Welcome to my page – this is my story

 

I grew up in the Caribbean, in a French island called Guadeloupe and a little town called ‘Bouillante’ – which means ‘Boiling’ in French, and well, I wouldn’t be lying if I said that I didn’t feel the same fire burning inside of me.

Growing up, I loved reading, writing, and drawing. There were my ways of understanding a world that was somewhat chaotic around me. Raised by a single mom, with two siblings, mom taking care of two disabled adults, books and TV were the windows showing me the type of success I’d always dreamed of. Travelling around the world, wearing nice clothes, and somewhat, be important.

I wrote my first real ‘story’ at 11, it was the beginning chapters of a sci-fi novel featuring twins and well, aliens. 

I wrote a bit, everyday, for most of the years after that. But never ‘seriously’. Just to put my thoughts down, you know.

My secret dream was to become a writer. I wanted my books to be in the hands of little girls, like me. I would see the names on all those covers, and think : why not me?

But I buried this dream deep down. It wasn’t realistic. I was good at school, at maths specifically. So I followed that path. To get a « real » job. The path that would ensure a paycheck. How could I go the artist’s way when I saw what lack of money could create in one’s life? How dare I dream so big? So I followed the ‘path’. Studied maths, then economics, then finance. Set out to become a banker, but thank goodness I realized early enough that I would die in a job like that. So I chose another one. I became a management consultant in one of the most amazing cities of the world : London! I thought I was fine. I thought my life was set. I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore. 

I thought that until…the cold nights came and I was staring at the ceiling thinking : what the fuck am I doing?

I thought that until… the days I didn’t want to go to work and I kinda dreamed of having an accident in the stairs, and hurt myself so that.. you know, I didn’t have to go…

I thought that until… I was bored. And sad. And depressed. And seeing women a bit older than me having to sacrifice their dreams and families to fulfill the desires of a job that would never be good to them. 

So I decided to go. Initially, to become a writer.
But… when you grow up thinking that being an artist means being poor, and you can’t possibly do that to your family, to your mom who worked so hard for your success, then… you get distracted. Not too distracted, but just a bit.

So I didn’t go down the ‘full blown’ artist’s path. I started a business and started to write a blog in parallel. Everyday I would write my heart out. I’ve changed people’s lives. My articles became viral. And still, I hadn’t scratched that hitch : writing my first book. So one day of December, I literally thought : this is it! I’m not going into this year without a plan to write my first book. I gave myself a challenge: I sold copies of the book before having written it! 50 people gave me money for a book that didn’t exist. So I had to write it. I gave myself a month and it was F-ing hard! I finished the writing part in a month, and then realized I had to do some editing. 2 more weeks of editing. I hated these weeks. But then, I finished. And I felt it. I felt the relief. I felt this moment where you’re like : ok, I can die now. And then the second after : actually you know what, I’d rather write another one of these before dying.

It’s such a good, un-replicable feeling to accomplish something you somewhat thought was impossible. This first book is my story of how I’ve created my life. Hopefully it’ll be translated in English one day. 

A couple of years later, I finished my first novel. I had been working on it since my days in London – and I finished it one day of February in my new  home, in Portugal. I wanted to give up so many times. So so many times. But when I finally added this last chapter that gives the whole piece meaning, when I finished rereading for the 27th time, then I felt it again : the relief. Paired with euphoria. It was done. It was there. I could die. Again. Except I wasn’t going to. 

My business had been successful all this time. I had been writing for years. I made hundreds of thousands of euros. And in this moment I thought : this is it. This is my job. 

Yes, write everyday so my message is shared. But also write beautiful books that give strength to women like me, stories you can hold in your hand. 

I made the decision to focus on writing, and slowly transitioning my business into one that supports my writing. My vision is big, I can see loads of books in my future. Fiction, non fiction. And also, movies!


But most of all, I see women. Hundreds, thousands of women like me, ready to use their voice for change, and tackle the topics that have been hidden behind close doors… until now.

Women who have essays, and poems, and stories inside of them, that the world needs to read, hear and see.

It’s not about me anymore. It’s about what difference I can make to readers… and also to all the beautiful writers with so many words still stuck inside of them.

It is time, sisters, that we free up our words.

What’s the message you’ve been holding back?

PS : I will be alternating writing in French and English as a test, while translating my former articles. We shall see!

F
[social_warfare]

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