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Ten years of Festival America, and I've been there every time (looks like I lost some of the bracelets though).
It was this weekend and really it's the best book festival in the world. I had signed up for a creative writing workshop there, and it got me thinking: why I am not writing more? And, why have I completely abandoned that blog I've had for eleven years? So I'm going to try to update this Livejournal again...
What I love about that book festival is that even though they get really big names (even Nobel prize winners) all the writers are super approachable. On Saturday, I had breakfast with Louise Erdrich! She's the coolest. At first I was intimidated at the idea of spending an hour with one of my favorite writers but it went really well. We were just a little group, having croissants in a Vincennes café, and she talked to us about music, about her bookshop, her favourite books, the way she writes... Before, I was afraid that maybe she would be blasée and distant with her readers but it was the opposite, she was so nice, warm and attentive. She signed my copy of Shadow Tag and that's the only thing I regret, I should have brought The Painted Drum or Love Medicine for her to sign. Or The Master Butchers Singing Club! I have so many favorites...
I snapped a few pictures during our breakfast but they're not good, so instead here's an old pictures of her that I love:
I'm embarrassed when I look back at the last entries in this blog, I was only talking about rugby, now that's just sad! My blog was much better years ago when I was posting photos of my travels or of the streets of Paris. Since I haven't traveled much recently, I'll just post pictures of Paris. I walk a lot and I try to keep track of the new street art, there's always cool things. There's a street in particular where I noticed blue chairs appearing. Just a blue chair stuck on a wall. Then a few weeks later, another one, and so on. I found four so far, but some of them get taken out right away so I might have missed some. The creepy thing is that it reminds me of Fred Vargas' L'Homme aux cercles bleus. It's a mystery book, where blue chalk circles appear from time to time on the pavement of Paris, until one day there's a blue circle with a corpse in it. So I won't be surprised if someday I find a new blue chair with a dead person sitting in it!
Notice the hideous gnome mural. Stuff of nightmare:
