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First autograph session

We are seven days of the official release. It's hot in Paris and the Seine, which brings freshness of the dock on the banks of Goldsmiths endlessly charier objects "corpses" of the music festival. All this against a background of fatigue, tension, expectation and early reviews, I've already talked yourself here yesterday.

Two of my colleagues know my troubles. They are those of the first time, those who bothered to read me and advise me in the utmost discretion. They are waiting for me on the porch of 36 and then with me Rue Mazarine, in one of our canteens. The Rue Mazarine, 6th arrondissement, the district publishers ... We are four, finally, around a fresh salad. We remade the world, we are talking criminal cases, inevitably, relations also change, we think of sitting waiting for me.

Two hours and fifteen minutes, the hour approaches, the time of addition as well. I forgot my backpack, stuck under a seat, my bag containing all coordinates columnists. I come home at 36 with my right hand man, one who pushes me to sell, break down doors. He pushed me to contact my publisher to give it coverage thriller. 3rd tier, you install an old cherry table before the light of the Crime Squad. 14h25, it's almost time. I half past one in front of me. One hour and thirty signatures. You descend a box that I put in a room nearby, and I eradicates five or six pounds. And go.

Ariane opens the ball. What a pleasure to see Ariane. Six years she bump the juvenile, at least two years I have not reviewed. Memories are discussed, future, I explain that there is a psycho like her in my fleece. A psychiatrist who plays an important role. I open the script, takes a Bic, and throws me into a writing uncertain, just like my killer. Behind her, I hear noises, sounds, discussions. I dare not raise their heads. But it lasts, all these people I seem to sense there for me. Me timid, should I accelerate the pace, I must face them. I note finally the head. The friendly chief of the association, who was an actor in another century, brought me an espresso on a tray, a glass of water and a piece of chocolate. Magnificent. I am my comfort. I recognize in the crowd of people of Judicial Identity, colleagues of the Archives, and others who are working at the wharf Gesvres, my former service. Colleagues from the Crim 'them, let the storm pass. they will come back later. Some vagbondent, handle the camera, chouffent girls came to visit me. Too cool, obviously.

An hour of signatures already. People trust me, some to control others, nor weigh without opening the book, sometimes without even taking a look. A need I say more of an exchange by mail after reading other chapters I summarizes the first to put their mouth water. My running mate came as well. I offer him work. He whispered to me that the first lines of my story. As a reward - but I've always said no - I created a character in his image. 'm Not the character ...

Two hours now. I exceeded the agreed time but there is still the world. My boss, who saw his last hours before joining a new service approaches. His deputy has already passed. Then the owner of the BRB, invited by Frank, whom I nicknamed Mr "Public Relations". I fatigue, sudden-cons. My dedications are felt. I would find strong words, I'm just not. More. I finally found a parade and wished wholeheartedly to my interlocutor that the investigation I have developed is purely fictitious.

17.20, the last person. Meanwhile, I drank a second coffee offered by a colleague of my group. Meanwhile I discovered that a colleague was fond of thrillers and Ed McBain.

Sixty-five signatures in total. For many critics to come. That of François JULIEN, literary director at VSD, me more so: "... An estimated 500 million the number of Simenon's books sold worldwide. We wish Jordan also captain Crime Squad, to sell a thousand times less than the perfect immersion into the world of Simenon and 36 ... "

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Autopsy

Life is weird ... You are at the Institute of Forensic Medicine, leaning against a wall of a necropsy room while a doctor is being carved up the skull of a teenager killed by a bullet, and your editor calls you "Your baby has arrived" . smiling mockingly at the dictation of the charming lawyer, and soon the conclusions drawn, I'm off Rue Daru in the 8th. Manuscripts are then enclosed in plastic ; Like the corpse of the boy three hours earlier. Is torn, it takes one, one leafs through, we weigh, we shall return. Autopsy of the book. All pages are there, the chapters in order, thanks to the end, my pretty face on the back cover. Yet the emotion is not at the rendezvous. Nothing. Is the void. Blame it on fatigue, perhaps. Must also say that I read so many things on it, must say that I waited for quite some time, must say I'm pretty busy finding columnists ...
Journalists, let's talk! First, you select a good week for specialists of the detective novel, about a fifty, second, you send an email to their offer to send your fleece; tert ... No! not tertiary. There's no tertiary because the writers do not bother to respond. Only two have had this courtesy, saying that they were falling under the piles of books: Christine Ferniot and Claude Mesplède. So we resumed at the end of the primary with all the original list and they send to everyone - through the publisher - the manuscript. Hopefully they deign to have a look, as I said ... open their mail.
Finally, the world of book publishing to promotion, is indefinable, indescribable. This lack of rule that frustrates me. We are constantly in the subjective, waiting for the favorable combination of circumstances, the luck factor that you will be "chronic" if not recognized. In fact there are especially afraid of the unknown, whether it will sell. This is not about money, no, rather a question of control of events. Sales promotion = = = mouth recognition, that's how it works. And that damn virtuous circle, it is often the promotion he begins. A picture of the staircase 36, the journey is long, tiring, endless, uncertain.

Yesterday I sold my first book to a Red Cross volunteer. I learned this morning that it had fully read into the night. Passionately, I do we reported. And there I vibrated. For the first time. Today I sold thirty copies to my relatives. Colleagues primarily, who do not hesitate to order it for their parents or friends. I await their response, like the colleague who said he was excited about the plot. Tomorrow, I organize a signature in my service. I'm afraid. Fear of not finding the words when signing books, fear of erasures, fear of not having enough books on hand. Time will tell ...

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the book The Story of a title

"Phantom of Simenon," "The Ghost of 36", "Blood of ink 36", we get lost a bit. Why these changes? I ask my family. That's what I say as a story:
"There once was a guy who dreamed of writing a contemporary detective story, describing the monitoring of a criminal case as it is practiced, both in its operation in the profiles and behaviors of investigators. Exit the cops alcoholic, depressed, jump over to the delight of the television series. Above all, breaking once and for all with Simenon, who made the legendary pier despite Goldsmiths remonstrances Xavier Guichard, director of judicial police in Paris in the 1930s: no lonely cop in surveys, and personal conviction to oblivion.
Except that Simenon is everywhere in this investigation run by the commander Duhamel, not discard it, it haunts désepéremment the 36 despite the 20th anniversary of his death.
I loved my first title. Readers, who have awarded my manuscript in the spring, were perfect. Unless it has been decided otherwise, the copyright holders of Simenon is very litigious. "The ghost of 36" then took over. I was all ennorgueilli since I work at 36. But it was not counting on price Female acuelle last May, where Daniel-Yves CROUZET got the Prix Coup de coeur from Mr. Coelho himself for his manuscript entitled "Ghosts of Panassié.

dithering within the publishing house. What to do? Two "ghosts" on the shelves of bookstores. Yves-Daniel then launched a contest on her blog titles. I'll even my paw, suggesting one or two songs for me to forgive.
But nothing satisfies him. Finally, the publisher decide. Raider, I get the stolen. At my suggestion to start a title with my colleagues and friends. Some launch in the battle rage, wringing their brains to dry it (the verb and blood "," the goldsmiths to 36 "), others play to suggest titles rather humorous but unconventional for a novel policeman ("36 is not 69").
The story ends well, although, again, my editor will have the last word after an agreement Albin Michel, which published a title roughly similar there ten years. Hervé Jourdain and "blood ink on 36" got married on the steps of the staircase so well described by Simenon. Time will tell if they had many children.



PS You will find links blog-Yves Daniel CROUZET.

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Cover and 4th cover

There are days like that where it is nice where it's warm where you want for your children go to the park where the TV broadcast the finals of Roland Garros in Paris few days. It's that day that my publisher has chosen to transfer me by mail the final copy of my manuscript. "You've got a few hours to confirm the latest bug" me says he, adding that the manuscript at the printer by the next day in the first hour. I'm leaving for a new reading. Nearly 350 pages. Phrases that I know by heart since I am the author. But there is the trap. Car to take too much down to you gently rocked by the reading, the shells you escape.
Twenty, thirty times, I reread the last three months. The first time we modify whole sentences are added, we subtract whole paragraphs. Then comes the passage of the manuscript in the hands of professional proofreaders, those who can read through you, those who identify at first glance the thesaurus you are using, those who decline necessary to thin a few sentences considered too long or technical passages. Finally, it is tracking down faults ortho-typographical and removing comments that could force your editor to explain himself before a judge.
Finally, errors, I found two that famous Sunday: a dash syllable misplaced, and a typo in a previous fix, something I have not failed to forward to the publishing house at a time when Soderling had had ample time to mourn his loss against Federer.
As a reward, I received the cover and back cover. They are: