For several years, the technological revolution impose us an astonishing rhythm of evolution. Who can predict as an oracle, all these news incoming wonders from this science? The recent speech of the President of the United States, Barack Obama, was particularly eloquent. The Spoutnik era into space, around the Earth or even under the sea is reel. Every nation must be at the forefront of these advances tools to observe and develop the possibility of this new science. The future of our Universe belongs to news technologies, better education and more research.

Communications had changed. More then ever, we communicate with each other, all around the world. Access to information had revolutionized our lives. Even the democratic organization could make a good use of Internet tools. Human rights can’t be violated so drastically like before. People from all philosophy can now defend themselves against dictatorships with only a click and send live pictures to the world as proofs of infamy. Of course, horror doesn’t disappear with just one click. Nevertheless, the law of silence is more and more relegated to the closet and the positive forces take is place with more effectiveness.

Book and publishing industry must evolve hand by hand with the possibility of the news technologies. The different formats are original and bring support for the essential of literature: the book. The content remains the main essential message from the author. Whatever the device we choose, print, audio or digital version, the book remains forever a literary work for itself. The author still and will always be the creator of his universe and the only master of his literary ship.

From print edition to e-book, the pleasure of reading remains. In a chair, standing in the kitchen, dreaming in the bath, sleeping under the trees, in the subways, at the coffee shop, at work … In brief, the reader enjoy is reading everywhere! Who can predict what the e-reader of the future will look alike? A magical wrist watch? A steering wheel airbag? A iPhone shower? A hat with specials flaps applications?

For now, I am happy with the Kindle reading light on my PC and elsewhere … Newspapers, books, dictionary, I select and read everything that falling on my e-reader shelf. I will look for the new Kindle or the iPad in springtime. You never know what may come into the shelf by then. May be… some discounts.

The important thing still remains to be on the shelf of e-readers library of all kinds.

Les cahiers Mireille Noël are now available in print and digital version.

Contes de l’encrier, Mademoiselle M: Paperback copy on Blurb
Contes de l’encrier, Mademoiselle M: Digital version on Kindle

Happy reading!

Book Trailer: Cahiers Mireille Noël

New book is available…

On Blurb…

Mademoiselle M. Nouvelles. Cahiers Mireille Noël 2

And on Amazon/Kindle

Mademoiselle M on Kindle 

Bonne lecture!

Contes de l'encrierMademoiselle M


Morgan library. Jane Austen. This exhibition explores the life, work, and legacy of Jane Austen (1775–1817), regarded as one of the greatest English novelists. Offering a close-up portrait of the iconic British author, whose popularity has surged over the last two decades with numerous motion picture and television adaptations of her work, the show provides tangible intimacy with Austen through the presentation of more than 100 works, including her manuscripts, personal letters, and related materials, many of which the Morgan has not exhibited in over a quarter century.

A Woman’s Wit: Jane Austen’s Life and Legacy also includes first and early illustrated editions of Austen’s novels as well as drawings and prints depicting people, places, and events of biographical significance.

The exhibition is organized into three sections: Austen’s life and personal letters, her works, her legacy, and concludes with the documentary-style film.

The Divine Jane is a short documentary film specially commissioned for the exhibition. Each of the six interviewees was invited to look closely at the Morgan’s outstanding collection of Austen letters and manuscripts.

Would you like to see this collection? I would be completely crazy to have the opportunity to see, to touch and read this preserved work.

Also, other questions touched several subject:

When did they first read Austen and what were their initial impressions? What is the relation between Austen’s life and work? Why does she remain so popular? And, if you could invite Austen to dinner, whom else would you invite, and why?

Well, I discover Jane Austen when I was a teenager. I still enjoy reading her work anytime. And I definitely love to see Marcel Proust and Jane Austen at the same dinner. They both have described so well their culture and the aristocratic way of life. Humour should be a great part of the conversation.

And you, would you be happy to have dinner with Jane Austen?



Sources: The Morgan Library and museum: A woman’s wit: Jane Austen’s life and legacy.

The Divine Jane: reflection on Austen. Francesco Carrozzini.

Illustrations: Morgan library.




I don’t always have the time to write something in here. As I am working on a new novel, It’s take all my attention. But I certainly will take a moment to wishing you, my Americans friends’ writers, a very good Thanksgiving.

With the voice of Séraphine…

Happy Thanksgiving!



1. Picture: Séraphine de Senlis. L’arbre de vie.



When the drums begin to beat  untitled
Down the street,
When the poles are fetched and guyed,
When the tight-rope’s stretched and tied,
When the dance-girls make salaam,
When the snake-bag wakes alarm,
When the pipes set up their drone,
When the sharp-edged knives are thrown,
When the red-hot coals are shown,
To be swallowed by and bye–
_Arre_ Brethren, here come I!  

Stripped to loin-cloth in the sun,
Search me well and watch me close!
Tell me how my tricks are done–
Tell me how the mango grows?
Give a man who is not made
To his trade
Swords to fling and catch again,
Coins to ring and snatch again,
Men to harm and cure again.
Snakes to charm and lure again–
He’ll be hurt by his own blade,
By his serpents disobeyed,
By his clumsiness bewrayed,
By the people laughed to scorn–
So ’tis not with juggler born!

Pinch of dust or withered flower,
Chance-flung nut or borrowed staff,
Serve his need and shore his power,
Bind the spell or loose the laugh!
Rudyard Kipling: Juggler’s Song.


As a writer, I often feel like a juggler who’s playing with balls as we do with words. First ball could be the technical part of the writing life; the second the story and the third, imagination…

There are many differences between the ways writers do there writing. But more I read and discover my new Americans companions, more I get convinced of the contraries. We do all share the same feeling. We do have to juggle with the tree balls and more every day. We also must deal with the new technology that computer bring to us. This new way of life brings our work to universal perspectives. This is why in my point of view, we try to stay connected with this virtual world by the blogging universe.

French bloggers don’t talk too much about there writing. They discuss but the technical, stories and imagination sources are often like a secret thing… In my opinion, this is the biggest difference between the French and American world of writing.

And this is why I do have great respect for all of you who take the time to share with others the feelings and the experience of writing. Its make the juggle of words more fun and easier…

Do you feel like a juggler?


The juggler


Pause Café. Mireille 2009 


A precious, mouldering pleasure ‘t is
To meet an antique book,
In just the dress his century wore;
A privilege, I think,


His venerable hand to take,
And warming in our own,
A passage back, or two, to make
To times when he was young.


His quaint opinions to inspect,
His knowledge to unfold
On what concerns our mutual mind,
The literature of old;


What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran
When Plato was a certainty.
And Sophocles a man;


When Sappho was a living girl,
And Beatrice wore
The gown that Dante deified.
Facts, centuries before,


He traverses familiar,
As one should come to town
And tell you all your dreams were true;
He lived where dreams were sown.


His presence is enchantment,
You beg him not to go;
Old volumes shake their vellum heads
And tantalize, just so.

Emily Dickinson. Life

I love those magic moments. The visit to the library, the quest for the discovery of the books I am looking for, the questions to the librarian and the delicate choice I have to make between Whitman, Apollinaire or Dickinson…

Well, this week I bring Emily Dickinson into my life.

The other precious moment I really enjoy is when I celebrate my Odyssey at the coffee shop. Allongé simple is delicious for this pause café. After what, I just let my hands and my eyes go through this perfect object we call book for a while. The first lines, first chapter goes and goes…

I will need another cup.

This is my Pause Café préférée.

Do you like this kind of pause café?



Découvrez la playlist Pause caféavec Ella Fitzgerald



When we don’t know what it is… It is jazz. Alessandro Baricco


Théophile Alexandre Steinlen. Les chats 


Since I upgrade to IE8, the visual editor didn’t work at all in both Blogger and WordPress. So I try to turn off the navigation au clavier when I edit post and its work

I don’t understand why exactly this change is effective but…

Its a good result for me. So I hope my misery and strange discovery will help somebody else.

Nice day!




De la rue du Trésor, la rue des artistes-peintres de la rue, je me dirigeai vers la fontaine de Robin des bois. Je venais de terminer, ou presque, la promenade matinale de Cathy-Chien dans les rues du Vieux-Québec. Avant de revenir à l’hôtel, je tenais à faire une halte dans le parc. Près du fleuve, le château Frontenac se dressait tel un géant indéfectible prêt à affronter tous les dragons de la Terre et même des océans.

Cathy-Chien toisait les pigeons tandis que je scrutais l’horizon. Nous étions alertes comme des vacancières affamées de découvertes. Le ciel se montrait d’un bleu délicieux, les nuages dansaient sur le blues d’un temps sans orage. Perdue dans cet espace idéal, ce début de juin mémorable, je me mis à rêver d’une longue période de vacances dans ce merveilleux Québec. Un week-end par-ci par-là, oui d’accord, c’est intéressant. Un été complet à me balader, à trimballer Cathy-Chien de promenade en promenade sur la promenade Dufferin… Enfin, il me semble que ce serait drôlement inoubliable.

Assise sur le banc de Robin, je mijotai différents arguments à mettre sur la table pour le dîner. Les pigeons devenaient de plus en plus curieux. Ils ne se souciaient guère de la présence de mon chien. Je dirais même qu’ils faisaient preuve d’un certain sans-gêne. Bref, mon chien de chasse avait adopté le rythme des vacances, car elle ne démontrait aucun intérêt pour ces oiseaux un peu trop racoleurs à son goût.

Cependant, elle se mit à pointer vers la droite sans aucune raison apparente. Il me sembla entendre des bruits nouveaux émanant des rues voisines. Je tendis l’oreille avec plus d’attention. Cette fois, les sons étaient plus nets et se rapprochaient de nous. Je discernai bientôt la source de l’émoi de Cathy-Chien. Le bruit de plusieurs sabots résonnait sur les pavés. Je ne pouvais évidemment pas encore discerner les chevaux. À l’évidence, ils étaient en route vers le Château. Je ne les voyais pas encore. Je les entendais marcher au pas, puis au trot… Je sentais leurs présences dans les rues du Vieux-Québec. J’avais presque oublié que ce rituel s’effectuait tous les jours en période estivale. Quelle honte pour une chevalière en vacances…

Cathy-Chien se mit à trottiner autour du banc. Je crus percevoir un gémissement tout à fait nouveau. Un phrasé légèrement rythmé, sautillant, plein de vie émanait de mon quatre pattes. Étonnée de ce signe musical complètement inusité, je me tournai à nouveau vers la source de tous ces émois. Une musique se mêlait désormais aux bruits des sabots. Cette musique était douce, attirante comme un rayon de soleil. Je compris que Cathy-Chien répondait à l’appel de ce vent musical. J’assistai à une improvisation canine et équestre au cœur du Vieux-Québec.

Sur ces entrefaites, la procession extraordinaire apparut dans la rue du Château. Je comptai une, deux, trois… huit calèches ! Les destriers firent leurs pas de danse, leurs entrées en douceur et en musique devant ma fontaine et mon château. Chacune des bêtes portait des couleurs distinctives. Leurs attelages étaient enjolivés de rubans colorés et de dorures. Tout cela me sembla si fascinant que j’en oubliai Cathy-Chien qui hurlait maintenant sa nouvelle musique à tue-tête. Je calmai la pauvre dame effrayée. Je la pris dans mes bras, puis je m’approchai de ce cortège fleuri.

Le maestro de ce manège s’arrêta devant le château, à l’endroit réservé aux calèches. Son cheval était puissant et confiant dans ses gestes. Sa robe était d’un noir sublime, sa crinière descendait sur son encolure comme une aquarelle et une toute petite tache blanche comme une étoile ornait son front. Ce cheval était assurément coquet ! Un magnifique chapeau orné de plusieurs marguerites le protégeait des rayons de soleil trop ardents. Une impression de calme se dégageait de cette bête. Une sensation de bonheur comme un week-end de vacances.

Le cocher demeura un moment perché sur le banc de cette machine. Il poursuivit la musique du jour au grand bonheur de Cathy-Chien. Le duo reprit de plus belle… Des tons de jazz et de blues émanèrent bientôt. Le cocher était saxophoniste et se plaisait à dialoguer avec tout un chacun par sa musique…

C’est ainsi qu’un mouvement de jazz pacifiste croisa ma route et qu’un cocher, un cheval et un saxophone mirent ma vie à la merci d’une rue sans merci.

À suivre…


English version will follow very soon…



Walter Crane. Such sights as youthful poets dreams Jimmy was getting up at 5 o’clock every morning. No matter how he was feeling, its health condition, nothing could keep him into bed. He was always rising up into one quick step, putting on these curious rounds glasses on the top of his nose, the glass he discover in a drugstore and, within two or three pirouettes, he was rushing in to the kitchen to prepared is breakfast: allongé double and tartines. Listening to the jazz of the day playing on the radio, he swallowed everything presto, standing in the front of the window. Jimmy never wasted is time. He loved to watch the sky, the clouds and the rhythm of the wind specially to improvise some fugues for this new day.

From this point of view, facing south to the river, he could guess the beginning of his second house roof. He could see the colors and swell the flavours of is private workshop. The little building was near its apartment from only a few streets.

Jimmy was a coachman, like his father. His stable accommodated 8 horses and a saxophone.

Habitually, he comes in the early hours in the quiet stable. Taking great pleasure to salute each of the guess with some caress, he was taking there morning feelings. The beasts, more beautiful each and every day, swinging about softly in they own box. Jimmy prepared the first meal of the day with lot of care. Each animal required a special diet imagine by they owner. Morning ration looked like a smooth medley for an equestrian ballet: wheat for Billy, corn for Anaïs, honey for Nathaniel, oats for Gimesome, thyme for Summertime, cinnamon for Damebelle and mint for Ella…

While the horses where eating, Jimmy was cleaning every parts of his Eden east of the sans merci street. He was sweeping everywhere, changing there bed of the night for the one of the day and putting some order in the club house. He inspected the condition of the harness and the horse-drawn carriage. After while, he finished his morning tour with an inventory of the all and nothing at all of is domain.

After this preamble, he turned himself to his beloved old chair, the one that uses to belong to his father, Jimmy the first, and give to this new day a first jazz session, a little improvisation without any pretension. An ode to his friends the horses following by some secrets notes that only belong to him. Jimmy the coachman played the saxophone and every horses became the Jimmy Quartet of the sans merci street.

Around nine O’clock, the others coachmen where enter into the stable and quickly getting to the work. Soon, they where all ready to go out and play the song of the day into the streets of the Vieux-Québec.

This is how one Saturday morning of June, in front of the Château Frontenac, I cross the road of Ella la Rousse, Jimmy the coachman and a saxophone.

To be continued…


Jimmy se levait à 5 heures tous les jours.  Peu importe ses humeurs, son état de santé, rien ne pouvait le retenir au lit. Il se levait d’un bond, enfilait ses mules noires de bazar, ses lunettes rondes dénichées dans un drugstore sur le bout du nez et, en deux ou trois pirouettes, il se dirigeait immanquablement vers la cuisine afin de préparer son petit déjeuner : allongé double et tartines grillées… En écoutant le jazz du jour à la radio, il enfilait le tout presto, debout devant la fenêtre. Jimmy ne perdait jamais de temps. Il aimait observer le ciel, les nuages et le rythme du vent afin de s’improviser quelques fugues pour ce nouveau jour.

De cette unique fenêtre orientée vers le fleuve, il pouvait deviner la naissance du toit de sa deuxième maison. Il reconnaissait les couleurs et se remémorait les odeurs de son atelier particulier.  Le petit bâtiment était situé à quelques rues seulement de son deux pièces.


Jimmy était cocher, de père en fils. Son écurie accueillait 8 chevaux et un saxophone.

Il aimait arriver tôt dans son antre équestre. Il prenait plaisir à saluer chacun de ses pensionnaires en les caressant gentiment, tout en vérifiant leurs humeurs matinales. Les bêtes, toutes plus belles les unes que les autres, se dandinaient doucement dans leurs box respectifs en guise d’accueil amical. Jimmy préparait le premier repas des chevaux avec attention. Chaque animal bénéficiait d’une diète magique et secrète conçue par leur maître. La ration matinale ressemblait à un petit medley vitaminé pour ballet équestre : du blé pour Billy, du maïs pour Anaïs, du miel pour Nathaniel, de l’avoine pour Givemesome, du thym pour Summertime, de la sauge pour Savage, de la cannelle pour la Damebelle et de la menthe pour Ella.

Pendant que les destriers se restauraient, Jimmy nettoyait les moindres coins et recoins de son Éden à l’est de la rue sans merci. Il balayait partout, remplaçait la paille de la nuit par celle du jour et remettait de l’ordre dans le club house. Il vérifiait l’état des attelages et des calèches, puis complétait sa tournée par un inventaire du tout et des riens de son domaine.

À la suite de quoi, il se dirigeait vers la vieille chaise de bois que lui avait offerte son père, Jimmy Premier, et s’offrait une première pause jazz, une petite improvisation musicale sans prétention. Une ode à ses compagnons équins suivie de quelques autres notes secrètes qui n’appartenaient qu’à lui. Jimmy le cocher jouait du saxophone et tous les chevaux devenaient le Jimmy doublequartet de la rue sans merci.

Vers 9 heures, les autres cochers arrivaient à l’écurie et se mettaient au travail. Bientôt, tous étaient armés pour affronter moderato les rues du Vieux-Québec à la recherche des premiers voyageurs du jour.

“C’est ainsi qu’un samedi de juin, devant le Château Frontenac, je croisai la route d’Ella la rousse, de Jimmy le cocher et d’un saxophone.”

À suivre…

English version will follow very soon…