As I have said, some "post" before, I played the end of my book so loved and suffered. Because of this I was afraid of not finding the right look to finish with dignity, a week forever. Complete lack of ideas and inspiration. I was no longer meeting I muse, however, while waiting, beaten musate on the keyboard of my trusty laptop. It was very difficult, at least for me, being able to reconstruct sixty pages that I had stolen quite a few energies. Put an end to something that, in fact, can not stop brain is torture. I took us six months to fucking write those last few pages. All square and finally made sense. Then ... crash! I wandered in vain among the maze of my poor memory, searching in vain for a memory. Maybe a picture of the text that I would return to the final clue, but it all fell apart and now I was convinced that he is condemned to suffer the blows that my editor would certainly have inflicted. I purposely used the imperfect tense: something finally I was moved. Suddenly the other day, a meeting. Today a second. If you remember I also said, twice to be precise, I believe much in coincidences, and never more than now I am even more convinced. Follow me again and you will not regret. You brought up a lot of patience now: sprecane still a small amount, do it for me!
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