Découpage & Short story

je me disais quand même, à force de découper, il ne faudrait pas oublier qu'on ne fait pas (pas encore) de la mise en scène, que le découpage c'est un truc de laborieux, de photographe (au pire sens du mot) et que ça n'a rien - mais rien - à voir avec le vrai de ce qui nous attend c'est tout, je voulais juste le rappeler.

d'ailleurs, ce qui est beau, c'est quand on jette un découpage à la poubelle au dernier moment, c'est toujours très exaltant - en général, ça veut dire qu'on a trouvé mieux, plus juste, ça veut dire qu'on a enfin vraiment regardé quelque chose (le décor, les acteurs).

c'est exactement comme le plan des vaches dans les grands espaces. le plan n'est pas terrible, mais il aurait été pire, mille fois pire si j'avais gardé le découpage initial (le travelling atroce).

dans la cour, le mur d'en face renvoie beaucoup de lumière aujourd'hui.

rêvé que je me disputais avec cw. dispute monumentale. dans mon rêve, il se moquait de mon découpage - justement. pas ton style, pourtant, cw.

lu une histoire super de adrian tomine hier soir : ça s'appelle connecting thread. je la recopie pour toi :

"Cheryl was eating lunch alone, flipping through the personals, when an ad in the "I saw you" section caugh her eye.
It startled her... she was almost certain that it was addressed to her.

It had become part of her daily routine to read the personals on her lunch hour. Aside from the horoscope and the comics, it was the only part of the paper that held her interest.

Reading the ads was like eavesdropping for Cheryl... She liked to study the brief lines and try to imagine the people and circumstances involved. The "I saw you" section was especially intriguing to her. She was fascinated by the idea that someone could see you once and become so enamored that they place an ad in the classifieds, hoping you'll spot it amidst thousands of others.

THE AD : 3/9 @ Midtown Espresso - You: brown hair, glasses, blue jacket, sitting alone. You ordered a scone and coffee. Wish I'd said hi. Second chance ? Same place, same time, next week.

No, this can't be about me, she thought, She read the ad over and over again, trying to convince herself. But it was just too specific. How many other people could it apply to ? she wondered.

She deliberated over what to do. It occurred to her that some people probably dream about this happening to them. She knew it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and that she'd wonder about it for the rest of her life if she didn't go back to the café.

It would have actually been more of an effort NOT to go, since she usually drank her morning coffee there before going to work anyway. So she decided to show up and at least see what happened.

That morning, before leaving the apartment, she spent a little extra time on her hair and put on some make up for a change.

She sat at the same table she had been spotted at the previous week and waited for the mysterious admirer to approach her. She sat there for two hours, drinking five re-fills of coffee. She stared at the people around her.

She imagined that the person who placed the ad was, in fact, somewhere in the café... that he had shown up, but upon getting a better look at her, decided to retain his anonimity. She drank the last swallow of coffee and walked back home.

She called in sick to work and sat down in front of the mirror. Maybe the make up was a mistake, she thought... It might have only made her look worse. If someone found her attractive without it, then why bother ? She wondered if she was the kind of person who looks okay at first glance, but is actually quite ugly.

Holding back tears, she convinced herself that it wasn't because of her appearance that nothing happened, but rather, that the ad wasn't about her in the first place. She put the whole thing out of her mind, thinking how silly she'd been.

The next morning, for a change of pace, Cheryl walked the extra two blocks to a different café before going to work.
Three days later, another ad in the "I saw you section caught her attention.

THE AD : March 17 @ Ooh la Latte - You: brown hair, glasses, grey sweater, bought a mocha to go. You left before I could say hi. Second chance ? Same place, same time, next week.

She suddenly felt the victim of a practical joke... that somewhere, someone was laughing hysterically at her expense. But she couldn't think who it could possibly be.

In the weeks that followed, similar ads continued to appear, usually every other day, sometimes three days apart. Each time, the text accurately described Cheryl and cited locations where she had recently been.
As a test, she changed her routines, walked alternate routes, and dressed in unusual outfits.

The ads continued to appear, maintaining the same level of accuracy.

Cheryl started carrying a small notebook with her, jotting down brief descriptions of people in restaurants, on the bus, anywhere she went. She kept an eye out for any recurring faces - the connecting thread that eluded her.

But nothing turned up... There were too many people to keep track of. At best she could remember the few most unusual faces she'd seen each day. What if the person she was looking for was completely non-descript ?

Another week passed, and the ads began to change. The format remained the same, but the locations became less public, and the descriptions more specific.
She was seen walking in the park at night, withdrawing cash from the versatel after work, even entering the women's room at her office.
Somehow she was being watched, even when she felt certain that she had been alone.

She called the newspaper, described the ads, and demanded to know who had placed them. The man told her that information of that nature was confidential, and all he could do was receive ads to be printed. She knew if she tried to explain it to the police, they wouldn't understand or believe her.

She was losing sleep, calling in sick to work more often, and avoiding leaving the house as much as possible.

Finally, not knowing what else to do, Cheryl stopped looking at the personals, and that week, the ads about her stopped appearing."

THE END