This post shows the various steps in developing a text from the first draft to the final version.
Since I don’t have a publisher, so far, it only represents my work and that of one of my good friends who graciously proofread it.
This is the first draft of the text. The raw elements put down straight from your mind, imperfect.
The septuagenarian man slowly climbed up the stairs, helping himself by holding the wooden ramp. He was feeling the toll of old age tonight, breathing slowly and his sciatica torturing his right hip. Wet weather soon to come, he thought. Once on the landing, he headed straight to his office before seating in front of his writing desk cluttered with notes and documents. On his left, there was a bookshelf cramped with books on mythology, witchcraft, religion, and history. While he also had a large collection of e-books, quickly accessible on his connected tablet, he was still attached to the emotional sensation of physically holding a book, to the sound of turning pages, and to the peculiar smell of printed paper. There were its most cherished ones, the ones he could not depart from. The sight of them was, somehow, reassuring, comforting, a material evidence of knowledge. As his seat was automatically adjusting, an excruciating sharp electrical shock radiated along his right leg. He groaned in pain. I need to call that chiropractor tomorrow.
“Are you upstairs?”, asked a voice coming from the ground floor.
“Yes, I’m in my office. I’m about to write”, he answered.
“Okay. Don’t stay up too late, you know you need your fair amount of sleep to stay alert”.
“I won’t, especially if you bring me one of your soothing teas I like so much”, he replied maliciously.
“I’m about to watch a movie. I’ll bring you one afterwards before we go to bed. I leave you in peace”.
“Thank you!”
He turned back to his desk when, unexpectedly, an envelope dropped on the floor, scattering its content. They were old pictures of a group of young people in their twenties, posing in front of different monuments and landscapes, or displaying different postures. Happy times, how young we were, full of hope like every single young generation. He looked across the window on his right. It was the beginning of June and, while it was past nine at night, the day was still bright. He could see Edinburgh Castle burning in the sunset, and Arthur’s Seat glowing on the right. It’s been fifty years since I moved here, and it still seems like yesterday. Despite everything, it was one of the best moves I made in my life. Existence has treated me well, somehow. He raised from his chair and bent to the floor to clean up the pictures mess. A particular one grabbed his attention. It showed six young adults who seemed to be smiling at him, all wearing a paper crown and raising a glass. He looked at the back of the photograph. New Year 2025 was elegantly written on the right corner. We were so young, so ingenuous, unaware of what was to come, what we were to become. He laughed quietly. Such a long time ago. Two of you are gone now, but you still live in my memories. My memories…
He took the circlet lying on the desk and put it on his head. As soon as it connected with his brain-chip interface, his computer turned on and open his writing program. Such a clever piece of technology, it never stops to amaze me, even thirty years on. The computer beeped, and his thoughts instantly appeared on the screen. Damn! I forgot again. Cancel last action, pause writing. The screen page went blank, while he temporarily disconnected the link. He looked at the picture again. My dear friends, I have neglected you for too long. Yes, too long have I waited to start this task, to preserve our legacy. The time has come to recount the peculiar events which have shaken our comfort zone and our certitudes. To unveil the existence of the hidden forces which surround us, and of the havoc they can generate when one tries to manipulate them carelessly. We started the watch. Others are now following in our path, continuing our work. May my words, and our adventures, inspire and guide them. These are my memories; this is our story…
This is the revised text from the draft above. It is more fluid, language has been corrected and improved. It now just needs proofreading.
Summer 2070
The septuagenarian man slowly climbed up the stairs, helping himself by holding the wooden ramp. Tonight, he was feeling the toll of the long-accumulated years, breathing slowly, and his sciatica torturing his right hip. Wet weather on its way, he thought. Once on the landing, he headed straight to his office before seating in front of his writing desk cluttered with notes and documents. On his left, there was a bookshelf cramped with books on mythology, witchcraft, religion, and history. While he could also quickly access a large collection of e-books on his tablet reader, he was still emotionally attached to the vibes of holding a proper book, the sound of turning pages, and the distinctive smell of printed paper. These were its most cherished ones, the ones he could not depart from. Looking at them was, somehow, reassuring and comforting, like the concrete evidence of knowledge. While his seat was automatically adjusting, an excruciating sharp electrical shock radiated along his right leg. He groaned in pain. I need to call that chiropractor tomorrow.
“Are you upstairs?”, asked a voice coming from the ground floor.
“Yes, I’m in my office. I’m about to write actually”, he answered.
“Okay. Don’t stay up too late. You know how important a fair amount of sleep is for you to stay alert”.
“Don’t worry, I won’t. Especially if you bring me one of your delicious soothing teas”, he replied maliciously.
“I’m about to watch a movie. I’ll bring you one afterwards, before we head to bed. All right, I leave you in peace”.
“Thank you!”
He moved back to his desk when, unexpectedly, an envelope dropped on the floor, scattering over its content. They were old pictures showing a group of young people in their twenties, posing in front of different monuments and landscapes, or in different, sometimes crazy, postures. Happy times, how young we were, full of hope like every single young generation. He looked out the window on his right. It was the beginning of June and, while it was already past nine at night, the day was still bright. Up in the horizon, was standing Edinburgh Castle, burning in the sunset, and, glowing on the right, Arthur’s Seat. Fifty years since I moved here, and it still seems like yesterday. It was definitely one of the best decisions I made in my life. Existence has treated me well. I have been mostly lucky. He bent to the floor to clean up the mess he had done. Among the pack, a particular photograph grabbed his attention. It was showing six young adults who seemed to be smiling at him, all in fancy clothes, and raising a glass to the camera. He looked at the back of the photograph. New Year’s Eve 2024 was elegantly written on the right corner. Look at us, so innocent, so unaware of what was to come, what we were to become. He laughed inside. Such a long time ago. Two of you are already gone, but you still live in my memories. My memories…
He took the thin circlet lying on the desk, and put it on his head. As soon as it connected with his brain-chip interface, his computer turned on and open his writing program. What a clever piece of technology! It never stops to amaze me, even thirty years on. So much easier than typing on a keyboard. The interface beeped, and his last thoughts instantly appeared on the screen. Oops! I forgot, once again. Computer, cancel last action, pause writing. The screen page went blank, while he temporarily interrupted the link. He looked at the picture again. My dear friends, I have neglected you for too long. Yes, too long have I waited to start this task, to preserve our legacy. The time has come to recount the peculiar events which have shaken up our comfort zone and our certitudes. To unveil the existence of the hidden forces which surround us, and of the havoc they can generate when one tries to manipulate them irresponsibly. We started the watch. Others are now following in our path, continuing our work. May my words, and our adventures, inspire and guide them now, and in the future. Here are my memories; this is our story…
And here is the final version, proofread and revised.
Summer 2070
The septuagenarian man slowly climbed the stairs, aiding himself by holding the wooden ramp. Tonight, he felt the toll of long accumulated years, breathing slowly, and his sciatic tormenting his right hip. Damp weather is on its way, he thought. Once on the landing, he walked straight to his desk before sitting at his desk cluttered with notes and paperwork. To his left was a bookshelf filled with books about mythology, witchcraft, religion, and history. Though he could quickly access an extensive collection of e-books on his tablet reader, he was still emotionally attached to the feeling of holding a proper book and the sound of revolving pages and the distinctive smell of printed paper. These were his dearest, those from which he could not depart. Looking at them was, to some extent, reassuring and comforting, as concrete evidence of knowledge. While his seat adjusted automatically, a sharp and excruciating electric shock radiated along his right leg. He groaned in pain. I need to call that chiropractor tomorrow.
“Are you upstairs?” asked a voice from the ground floor.
“Yes, I’m in my office. I’m about to write, actually,” he answered.
“Okay. Don’t stay up too late. You know how important getting enough sleep is for you.”
“Don’t worry; I won’t. Especially if you bring me one of your lovely soothing teas,” he replied maliciously.
“I’m going to watch a movie. I’ll bring you one before bedtime. All right, I leave you in peace.”
“Thank you!”
The aged man returned to his desk when, unexpectedly, an envelope fell to the ground, scattering its contents. They were old pictures showing a group of young people in their twenties, posing in front of different monuments and landscapes or in different postures, sometimes crazy. Happy times. How young we were, full of hope like every other young generation. He looked through the window to his right. It was the beginning of June and while it was already past nine in the evening, the day was still bright. Up on the horizon stood Edinburgh Castle, burning in the sunset, and, glowing on the right, Arthur’s Seat. It’s been fifty years since I moved here, and it still feels like yesterday. That was undoubtedly one of the best decisions in my life. Existence did me good. I have been mostly lucky. He leaned over the floor to clean up the mess he had caused. Among the jumble, one specific photograph grabbed his attention. It showed six young adults who appeared to smile at him, all wearing fancy clothes and raising a glass to the camera. He checked the back of the photograph showing ‘New Year’s Eve 2024’, elegantly written in the right corner. Look at us, so innocent, so ignorant about what was coming, what we would become. He smiled inside. Such a long time ago. Two of you are already gone, but you’re still alive in my memories. My memories…
He picked up the thin circlet lying on the desk and placed it on his head. As soon as it connected to his brain-chip interface, his computer switched on and opened his handwriting program. What a smart piece of technology! It never ceases to amaze me, even thirty years later. So much easier than typing on a keyboard. The interface beeped, and his last thoughts instantly appeared on the screen. Oops! I forgot once again. Computer, cancel last action, pause writing. The screen page went blank while he temporarily interrupted the link. He took another look at the picture. My dear friends, I have neglected you long enough. Yes, too long have I waited to start this task, to preserve our legacy. The time has come to recount the peculiar events that have shaken our comfort zone and certainties. To unveil the existence of the hidden forces that surround us, and the havoc they can generate when we try to manipulate them irresponsibly. We started the watch. Others now follow in our footsteps and continue our work. May my words and our adventures inspire and guide them today and tomorrow. Here are my memories; this is our story…
EN 
FR