet myself into an icy, shallow pond. Writing feels like being thrown a rope, a way of pulling myself out of….myself (I am incredibly self-absorbed) and really I hope that doing this enables me have at least one major success in my life. Not that I’ve never had any. I just want to express myself without anyone interrupting, more or less. And be published and become incredibly famous and wealthy.
My blog will be an auto-biography scantily disguised as fiction and by fiction. Themes that interest me are vast but for now I want to concentrate on a few that matter to me. There is the ever-recurrent and not at all original low self-esteem, mental illness and addiction, leading rapidly to The Amy Winehouse Clinic (bless her soul) and psychiatric hospitals. There is sex and love and the narrow channels that unite and divide them. I can think of nothing more worthy of writing about. I had considered writing a uniquely erotic literature blog but I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I probably lack experience in both domains. There is The Broad Abroad, how leaving my country for another has brought me so much and cost me so much at the same time. There are languages and literature and words. The choice between French and English has been difficult because some things can only be said properly in one language or the other. I’ve opted for English…I suppose I make fewer mistakes in my native tongue.