Le Rveur

Le rêveur

Défi 30 jours pour écrire, sujet : Chevalier/les voyages dans le temps

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Rien de tel qu’un musée pour voyager dans le temps. Une armure vieille de plusieurs siècles est mise en scène avec une épée, accompagnée d’un dessin grandeur réelle de ce à quoi ressemblait le chevalier, et wow. Ce type pourrait être moi. Il fait ma taille, il me ressemble, et il a la classe.

J’adorerai voyager dans le temps.

Juste comme ça, en touriste. Je n’ai pas vraiment envie d’être un chevalier, après tout ce sont des militaires qui sont censés tuer des gens pour protéger leurs terres – ou les conquérir. Et je ne crois pas que l’hygiène ni la nourriture de l’époque soient tout à fait à mon goût. Mais je voudrais tellement voir ! Y aller, pour savoir comment c’était, pour entrer dans un autre monde bien vivant, là où il ne nous reste que des vestiges !

Je veux visiter la Rome Antique ! Voir la construction des pyramides ! Les temples mayas et leurs vergers en pleine jungle ! Et… et tout ce que je ne connais pas, en fait ! Il y a des siècles entiers dont je n’ai qu’une idée un peu floue de transition entre deux périodes bien établies. Mais il y avait des gens à ces périodes, qui ont vécu leurs vies tranquilles, ou pas, et estimaient peut-être qu’ils vivaient quelque chose de fondamental qui marquerait l’avenir. Et moi, dans l’avenir, je voudrais savoir ce qu’ils voulaient transmettre aux générations futures.

Je voudrais que la cabine du Dr Who m’emmène là-bas. Ou ailleurs. N’importe où dans la galaxie… N’importe où sauf ici.

Un musée est un bon point de départ pour un voyage.

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REALLY BLOODY EXCELLENT OMENS...

Many, many years ago (it was Hallowe'en 1989, for the curious, the year before Good Omens was published) Terry Pratchett and I were sharing a room at the World Fantasy Convention in Seattle, to keep the costs down, because we were both young authors, and taking ourselves to America and conventions were expensive. It was a wonderful convention. I remember a huge Seattle second-hand bookstore in which I found a dozen or so green-bound Storisende Edition James Branch Cabell books, each signed so neatly by the author that the bookshop people assured me that the signatures were printed, and really ten dollars a book was the correct price.

I could afford books. Good Omens had just been sold to UK publishers and then to US publishers for more money than Terry or I had ever received for anything. (Terry had been incredibly worried about this, certain that receiving a healthy advance would mean the end of his career. When his career didn't end, Terry suggested to his agent that perhaps he ought to be getting that kind of advance for every book from now on, and his life changed, and he stopped having to share a hotel room to save money. But I digress.) Advance reading copies of Good Omens had not yet gone out, but a few editors had read it (ones who had bid for it but failed to buy it) and they all seemed very excited about it, and thrilled for us.

On the Saturday evening Terry left the bar quite early and headed off to bed. I stayed up talking to people and having a marvelous time, hung in there until the small hours of the morning when they closed the hotel bar and all the people went away, and then headed up to the hotel room room.

I opened the door as quietly as I could and tiptoed in the dark across the room to where my bed was located.

I'd just reached the bed when, from the far side of the room, a voice said, “What time of the night do you call this then? Your mother and I have been worried sick about you.”

Terry was wide awake. Jet lag had taken its toll.

And I was wide awake too. So we lay in our respective beds and having nothing else to do, we plotted the sequel to Good Omens. It was a good one, too. We fully intended to write it, whenever we next had three or four months free. Only I went to live in America and Terry stayed in the UK, and after Good Omens was published Sandman became SANDMAN and Discworld became DISCWORLD™ and there wasn't ever a good time.

But we never forgot it.

It's been thirty-one years since Good Omens was published, which means it's thirty-two years since Terry Pratchett and I lay in our respective beds in a Seattle hotel room at a World Fantasy Convention, and plotted the sequel. (I got to use bits of the sequel in the TV series version of Good Omens -- that's where our angels came from.)

Terry and I, in Cardiff in 2010, on the night we decided that Good Omens should become a television series.

Terry was clear on what he wanted from Good Omens on the telly. He wanted the story told, and if that worked, he wanted the rest of the story told.

So in September 2017 I sat down in St James' Park, beside the director, Douglas Mackinnon, on a chair with my name on it, as Showrunner of Good Omens. The chair slowly and elegantly lowered itself to the ground underneath me and fell apart, and I thought, that's not really a good omen. Fortunately, under Douglas's leadership, that chair was the only thing that collapsed.

The crumbled chair.

So, once Good Omens the TV series had been released by Amazon and the BBC, to global acclaim, many awards and joy, Rob Wilkins (Terry's representative on Earth) and I had the conversation with the BBC and Amazon about doing some more. And they got very excited. We talked to Michael Sheen and David Tennant about doing some more. They also got very excited. We told them a little about the plot. They got even more excited.

Rob Wilkins and David Tennant on the second day of shooting.

Me and Michael and Ash aged nearly 2.

What it was mostly like shooting Good Omens: peering into screens while something happened round the corner.

I'd been a fan of John Finnemore's for years, and had had the joy of working with him on a radio show called With Great Pleasure, where I picked passages I loved, had amazing readers read them aloud and talked about them.

(Here's a clip from that show of me talking about working with Terry Pratchett, and reading a poem by Terry: https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p06x3syv. Here's the whole show from YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7OsS_JWbzQ with John Finnemore's bits too.)

L to R: With Great Pleasure. John Finnemore, me all beardy, Nina Sosanya (Sister Mary in Good Omens) Peter Capaldi (he played Islington in the original BBC series of Neverwhere).

I asked John if he'd be willing to work with me on writing the next round of Good Omens, and was overjoyed when he said yes. We have some surprise guest collaborators too. And Douglas Mackinnon is returning to oversee the whole thing with me.

So that's the plan. We've been keeping it secret for a long time (mostly because otherwise my mail and Twitter feeds would have turned into gushing torrents of What Can You Tell Us About It? long ago) but we are now at the point where sets are being built in Scotland (which is where we're shooting, and more about filming things in Scotland soon), and we can't really keep it secret any longer.

There are so many questions people have asked about what happened next (and also, what happened before) to our favourite Angel and Demon. Here are, perhaps, some of the answers you've been hoping for.

As Good Omens continues, we will be back in Soho, and all through time and space, solving a mystery which starts with one of the angels wandering through a Soho street market with no memory of who they might be, on their way to Aziraphale's bookshop.

(Although our story actually begins about five minutes before anyone had got around to saying “Let there be Light”.)

from https://journal.neilgaiman.com/2021/06/really-bloody-excellent-omens.html

Start Unconditional Basic Incomes (UBI) throughout the EU

https://eci.ec.europa.eu/014/public/#/screen/home

23/04/2022

https://eci.ec.europa.eu/014/public/#/screen/home/allcountries

If you’re not an EU citizen or can’t sign please pass the info to EVERYONE you know, so they can help spread it!

(That means reblogging this, not just liking it … )

If the EU manages to get this implemented, it could really improve quality of life for everyone not just those living in the EU.

If this get’s of the ground no western governemnt has an excuse to not at least try the UBI!

Tagged by @sous-le-saule, thank you ! I'm trying to answer in English this time

Rules: Tag 9 people you want to know better.

Three ships: Jakub/Cheshire in Bang!Bang!Boom! (it’s canon and I love them), Geralt/Jaskier in the netflix’s show the Witcher, Sam Gamegie/Frodo in LOTR (and the end killing me)

Last song: Hit the zombies by Magoyond (I had it in my head all day)

Last movie: Spiderman (2002) (nearly 20 years. Its weird)

Currently reading: “Déraillé” (in English Raising Steam) by Terry Pratchett, because I re-read all Discworld, take me 2 years but I’m close to the end. I like this book and the gobelins, but it isn’t my favorite of this series.

Currently watching: Fate Zero, because my husband insist. Yes, it’s an anime interesting, with philosphy and good characters, but... I want to see half of the characters dead, I want to save the other half and hug them, and the writers want the exact opposite so I know I'm going to cry hard at the end.

Currently consuming: infusion with apple, cinnamone and almond. Yeah like a cake, but liquid.

Currently craving: sleep. I could go to sleep by the way. But I don’t want to sleep. Its complicated.

Le camion a gagné

Défi 30 jours pour écrire, sujet : l’orange/Game over

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Je suis passé à l’orange. Je n’aurais pas dû.

Vous comprenez, j’étais pressé. Et comme on dit, orange pressée… Hum. J’étais sûr de tenir quelque chose là, mais ça m’échappe.

Bref. J’étais plus que pressé, en fait, j’étais en retard. Et j’étais mort si j’arrivais en retard. Du coup, qu’est-ce qu’on fait quand on part en retard et qu’on veut être à l’heure sur la ligne d’arrivée ? On accélère. On prend des risques. On passe à l’orange. Tout ça.

Peut-être que mon orange était un peu mûre. Sanguine, même.

Ha. Un bon jeu de mot, ça. Orange sanguine.

Parce que c’était un orange un peu rouge, il faut bien l’avouer. Et que là, si on regarde le résultat. Ben. Du sang… il y en a.

Et pas qu’un peu.

Bon. Cette blague était peut-être un peu de mauvais goût. Too soon, comme disent les anglophones.

Désolé.

C’est mon truc, l’humour. C’est pas que je sois bon. Mais ça ne m’empêche pas. Surtout quand je suis stressé, en fait. Je masque avec l’humour.

Mais ce n’est peut-être pas le moment.

Vous êtes venu me chercher, n’est-ce pas ?

Je veux dire… ça ne sert à rien que je reste autour de l’accident, non ? Je ne vais pas hanter ce carrefour. Mais peut-être que je dois suivre mon corps ? Le samu arrive. Ils vont m’emmener à l’hopital, non ? Si jamais ils arrivent à… à faire quelque chose. Je peux y retourner, dans mon corps. Non ?

Oui, bon, ils l’ont mis dans la housse. Ça s’est pas bon signe.

En même temps, voiture contre camion, le camion a gagné. Il fallait s’y attendre.

Mais je ne pensais qu’il avait gagné, gagné. Je me disais que c’était encore jouable, avec de la chance. Vous savez, comme dans les séries médicales où ils récupèrent le gars alors qu’il est mort depuis deux minutes et qu’il a vu la lumière.

Peut-être que ces gars sont vachement moins plats, maintenant que j’y pense.

Je ne vais pas revenir, alors ?

Non, ce n’est pas que je ne veux pas vous suivre, c’est juste que… On va où, en fait ? Il va se passer quoi, après ?

Il y a bien un après, n’est-ce pas ?

En tous cas, putain d’orange.

Une orange sanguine trop pressée.

Hum. Je suis sûr qu’il y a un moyen de faire fonctionner cette blague…

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Son visage

Défi 30 jours pour écrire, sujet : Étudier/le jour où j’ai oublié

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J’ai étudié son visage, cent fois, mille fois, j’en ai appris les contours par cœur, les couleurs et les reliefs. J’ai révisé mon savoir, du bout des doigts, du bout des lèvres, j’ai vérifié que tout ce que je savais là était bien là. J’ai su, vraiment, j’ai su à quoi il ressemblait, je l’ai su aussi parfaitement que je savais le timbre de sa voix, la caresse de ses doigts, les notes de son rire et les manies de sa nervosité. Je le connaissais mieux que moi-même. L’explorer n’a jamais cessé d’être passionnant.

Mais un jour il est sorti de ma vie.

J’ai refusé de me souvenir. C’était indispensable pour survivre.

J’ai refusé longtemps.

Et ce matin. Une musique qui passait à la radio m’a fait penser à lui – ça fait si longtemps que ça ne me fait plus mal, si longtemps que je n’ai même pas pensé à lui – et j’ai senti quelque chose en moi se briser. Je n’arrive plus à me rappeler de son visage. Je me souviens de l’avoir mis dans mes mains pour l’embrasser à pleine bouche, mais ce qu’il était, ses contours, ses couleurs et ses reliefs, il ne m’en reste qu’une tache floue, anonyme, inconnue.

Aujourd’hui est le jour où j’ai oublié mon premier amour, et je regrette si fort.

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