Writers work alone, locked up in their offices, and photographers isolate themselves in the red darkness of their laboratory. At least that’s what everyone thinks. They wouldn’t be entirely wrong, but nor would they be entirely right.

So, this month I have decided to pay tribute to those who have been helping us, in one way or another, to create the book.

 

 

To begin with, we have received support from a number of organisations without whom the trip would have been infinitely more complicated.

In Paris the Maison des écrivains and the Société des auteurs indépendants have both shown remarkable patience and support in sharing their experience with us and answering our every question.  Thanks to their advice, we were awarded the Prix Envie d’Agir 2008, which allows us to remain autonomous in the publication of the book and to exhibit in France and in Scotland.

Across the Channel, the Scots, famous for their kindness, have become our main partners in this project.  I shan’t go into further details for fear of giving too much away.  Suffice to say that the list that acknowledges them fills two pages at the end of the book.  Of equal value are our French contacts living in Scotland who have shared their perspectives with us.  These have also played an important role in our work 

Outside of Scotland, there are a number of specialists who have agreed to help us study various details such as literary structure, the editing and lay-out of photographs, the historical sections, and stylistic vocabulary.

 

 

This summer our group of translators has been very busy indeed.  Because a first book is always very difficult to finance, we have been working with professionals who have kindly volunteered their time and expertise.  They are English, French, Irish and Quebecois.  Nicki, our Scottish translator in chief, collects, corrects and collates the translated copies.  Each one of the team has a very busy schedule and yet has taken the time to help us.

There are those who have supported us from the very beginning, before we even had the idea for Clichés Ecossés.  And there are those with whom we crossed paths only briefly, on the road, for a chat, or even answering a simple question.

There is one person whose role defies any categorising, simply because she has been with us every step of the way.  Joanne Allan is not only the director of the book’s stage adaptation; she has been involved from the beginning of the project, from funding applications to helping with the English blog entries. 

The famous image of the solitary artist is true to a certain extent.

But what is never said is that some of these moments are taken to thank those who have helped along the way.

 

Whilst most of you are getting ready for your holidays, Théo and I are approaching the home straight in our project.  Four months and counting until the big day: the book’s launch. 

Our summer at a glance:

 

 

JULY 2009 - Bright sunshine - 36ºC in the shade.

Movement plays an essential part in the writing process.  Just because I am back and forth between Paris, Lyon and Montreal doesn’t mean I’m on holiday.  Far from it.  I’m simply editing the ten stories that will make up the book.  Between now and the middle of July, the manuscript will have been re-read and corrected by a hand-picked elite.  Over the days which follow, the stories will be separated and sent to our favourite team of Anglophone translators in France, the UK and in Canada.  Thanks to them, we will be able to plan the simultaneous Autumn release of the English and French versions. 

Rehearsals for Theatraverse’s stage adaptation of the book will start at the same time.

The director and I are working in secret on the adaptation, Mum’s the word!

 

 

AUGUST 2009 - Stormy weather 31 ºC

Some of the freshly translated stories make their way back to Scotland to be proof-read by the concerned parties.  Technical and factual details need to be checked.  Five months in Scotland does not make one an expert in whisky or tweed.  Not normally anyway.

Our Scottish head of translation, Nikki, will then take up the reins for the English… Scottish version.

Ignoring the temptation of the swimming pool, Théo and I will begin work on the hand-made artists’ books with Céline, our new book-binding instructor. 

I’ll spare you the details.

 

SEPTEMBER 2009 - Cloudy with sunny spells - Temperatures drop

Back to work for some; still at work for others.

At the beginning of the month, Theatraverse pick up their rehearsals, starting with a week at the Institut Français in Edinburgh.

Meanwhile, back in the French capital, Théo and I will be working on the editing process, with the graphic designer from the Société des auteurs indépendants.

 

 

OCTOBER 2009 - Overcast with showers - Temperatures varying

The swimming pool, unused, goes back under wraps for another year.

Final correction, printing, and delivery of 500 copies (300 French, 200 English) of Clichés Ecossés.  The square format of the book promises to be a challenge for the printers.  Théo and I will prepare for the exhibition.  The photographer will be in charge of printing the photos whilst I pick up my quills for the calligraphy of ten extracts. 

           

 

NOVEMBER 2009 - Autumn sunshine - A mild 13 ºC

 

 

Museums and campsites close for the season.

Book launch and exhibition opening plus theatre premiere in Bourgogne the 6^th, 7^th and 8^th November.  The event will be followed by the Salon du livre européen (European book fair) in Dijon the last weekend of the month.

 

After that, Théo and I might even have a wee holiday, unless of course we decide to organise the exhibition’s tours in France and Scotland, planned for Spring and Summer 2010.

Holidays are over-rated anyway!

On the road it's a necessity to learn to dig out desks for working.
It's a worry ignored by the tourists supposed in essence to be on holidays.
Over the weeks we have developed a kind of sixth sense in terms of detection of offices which are spread by the nature around us. So we have discovered that the pubs were everything but offices.



I loathe the canteens of youth hotels beacause they close their doors at eleven O'clock and abandon you there in the middle of the hallway.When it happens I usually have to achieve my paragraph sprawled in front of the toilet door.
On the other hand the parking of the B&B overhanging the harbour in Portree is enclosed by comfortables benches.



In Glencoe the Claichaig Inn has arranged tables in wood at the foot of the mountains and the writer-travellers can leave their sacrosanct pages and run away in the heights.
At the Bruichladdich distillery the stairs have broken my back.
But the warehouses contain row of casks which are standing around you as a library of thousand liquid manuscripts.We could feel the angels leaning over our shoulders and supervising our work, because they are afraid to see us telling anything wrong about their favorite whisky.

Whereas what everybody thinks, pictures don't exist in the nature and books aren't written for themselves. We have to catch the first ones and tame the seconds a bit as we go hunting butterflies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That's why Théo and I found refuge in the volcanic centre of France, in Auvergne, between the four walls of a huge farm which we invested from the cowshed to the granary. Into the cellar Théo put up her little paper's factory. Into the attic I put up my desk. Two weeks later the first version of the book is written and two boxes full of recycled papers are waiting for the handmade book's prototype. This is the inventory and report on state of our artists' residence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                        

 

 

As we come back in France the reality collides with us. I have in my mind the whole story of Clichés Ecossés, but the hand doesn't want to follow the same rate as the imagination. So I steal  here and there fragments of time who hang about.
You are several who are expected to read the text and to ask me for it, but for now I keep it for myself just still a little.
I just can tell you a secret the main point of view of the book will be a sort of Don Quixote's story...

Antoine de St Exupéry in The little Prince

                    

Because several friends have asked us for it, some texts will be translated in english now, just under the french one. I have to thank people met who have helped us for the translation.

               

 

 

The movement is a necessity for the writing.

When ours steps at last take root somewhere, my hand takes over. 

I need the movement of my feet on the earth for taming this of the ink on the paper.

It's sometimes difficult to abandon a place, to leave people and to continue our road.

So I write for paying tribute to them. I take the words for weaving invisible bond which, I hope, will reach them. 

We just can't collect encounters as we collect stamps. 

We have to let them travel, to let them change us. 

The rhythm of our walking is unique. In three or four days we live sometimes what usually takes a very long time to experience. The encounters let us gaze on the other side of the road, astonished, wondering what has happened. Maybe this is the reason why Theo's father has given us the nickname of "the Scotchées"... (in french "scotché" means to be stuck).

 

                      

It has been hard to have to leave London. We have hide the key under the doormat.

It has been hard to have to leave Inverness. We have let the key in the letter box.

It has been hard to have to leave Muir. We have put down the key on the dasboard of the Land Rover.

But this is the price of the liberty, not to have a key.

             

This is also the duty of the wandering to carry on the memory of the people we have met. They are the only root we can still rely on. 

                

The ties are the foundations of the traveller. Without them we risk falling.