I see the publication as an act of renounce. Publishing is, briefly, giving up on improving a text. For my part I can say: all these notes are written on Saturday, or before: written during the week, while I try to sleep, then rewritten on Saturday and abandoned, obligatorily, on Sundays, when I schedule the publications. I always publish in dismay, determined to do better next week. And the same thing I say to the books: I have, after all, a volume of thirty short stories, which I cannot even look at and which I have not yet published for specific reasons. To me are dead lines, incorrigible, that will come out soon whether I agree with that or not. Poems finished, the same: I can not read them, disgusts me to have them in visual contact. And that is the only way I can work. If I could not forget the flaws of my works, ignore them, then I would certainly still be writing my first short story today.
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