Loading ...09.10Noutati la Tritonic…
Noutatile lunii Septembrie!
Mă rog nu e chiar aşa… Mai curând aş zice că am vizitat cu toţii un loc pe care l-am folosit deseori pentru a ilustra mari spălări de bani, atacuri de bănci, comori ascunseprin tot felul de casede bani… Arată foarte paşnic, cu tramvaiele lungi şi albastre, cu casuţele cu acoperişuri în şarpantă, ca la munte…
AIEP / IACW (după iniţialele în limba spaniolă şi engleză) este o asociaţie fondată în 1985 pentru a reprezenta interesele scriitorilor de Crime Fiction de pe tot mapamondul. Înfiinţată în anii războiului rece de autori de limbă spaniolă (cubanezi, sudamericani şi spanioli) şi aflată sub spectrul infiltrării cu tot felul de agenţi ai Pactului de la Varşovia, mai ales cu ocazia conferinţelor care au avut loc pe pământ… estic, acum şi-a găsit locul şi forma echilibrată între două pieţe uriaşe de romane mystery & thriller: cea de limbă engleză, reunind membri din US şi UK şi cea de limbă germană cu aproximativ 100 de milioane de vorbitori (oare câţi or fi cititori?) în Germania, Austria, Elveţia, Luxemburg.
Autorii români nu au avut nici un contact cu această asociaţie până acum câteva luni. De ce oare? Greu de spus. Romanian Crime Writers Association, a fost invitată să adere ca National Branch a AEIP la conferinţa de la Zurich din 8-12 iunie. Pare festivist? Ei bine, nu a fost deloc. Mai curând a semănat cu o întâlnire între vechi şi dragi prieteni. Discuţii amicale, dar pasionale, conferinţe cu teme fierbinţi – soarta traducerilor şi ameninţarea e-book-urilor, un pic de turism, bere, sponsori generoşi – recepţii, bilete de transport, onorarii pentru lectură, printre ei Primăria din Zurich (cu un cuvânt de bun venit chiar de la simpatica doamnă primar!), Societatea de transport public (pe lângă bilete, ne-a oferit un Krimi Tram, o garnitură lungă şi articulată de tramvai, în care au avut loc lecturi!) Gazda locală, filiala elveţiană a Das Syndicat, organizaţia autorilor de limbă germană, a numit conferinţa Mordstage 2011, adică Zile ucigaşe…
Totul organizat…ceas! Ca-n Elveţia!
Ne vom revedea cu toţii în 2012 la Toronto, pentru… Bloody Words!
Sper şi cu câteva volume româneşti traduse în engleză şi poate cu o antologie!
06.14AIEP
Urmează poveşti de la Zurich… Curând. Nu prea am timp, fraţilor!
LANSĂRI- DEZBATERI Flacăra, Tritonic, Crime Scene, Ramirez Books
Sala de conferinţe a Palatului Şutu
1.
Joi 23.06 ora 18
ZILE UCIGAŞE LA ZURICH
Despre Crime Fiction azi şi mai ales mâine. Bogdan Hrib a participat la Conferinţa internaţională AIEP – International Crime Writers Association de la Zurich. Ce ne înspăimântă şi ce ne ajută! Participă Monica Ramirez, Oana Stoica Mujea, George Arion, Lucia Verona.
2.
Vineri 24.06 ora 18
POLICIER A LA ROUMAINE
Autorii români la raport. Despre ce am făcut şi ce vom mai face în Romanian Crime Writers Club. Participă: George Arion, Stelian Ţurlea, Monica Ramirez, Lucia Verona, Oana Stoica Mujea, Ada Pavel, Emil Simionescu.
3.
Sâmbătă 25.06 ora 17:00
PUBLICAŢI, DAR NU VINDEŢI?
Prezentare volume CRIME SCENE şi revista Flacăra.
Romanele Ieși din rând! de Stelian Ţurlea, Fortăreaţa nebunilor de George Arion, Ucideţi generalul de Bogdan Hrib, Identităţi secrete volumele 1 şi 2 de Monica Ramirez şi A 4-a ţintă de Emil Simionescu participă autorii, scriitoarea Lucia Verona şi Oana Stoica Mujea, editor. Dezbatere despre situaţia pieţei de carte din România.
4.
Sâmbătă 25.06 ora 18.30
Lansare volume Sărutul morţii de Oana Stoica Mujea şi Andra Pavel (Tritonic) şi Traficantul de umbre de Monica Ramirez (Ramirez Books), participă autorii şi editorul Bogdan Hrib.
Simplu.
M-a cuprins o oarecare greaţă văzând cum toti declară vanzari extraordinare in public si mârâie pe la colţuri… În fiecare am tot joaca de-a editorii puternici pe o piaţă mică, sărăcă şi foarte incultă. Mă gândeam să vindem cărţi înfoliate cu mici…
Uff… Scuze. Mi+am adus aminte ca eram dator cu câteva cuvinte despre târg şi le-am zis acum cu năduf… Asta-i.
05.26Bookfest Ziua 1
Luat cu multe alergaturi nu am ajuns chiar la deschidere. Nu as fi avut vreun motiv serios, doar curiozitatea. As fi vrut sa vad daca mai exista urme de festivism nostalgic – nu dupa vremurile pre 89, ci dupa cele pre 2008 – si daca pe chipuri as fi putut citi speranta. Nu am reusit si am aterizat pe la 12.30… Nimic grav.
Pavilionul C1, fost 15, daca nu ma insel – asta era ultima chestiune care ne lipsea, dupa schimbarea intervalului de organizare, a orarului, a mai trebuit sa modificam si indicativul pavilionului – era linistit… Privind de pe culoarul care desparte Tritonic – Flacara de Trei, in lung, pe langa Carturesti si uriasul stand Rao, am numarat 4 vizitatori-privitori. Poate ca abia venisera… Nu aveam carti sau pungi in maini. Apoi am dat o tura rapida si cu chiu, cu vai am adunat vreo doua duzini de musafiri ai targului. Cu multumire am constat ca unii dintre ei facusera oarecari cumparaturi.
Mai tarziu s-a ma animat o leaca. Dar mesele de la terasa de vizavi de intrare nu erau ocupate nici pe jumatate… Iar multi dintre cei care degustau o bere sau vreo pizza erau de-ai nostri – editori /autori…
Cam trist.
Serios vorbind, prin targ s-a zvonit ca incasarile sunt cam cu 20% mai mici ca anul trecut in prima zi. Nerelevant inca. Abia vineri pe seara vom intra in panica sau vom fi multumiti. Sa dea Domnu’…
Nu uitati – programul de… vizitare este ZILNIC pana la 22!
Aseara pe la 21.30 se trageau artificii undeva spre Casa Scanteii, ultimii cumparatori plecau pe aleile intunecate cu 7,8 pungi p line, iar prin standuri expozantii cu fete lungi se priveau unii pe altii asteptand sa inchida. Cu siguranta de pe la 0ra 20 nu prea vandusera nimic…
Ma intreb ce se sarbatorea acolo in zona noua de birouri de la sosea, intr-o zi de miercuri… Pocnetele artificiilor m-au facut sa tresar de cateva ori, atent sa nu ma impiedic de ceva pe aleile foarte lejer luminate. Pe la 22.10 mi-am gasit usor masina, parcarea era aproape goala…
Asadar veniti seara la targ… E liniste si pace!
S-a gasit si o scuza: Finala Cupei! Poate ca cititorii nostri sunt microbisti… Vom vedea. Daca nu cumva vom gasi si pentru azi o alta scuza.
Va asteptam azi… Va rugam… Va imploram… Bagati-ne in seama! Pana la 22 !!!
05.23Zilele de luni…
Doar un gând…
Zilele de luni sunt întotdeauna pline de neprevăzut, de surprize, de nervi, de claxoane, de înjurături urlate sau doar mormăite, de probleme urgente fără rezolvare…
Şi până la urmă ziua trece, vine seara, te gândeşti la marţi… e parcă un pic mai bine, se apropie w-endul. Se mai calmează toată lumea… Sau se resemnează.
Atât.
05.22The Greek Connection
ONE
Stelian Munteanu is filled with a mysterious sensation of discontent. Like a child, grumpy for being sent to bed too early. Just when the movie had started. Third day of vacation. Away from Bucharest and colleagues, away from bosses and neighbors, and especially the crazy drivers. To the sea. In Greece.
So that’s where the problem is? Loneliness…ohhhh…
The sun had set, but the sky is still painted in pastels of blue and red. The air feels hot and still. A few white clouds hover over the horizon, creating the feeling of living inside a watercolor drawing. A passenger jet flying very high marks the sky with a straight pink line. Like in a kid’s drawing. Peace and serenity.
The room is equipped with air conditioning. But he hadn’t started it. Maybe tonight if it’s not cooling down. He steps out onto the balcony, with a white big fluffy towel draped around him after a long and relaxing shower. The main street, two floors down, had just started to come alive. Advertisements start to lit up one by one. Seen from above, the resort harbors a welcoming and civilized style. No screaming, no drunks. And despite the fact that you can hear many east European languages, even more Romanian every day, the place keeps its feeling of decency and clean. No manele and swearing yet.
Sadness is overpowering him.
“Too many years without a decent vacation, stress, exhaustion, the divorce…”
It should be really stupid to find yourself talking to the wind while leaning against the railing of the Elektra Beach Hotel in Paralia, on a beautiful evening of early September. And that’s Stelian Munteanu’s exact conclusion when the lights go out.
Shit, that’s the last thing I need! It’s not enough that I’m dateless, now I’ll starve to death. What a great vacation.
He steps back into the room to look for a flashlight, or some matches. Whatever for? It’s not like I’m going to light candles… To celebrate loneliness and imposed fasting. He remembers the flashlight in his suitcase. You never know when you need them…the flashlight, a penknife, some string, a silly habit from when I was young…
Suddenly, he looks into the darkness outside. In the building from across the street, a chic four stories high hotel nicely painted in the traditional white and blue, but for some reason locked up and empty, he can see rays of light moving from window to window of the first floor. He’s trying to look closer.
Professional obsession!
It takes him a while to find the flashlight in his suitcase, and by the time he does, the lights start flickering and the electricity comes back to life in the general enthusiasm. The powerful lamps out on the street blind him, the chaos strips away any hint of peacefulness.
He looks at his watch and decides it’s time to go out. He gets dressed in a pair of beige pants and a brown shirt. Shoes brown as well. He leaves his papers in the suitcase, removes a fifty bill from his wallet and sticks his room key in a pocket. He’s watching himself critically in a mirror.
Right before leaving his hotel room, he remembers the strange lights in the windows. He can’t see anything anymore, all looks well. Let the games to begin. Maybe I’ll be luckier tonight.
*
Galia Kalughina is bored to wait for her roommate anymore. It’s late and the tourists are already out for the evening promenade. Plus that she’s mad because of the blackout—she was in the shower and got stuck with the shampoo in her hair. She hit her head on the shower head, the soap fell in the bathtub and she stepped on it and slipped. Then she got out to look for a lighter and tripped, stopping with her nose in a mirror. There were a lot of unseen obstacles: an armchair, a suitcase… What a catastrophe!
When the lights turned back on, she was close to tears. Furious tears.
The room is a disaster. On both beds, hers and Tania’s, there are huge piles of brightly colored clothes. Tank-tops, skirts, trousers, sexy undergarments, shawls. A make-up case spilled all over the small desk. Body creams, shampoos, bottles with nail paint and perfumes… Like an army of cheerleaders getting ready for the debut of the season. Actually, the room is occupied by only two girls. There on vacation. Having fun.
That’s it, no more. I’ve waited enough. I’ll leave her the key at the reception and she’ll have to manage from there. At least she could have told me where she’s going and if I can make my own schedule.
She had her eyes on a Polish man, or maybe he was a Czech, she wasn’t too sure, who was a trusted customer of the Poseidon, a Greek Taverna close by specialized in sea food.
In the end, she’s certain that Tania had met again with that dreamy Romanian guy she was keeping as a secret. Her business, her life! She sighs and puts on a burgundy skirt and a pink tank-top with a generous cleavage, over a Triumph bra, for which she had paid more than half of the whole vacation. But it’s worth every penny; the effect is devastating. For the finishing touches, she puts on a set of jewelry composed of a Greek silver necklace, matching earrings and a thick ring with a beautiful amethyst stone. High heels shoes with white straps. A last touch-up of her make-up, a bit of hair spray and a touch of Lancôme Magie Noir, and she’s ready. To the dance floor!
Galia Kalughina wants to enjoy her vacation to the fullest. She knows she’s an irresistible woman.
She’s descending on the stairs from the third floor of the hotel and turns left towards the Taverna. She bumps into a man dressed all in brownie colors with a lost air on his face. Galia mumbles in Russian, the man apologizes in an unknown language. She forgets him in less than three seconds, thinking about the Polish man—or Czech, whatever the case might be—who’s her target tonight.
*
Iannis Theodopolos had just finished a long report and feels like his eyes will jump out of their sockets. They don’t show you these administrative things good only for bureaucrats in the movies. Cops don’t do anything else except arresting villains armed with machine-guns and seducing beautiful blondes accused of murder.
He stands, feeling his body numb and looks out the window of his first floor office. Lots of tourists are taking the city with assault. They look happy, maybe a bit too happy, except for a forty-something guy dressed in brownie clothes, who looks totally out of place as he walks half-hearted surrounded by colored balloons, souflaki to-go, exposing tank-tops and large sun hats…
He’s too tired, or he’s drunk… Or both… He’s erasing the weird guy from his mind right away.
The office is just an ordinary provincial police station. The only police station in Paralia. Furniture kind of old, made of plastic, but imitating massive wood, swivel chairs with broken handles, white computers with old type monitors, covered in yellow and green post-it notes. Files everywhere, the eternal stereotype of cops. Old pens, pencils, a very used agenda, open at the yesterday’s date. A tall glass sporting remnants of an old frappe. An almost new wallet filled with papers and money. A massive desk lamp with a blue lampshade adorned with an enormous chain filled with keys—a logical place in plain view. All looks normal, but somehow foggy.
I should go for a complete eye check-up. That’s a sign I’m getting old.
A busy day is over and he’s the only one left in the office. And the night shift. He knows he won’t get a vacation, not until the fall; all the seaside is filled with tourists and something bad could happen at any given moment. God forbid…
Iannis Theodopoulos sticks his pens, pencils and files inside the bag he collected from the floor, thinking of the warm food waiting for him at home. That’s another sign I’m getting old…instead of thinking about my wife, I’m thinking about the food.
With a bored sigh, he stands again just as the phone starts ringing. He looks at it with an perplexed expression and pretends he’s not hearing it. Is it a dream? A nightmare? What the hell they want at this hour? But the ringing keep going and it even sounds somehow louder. He sighs again, sits back down and drops the bag on the floor, then grabs the receiver.
“Hello?”
*
Mircea Popescu had just finished drinking his first glass of Metaxa seven stars. The caramel colored liquid fills his mouth and senses with its velvety aroma. He’s trying to lose weight by replacing the two daily beers with two daily glasses of cognac. Expensive choice, but Mircea Popescu can afford it.
The terrace he’s at belongs to a expensive restaurant. Very expensive. Stylish waiters, dressed to impress. White tablecloths, not made of cheap paper. Rattan furniture. Pleasant lights and lots of candles. Precious patrons. Expensive suits and ties. Golden watches, bracelets sprinkled with diamonds. Lots of money. Snobs. Idle chit-chat on low tones. A discreet background of music. The café-concert type, not Greek.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit much every night?!”
His wife, Nora Popescu, tactfully tries to maintain the interior balance of this hard to read deep down to the very core of his soul and mind man. Now, however, most of her diplomacy had gone out the window. She’s waiting for her brother and he’s late for dinner. And it’s not for the first time. She also knows that Mircea is hungry and going to explode soon. She’s almost fifteen years younger than he is and, sometimes, the difference between them shows.
“Leave me alone!”
She’d decided to accept his marriage proposal more due to economic reasons than real feelings. Ten years had passed and she’s wondering more and more if she didn’t do a big mistake. Still, I used to love him… What happened? His business? All those months when he’s gone? The mystery man invented by the press? Politics? Other women? She always gets to this question. She prefers to stop. She sighs.
“Dan never told you what time he’s coming, Mircea?”
“Since when is Dan telling me anything?! If he doesn’t show up in half an hour, I’ll go look for him.”
It’s not such a good night for the Popescu family. Nora glances around, trying to keep her patience. At the entrance, a lonely guy of middle age studies the prices from the menu. He’s dressed in plain brownie clothes. His eyes are glassy… Poor and lost in space.
The guy turns around and leaves. Nora is still looking for a handsome and happy man. Someone more upbeat and not as repugnant as all the men I meet. Where have all the courteous and good humored men disappeared?
*
Mișa Pușkin is smoking on the street while walking. He’s trying to keep his cigarette as closer to his body as he can so as not accidentally burn someone. He’s an ordinary guy, nothing to him attracts any kind of attention. His hair is almost completely white, his face not too wrinkled and freshly shaved. His deep blue eyes are sharp and alive. He wears white pants and a striped shirt in two shades of blue, blue sport shoes. He looks like a retired marine officer.
A man crosses paths with him, almost bumping into him, staring straight ahead. Mișa steps aside and looks over his shoulder, keeping the man in his line of sight. He memorizes his face and silhouette. Almost looked like a potential victim. You never know…
He’s just arrived and his intuition tells him that things will start to happen soon. Someone has to make the first move. All the players are already set. Who will act first? How and when? He misses the fight. His muscles are tense, as if waiting for something. But in the mean time, the evening stroll does him a lot of good, just like a fine cigarette, or a Greek coffee prepared in a kettle.
Mișa Pușkin doesn’t talk much, he doesn’t act much, but he always shows up at the right time. Just like the old saying: precisely and on time!
I should plan for a little trip to Salonic tomorrow. To visit the White Tower and look for some old contact.
*
Eleni Papastergiu feels tired. The movie she had just finished watching on TV was not so good. A romantic comedy set in a green and boehme London, staring Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts. He a librarian, she a famous actress. And of course, the eternal happy-end. The air is cool in her little apartment. And it’s dark. She had a difficult day today at the University. She kept courses all day long for the preparatory classes, and towards the evening she had a teacher’s briefing. Extremely boring for a hot mid-summer. Financially speaking, summer school was a good idea, but it certainly didn’t make any teacher happy.
We don’t even get any extra money for this.
She can see a corner of the illuminated harbor and a piece of the White Tower from her living room’s window. It’s passed mid-night and the night life is in full swing. She’s considering going out for a drink and maybe finding some friends at Maxi’s. But sleep sounds a lot better right now.
Eleni Papastergiu’s days are flowing with an almost precise routine. She’s a teacher living in a big university city. Alone, surrounded by her books and stones.
Another movie starts on the TV. Some cheesy romance set in Paris and sprinkled with images of the Eiffel Tower and the Place de la Concorde. She turning the TV off and tries to sleep. Ohhh, too many stereotypes… Love stories and famous European capitals. Where do I find a man like that? Paris, London? No more available men in Salonic?
*
Jacques Sardi is savoring his wine. Red, evidently. And dry. French.
From the last floor of the Arch from La Defense, he can see all the way to the Arch de Triumph in the Place Charles de Gaulle. With a bit of imagination, he can even get a glimpse of the Obelisque from the Place de la Concorde. The view is gorgeous and he’s savoring it every single time, happy like a kid that he was born in this wonderful city. Like a gift from God to make up for his unhappy childhood. I nearly forgot those years…
The little soiree is coming close to an end. The guests are a mixed crowd, but he’s managed to find a few interesting companions. Evidently, all women. Respectable ladies wearing enormous necklaces adorned with diamonds and safire. All apparently young and shy, but throwing provocative glances his way while shaking their long white gold and diamonds earrings. It seemed that everywhere he looked he could see only richness and expensive jewelry.
He sighs and glances at his image in the mirror. Not too bad at all. Black suit, white shirt with the last button left undone, straight posture, no belly, fair skin. Black hair and green eyes. Maybe he should start to consider a serious relationship. Well…isn’t it too early? There’s still time…
He’s trying to figure out a way home; if he should cut through the center all the way to the Rue Ranelagh, or follow a road on the outskirts. Paris is filled with tourists. Plus that it’s kind of hot for this period of the year. And he has a lot of work to do. Like usual. It’s been a long time since he’s been at his country side little villa; maybe next weekend.
He’s approaching the elevator that’s going to take him all the way down to the parking lot where he parked his quite used black 307. Too bad he’s not on duty. He could use the siren and flashing lights. He would make it home a lot faster. Before stepping into the elevator, he’s placing his glass on an empty tray and switches his cell phone from mute to normal.
Maybe someone calls, it’s still too early to go straight to bed…
05.20Editor la majorat…
Mâine, 21 mai 2011, e sărbătoare mare. Sfinţii Constantin şi Elena. Transmit tuturor gândurile mele bune… Dar pentru mine, ziua de mâine înseamnă 18 ani de Tritonic…
Majoratul meu ca editor…
N-aş zice că mă simt prea fericit sau prea mulţumit.
Sunt multe speranţe şi vise sfârâmate, lăsate prin urmă, prin tot felul de emailuri scârboase sau întâlniri inutile sau manuscrise ratate.
Ce ar trebui să simt şi să spun acum după 18 ani? Nu ştiu… Nu am regrete, dar, dacă ar fi să plec din nou la drum, cred că aş alege altul, poate foarte apropiat sau poate nu…
Dezamăgirile din ultimii doi ani sunt cele care mi-au clătinat încrederea în spiritul de competiţie, în solidaritatea, în încrederea reciprocă şi în simţul asociativ al breslei noastre. Poate am doar o evaluare greşită şi profund subiectivă, limitată doar la experinţa mea şi la multe poveşti auzite, care pot fi sau nu credibile, din tot felul de guri binevoitoare…
18 ani ca editor cred că e mult.
Aş vrea să iau o pauză. Şi să-mi clarific opţiunile…
Nu o voi putea face, pentru că tăvălugul nu poate fi oprit.
Aşadar, probabil că voi fi editor şi peste 2 ani şi peste 5…
Doar entuziasmul şi speranţa într-un public pasionat şi fidel se tot erodează. Până unde?
Să ne vedem în cărţi, doamnelor şi domnilor!
Les jeux sont f… ştiţi continuarea, nu-i aşa?