When I was young, because of the influence of my grandfather. Because he has a lot of books at home. At that time, there were few TV dramas, and computers had not yet spread to ordinary families.
There are very few things that can be used for fun and entertainment.
In desperation, I can only read the novels and magazines my grandfather ordered.
This is the enlightenment of my logical thinking.
Having read a little more books than my peers, I feel complacent and wish I could trample the world under my feet.
In the fifth grade, I tried to write a novel.
The sentence is blocked, and the nonsense is endless. Criticized by my mother as the most rubbish novel.
Even being insulted like this did not dampen my pursuit of writing.
In the first year of junior high school, I continued to write novels. Write in class, write in get out of class.
Once was caught by the biology teacher.
He asked, what are you doing.
"Write a novel." I said.
I saw a look of contempt on his face.
Fortunately, my skin is thick enough. No matter how you are hit by others, you still can't quench your enthusiasm for writing.
Writing needs inspiration.
Inspiration comes from the perception of life.
And every day is like a virtual shell that has been hollowed out of the soul. Try to find that part that fills the void in your heart.
I split my mind into countless fragments, interlaced with light and shadow, love and hatred.
Some things that I have never experienced, that I feel beautiful, and that are extremely precious will become the source of my creation.
? When I have anxiety and insomnia, it will be accompanied by uncontrollable headaches, like tearing my body in half
When I can't write, such days are happening every day.
Lying on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. There is no pattern on it, just monotonous colors.
The brain keeps turning.
A word spread in the chest.
"What can I write about?"
Will listen to a lot of songs to stop the brain from thinking about it. It was unreasonable, an ill-conceived flash of inspiration.
What I want to write is to hide in my heart and eager to express but can't find moving words.
Immediately I fell into an annoyed and sad mood.
I dream every day. The people and things in the dream will be completely forgotten when you wake up.
And these dreams are all related to what you think during the day.
I want to walk quietly along a secluded street alone.
A city shrouded in darkness. No daytime hustle and bustle.
The lights in the distance, high-rise buildings cast a hazy artistic conception in my eyes.
I am afraid of the dark, but I am used to it.
Afraid of being alone, I am used to being alone.
Afraid of parting, but afraid of getting together.
Nostalgia is my common problem.
When I was young, my hobby was drawing. If the economic conditions at home can support me to choose what I like to do. Maybe I'll choose to paint.
When I was in elementary school, there was a classmate who was very good at drawing.
Even the teachers admire her. Then transferred to another school. I really want to know if she has become a painter now?
I don't know how long I can go on this road of writing.
When I really can't write a word one day, how sad will I face everything around me?
I have been taking a detour in writing.
Explore ways and techniques of writing on your own.
Read a lot of books to make up for the lack of knowledge.
Going deep into life brings emotional resonance.
When I can't write, it's like thousands of ants living in my body.
The more struggling, the more sad.
This allows me to settle myself faster.
Arranging gorgeous verses in a frantic mood. Capture the beauty of nature, humanity, and wisdom.