Volume 10, Number 3, March 2026
Dear Friend,
I wrote this years ago about another book, but it applies to my new book, too. It’s about writing and publishing….
In a world where more and more means less and less, in writing, it’s still the meaning that counts. Good writing doesn’t just appear, though it often appears that way. It’s like sports, actually. The great players make everything look effortless, seamless, easy, as if the outcome was inevitable and never in doubt. Their greatness comes from natural ability, to be sure, but ability honed by hours and hours and years and years of practice, work, and discipline. Writing, like sports, is process, and if you’re lucky, because luck is involved, too, a product appears: a winning team, a great season, a beautiful poem, a story that grabs you. The “magic” of good writing is magic indeed, but also the result of many decisions, revisions, and clear intent.
And then there is publishing, the bane and prize of all writers. The finished work, chiseled from the heart, is the beginning of the publishing process, not the end. Writing a poem or a story without publishing is like composing a song and not singing it. It has nothing to do with the quality of the work or the talent of the author—there are a gazillion wonderful unpublished works in the world. It has to do with process.
Writing is communication, and unless a work is meant to be private, its intention is to be public. Publishing—making it public, sharing with the larger world, communicating, that’s what writing is for. And with I’ll Never Be French (no matter what I do); (not quite) Mastering the Art of French Living; and I Am Finally, Finally French, My Accidental Life in Brittany we have both: product and process complete—but not without troubles, dismay, and difficulties….
Someday, I’ll tell you my publishing history—a combination horror story, mystery, and fairy tale—and how each book found its home. Meanwhile, here’s the rest of the story from MF who told about looking for a van in the February newsletter. She found one that met all the French legal conditions (Remember them?) Now, she needs to get the money to pay the owner. Here, in her Google translated (by me) and slightly edited (by me) words, is the rest of her story….
The Van
The van has been found. I’ll have to act fast to release the funds, otherwise this gem will disappear, but there’s no bank in the village. To simplify things (for the bank, not the customers,) it’s been relocated ten kilometers away. To complicate matters even further, the advisor has been relocated thirty kilometers away, and, to top it all off, he’s currently on vacation. I’ll have to beg to get an appointment with his colleague….
I’m in a big city. An eight-day wait is the standard time, take it or leave it, to get the money. The word “urgent” clearly doesn’t mean the same to everyone. I have to show my ID card, proof of address, email address, date of birth (the same one listed on my ID, of course—but you never know!), phone number—both landline and mobile. Am I still retired? Still married? The woman asks a lot of questions—though she did forget to ask for my bust measurement and my weight. All of the information (except my bust measurement and weight) is already in my file. She already knows down to the very last cent exactly what I spend and what I spend it on. But she checks anyway; that’s her job…. “So,” she asks, “what do you want this money for?”
“Am I really required to answer that?”
“Yes, you understand, we’re trying to verify where the funds are going.”
“I want to buy a van.”
“What year, mileage, price? From a private seller or a professional dealer?”
At this point, I feel my blood pressure rising. I tell her so.
She smiles—which makes it worse!—and says, “It will take a month to release the funds for your money.”
My van is going to be gone, no doubt about it. “Could you give me a bridging loan?” I ask, “Just until the money clears?”
The woman pulls out a file as thick as a phone book, leafs through it, taps the table with the tip of her pen... Looks at her computer screen... and says, “No. Your pension is too low for you to be able to repay it.”
I start seeing red. Who knows better than she that I am more than solvent, as all my account details are right there in front of her eyes?
“You understand, we can’t give you a loan for a month. I need your husband’s guarantee.”
“Are you aware of what you just said? I have more than enough money in my account. I’m solvent, but because I have a ‘woman’s pension,’ you want my husband to act as my guarantor? I’ve never experienced such humiliation… Close out my entire savings account! It will take as long as it takes, but there’s absolutely no way I’m going to ask my husband to be my guarantor. This is utter madness.”
“Fine,” she says. “I’ll see what I can do. The bank was hacked today, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to complete the transaction. You might have to come back.”
I’ve already driven 80 km, now another 60. 140 km just to access this money—and another delay. My blood pressure is through the roof. I’m starting to boil. I realize my eyes are overflowing with information that propriety dictates I keep to myself. I feel compelled to tell her I’m not angry with her, but with her employer. I can see she has trouble believing me when I tell her I’m usually quite pleasant and cheerful, but she accepts my half-hearted apology nonetheless, and tells me, “The bank check will be issued in two days—once the funds are finally released.”
I go home, bracing myself for a long wait. I inform the seller, also informing him the bank’s transfer limit means I can’t send him more than 5,000 euros at a time.
Imagine my surprise when the next day I discover the money has been transferred overnight. A miracle!
I drive to my local branch, 10 km away, and wait in the rain because since they installed the new anti-theft security system, they only allow two people inside at a time.
Hallelujah! I’m finally in the bank and make my request. “I’d like a cashier’s check for X amount.”
“Certainly. And what is this for?”
It’s impossible! Here we go again! “To buy a van!”
“Do you have the order form?”
“No, I’m buying it from a private seller.”
“I’ll have to justify the use of this money to my supervisor, you understand?”
Less and less….
And Here is MF’s summary about life in France:
I must admit that I am tenacious when facing systemic stupidity, but one is forced to conclude that everything seems designed to destabilize the user. It’s a new phenomenon; indeed, given the successive complaints from exasperated people, I wouldn’t be surprised if the end result were the privatization of all public services. At the telephone company, it is extremely difficult to actually reach “the” competent person. A veritable bureaucratic labyrinth has been constructed. The people working there don’t have the answers to the questions asked, and—depending on who you speak to—the responses vary wildly. Those without a strong educational background or formal schooling are simply left by the wayside. Getting my retirement file processed was an absolute nightmare. Yet the government seems quite pleased with its “simplifications”….
And here’s what my friend Peggy said to me thirty years ago about France: “Everything goes wrong and turns out right.”
MF got her van.
NEWS ABOUT I AM FINALLY, FINALLY FRENCH
On March 17, I had a lively and funny conversation with Bill Britton, President of the Tri-Valley (Division 85) California Retired Teachers Association, in Livermore. Here are a couple of pictures. Note: I’m available (by Zoom or in person, if possible) for book clubs, classrooms, birthdays, bar mitzvahs, baptisms, divorces (if helpful)….whatever…. Drop me a line.
Connexion, Europe’s largest circulation English language magazine about life in France, is going to review I Am Finally, Finally French, My Accidental Life in Brittany in May. I’ll post the review when it’s written.
UPCOMING EVENTS
May 30: Le Festival du Livre de Nice, Meet the Author, in Nice, France. I’ll post the program in the next newsletter.
June 11-14: Könyvhét, Book Week, in Budapest, Hungary. DETAILS TO COME.
If you haven’t reviewed I Am Finally, Finally on Amazon or Goodreads, please, please do. Every review counts, encouraging new sales and readers and sounder sleep for me, not the readers…. Merci, mercy beaucoup.
Also, if you received this message directly from me, you’re already signed up to my Substack. If someone forwarded it to you or you’re not sure, sign up below:
More content, including previous newsletters, is available:
Website: www.markgreenside.com
Amazon author page: amazon.com/author/markgreenside
Facebook author page: www.facebook.com/mark.greenside
You can purchase I’m Finally, Finally French at any brick-and-mortar bookstore, or click on any of the following retailers:
