I haven't been so excited for a long time. As I write this, it's 1:30 in the morning.
It was quiet all around.
I was so excited I couldn't sleep.
Two years ago, I came to Wuxi from Shanghai, and I have no contact with the past. For two full years, I have not posted on Moments, nor liked anything from them.
They all thought I had disappeared.
Then, slowly they forgot about my existence.
Time is the most ruthless thing. It can consume any affection, no matter how precious it was once thought.
? When I was lost in fame and wealth for a long time and still hadn't gained anything, I thought of them at my saddest and most painful moment, and I hoped to get their encouragement and support.
I can't tell them that in a new environment, I have no friends. Loneliness can kill me sometimes. But I still live with a smile.
I watched Yu Hua's (Alive), Shi Tiesheng's (I and the Temple of Earth), and Chunshang Cunshu's (Norwegian Forest) in a week.
A series of literary works fill my spare time.
I posted my work to Moments. With what kind of uneasy mood? Do they remember me?
When I sent it for the first time, no one liked it.
I am disheartened.
The second time, also not.
For the third time, it was as if the entire deep forest had awakened. My friends, they finally saw my existence.
"You wrote it, right? It's your style at first glance."
"How are you doing?"
"Well written, I give you a thumbs up."
The concern across the screen almost brought tears to my eyes.
It turns out that I have always been there, and I have never gone far.
So the whole day, I fell into deep nostalgia. This feeling lasted for a long, long time.
Should you be proud and indulgent? Being boasted and praised by others is a bit flattering. In fact, it is nothing more than that.
All processes are cheap if they don't work out.
Once successful, the process will give meaning to hardship.
I walk in the text and try different styles. Don't want to stick to the subject matter.
In the past, I could only write prose, which made me feel goosebumps. In fact, I have a strong romanticism in my bones.
Therefore, I am destined to write novels with a bias towards beautiful pictures.
I worked hard for two years and thought about giving up countless times. But I know that if I don't keep at it, I really will have nothing. I know nothing but love fantasy. Only by giving full play to one's strengths and carrying them forward can life be meaningful.
I like writing more and more.
Writing makes me more confident. I hid in the darkness of no one, watching other people's lives.
Why do I miss Shanghai more and more? The people there, everything there. Every street I walk, every person I meet.
Because there, no one will laugh at my loneliness and my persistence.
I entered a forum, where there are people who are climbing the bottom of the text like me.
We discussed literature with each other, and seemed to find some resonance.
Yes, I broke away from the original self-enclosure and entered a wider space. Like a man's favorite drink, I found my pleasure.
At the same time, in Jinjiang Literature City, the ashes of novels (such as wishful thinking and soft spot that I have given up on not writing) finally someone left a message wanting to see the ending.
Yes, I have never been alone. There are always people who care about my progress where I can't see it, so that I have the courage and responsibility to go forward step by step.
I have insomnia.
Because the sleeping friendship was finally awakened.
Because someone understands the hardships in my words.
Every drop of tear that I shed has traces of gratitude.
The indifference I brood on is all wishful thinking on my part.
There is still a long way to go.
Cherish what you have at the moment.
Well, stop showing off how powerful you are. This kind of behavior is always a bit self-deceiving. Keep your eyes open and run harder
Come on, ordinary us! (Remember the site URL: www.hlnovel.com