For me, the hardest part isn’t facing a blank page, at least not right now. What’s more challenging is choosing which story to tell and where to begin. You’ve probably noticed this if you’ve read my work before. I often doubt, I’m always a bit off balance, but I’m learning.
By talking about this fear so often, it became real. One day, someone important in my life wrote to me – and when I read their words, I truly heard them, as if they were right in front of me. That person is you. A woman full of knowledge, ideas, with a long list of accomplished dreams.
You told me:
"Véro, you could write a collection of short stories."
I quickly replied, smiling:
"You’re right, like you said last time. You’re a genius."
You encouraged me not to fear the word "book" and to consider "short stories," a lighter, less intimidating term.
With humor, you added:
"Véro, you’re not objective, lol. But honestly, writing short stories is fun. Your life is a series of short stories."
You’re right. After all, an ending is just a new beginning. So, I’m getting ready to walk through a new door. By the way, I really love doors; I’ve had a beautiful collection of door photos for years.
Today, I want to tell you an old story that has followed me for a long time. You don’t know this, but today, on September 8th, 2024, I’ve decided to tell you. You’ve inspired me to be strong, to forge my path, to never give up, even at an age when doubts creep in. It was in August 1981.
You, whom I haven’t seen since August 1981, have become a true artist. Bravo.
Being the curious person I am, I looked up the definition of a "collection of short stories." As you know, I love exploring dictionaries, especially since they’ve gone digital. Here’s what I found:
"A collection of short stories is a book that gathers several short narratives, called short stories. A short story is a fictional narrative that is shorter than a novel, focusing on a particular plot, character, or event. Each short story is a complete story in itself, allowing the collection to be read in fragments."
It makes me smile to imagine my life as a series of short fictions, shorter than a novel, even though sometimes it feels like a hefty volume. I would be the character writing the short stories of her own life, the plot being the question of where it’s all heading. It’s true, it could be fun.
Still, today, on a rainy Sunday, time passes like an ordinary day. Yet, the words "collection of short stories" keep running through my head. I have a thousand ideas and dream of a mini personal blog. The word "blog" bothers me, though. I want to be different, even down to the email address that would reflect my universe, something embodying my wishes and almost bilingual.
In my search for answers, I stumbled upon the word 'Anthology' in English and 'anthologie' in French. And for apologies, it's in French and in English when plural. That’s it—I’m holding on to this word and sending out invitations to follow my personal anthology, which will be called VeroInfini.fr. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?
But let’s go back to you, this great lady whom I met for the first time face to face when I was 16 years old. At the time, I knew your family, but that day, I truly met **you**. I was the young one who could have made mistakes, and you explained to me what life is. I saw in you a strong woman, blending toughness and smiles, who knew exactly what she wanted. You were the first person to inspire me. You embodied planning. In one sentence, you expressed that the farm wasn’t for you; you wanted to leave, start fresh, but with a clear idea of what you wanted to achieve.
That meeting took place during one of my stays with my aunt, in August 1981, for your younger sister’s wedding or later?. With your little sister, we came to see you, the eldest, the one who had been through so much, as is often the case in a large country family. I saw you in your little shop, surrounded by children, doing a thousand things at once. Maybe it was seeing you like that that made me adopt this hectic pace myself. You showed me it was possible.
You got straight to the point. That day, there was a discussion, though I can’t quite remember what it was about. But I do remember that your presentation was brief, positive, focused on a bright future. It was a small village shop, but you had left the family farm to follow your own path. And you succeeded, just as you had planned.
When I think of you, I always see your smile. Thanks to technology, we’ve stayed in touch, even if we don’t talk often. I’ve followed your journey, watched your art evolve, becoming original and thematic, with a variety of materials. You continue to learn, to teach others, and to share your art through various media and exhibitions. What you do is fabulous.
Before sculpture, there were the cookies, and the garden too. Even then, art was present. And there are still the delicious weekend cakes, that touch of sweetness in your busy life. Wasn’t there sewing or knitting at some point? It’s funny because we really haven’t seen each other that often.
You set your goals and you achieved them. You’re always cheerful, with your sense of humor and that smile I can feel even without seeing you.
What you don’t know is that if you recognize yourself while reading this passage of my life, you’ll understand. I have this image etched in my memory: that day I saw you, saying what your future would be. And you made it. For all these years, that scene has often come back to me, reminding me that anything is possible, that you just have to believe in yourself and learn. I relive that moment through a specific, black and white photo. But I don’t even know if there was a photo. I really think that moment was engraved in my mind. Bravo, Madam.
So, who are you?
Véro Infini
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