Happy Life [Rebirth]

Although the newly arranged seats are in the first row, they are in the blind spot of the podium because they are by the window.The first class is the class of the head teacher of Class [-], who teaches Chinese.

In the morning reading, I first memorized the English words of the first year of high school for two units according to the habit. The head teacher came over and gave me a silent look, without saying anything.

My new deskmate is a very extroverted boy. As soon as their homeroom teacher walked over, he raised his head and expressed surprise: "I'll go, high school English books! I heard that you were going to skip a grade to take the senior high school entrance examination this year." , is this true?"

I glanced at him, then glanced at the Chinese textbook he had erected: "Encourage you."

The boy smiled crookedly, with a crooked smile: "Hey, let's discuss something, new tablemate, how about helping each other with homework and exams in the future? Brother won't let you suffer, in the future Anyone in the class who dares to bully you, you can find me!"

I looked at him, then at the head teacher who came over quietly, and first calmly told this little carrot: "Who is your brother?"

The carrot opened its mouth, I didn't wait for him to continue, and told him calmly: "The teacher is here."

My male deskmate immediately sat up straight in the blink of an eye, like a natural reflex, and nailed it straight to the textbook. He looked like he was really studying hard. look like.

"help each other?"

But it's a pity that the head teacher of Class [-] has obviously heard what he said before. I turned my head and watched the whole process. The head teacher grabbed the ear of the deskmate and lifted him up.

The head teacher kept repeating: "Help each other? What can you help others? You still help each other? Come and help each other with me, okay?"

"Don't, don't, don't—the ears are going to fall off! Teacher, please let go!"

Then I have no deskmate.

Before the morning reading was over, the head teacher ordered my deskmate to move the desk to the side of the podium, and that would be his exclusive seat from now on.

As for me, I was also made quite conspicuous. Except for the person on the podium, I was the only one left at this table. There was no other table next to it, and it was still in the first row.

The head teacher came to see me after finishing the boy. I had already changed my language books. He smiled. Halfway through the smile, he probably froze after seeing the cover of the textbook clearly, and then left silently again.

After the morning reading in the first class was over, I also finished my study this morning, put away my Chinese textbook for the second year of high school, took out my notebook and started writing novels.

I also thought about it, although I loved reading in my previous life, I never had any experience in writing, and the work I was doing was even more incompatible with writing.

But other than that, I really can't think of what else I can do. I am only 11 years old, and my development is not advanced. I have to go to class five days a week, and what else can I do as a child for the remaining two days?

After much deliberation, the only way to earn royalties is to write novels and submit manuscripts.

I am not good at this, but I am good at learning and imitating. I know that some authors are born with natural talents during the process of writing novels, and the first book is full of aura.

And I just want to improve my life, it’s very inferior in terms of conception, and I really started to write, although I wrote very fast, but I stopped to read, and now I’m writing "A Letter to Angel", Compared with the previous Devil's School Grass—it's not as good as this little idiot's article.

I looked at the notebook, and the overall tone of this article was really unfriendly.

I wrote about the heroine. The heroine was neither kind nor strong. The terminal illness did not bring her the brilliance of humanity, but only brought her endless fear and resentment. A little monster controlled by two kinds of emotions, sad spring and autumn.

In the past half of the class, I wrote a page and a half, and the page and a half were filled with negative emotions in this gray tone.

I wrote it here and went back to read it, and I felt bored while reading it. The writing is really bad, but it is my ability to make myself feel bad when I read it.

Dejectedly, I pressed my forehead on the desk. The desk surface was clean and cold, and my mind was calmed down by the ice. At this moment, I felt the back of my head being covered and touched by a big hand.

I raised my head, and the head teacher was looking down at me with a book in his hand. I heard the buzzing sound of endorsements all around me. I didn’t know when the head teacher had stopped the lecture to let me do the endorsement.

I looked at my desk again. There were high school English textbooks and Chinese textbooks in the upper left corner. Facing me was a novel filled with dense black manuscripts. In short, there were no textbooks for this class.

Immediately apologized reflexively: "I'm sorry, teacher."

The teacher in charge didn't show any expression. He didn't answer me. He picked up the notebook and looked at it. He glanced at it for four or five times. Big, but enough for me to hear.

"Yang Lu, I know your level of study."

The teacher in charge paused for a moment, showing a smile: "Letting you follow the first grade of junior high school will delay you instead. Just do whatever you want in class, as long as you don't disturb the class."

I heard him say this, watched him smile and then put it away. The head teacher of the previous class also said the same thing to me, but the difference was the tone.

The teacher's tone was completely helpless and a little impatient, and the attitude he adopted was that I was not his student.

I don't want to judge the teacher's performance, but just look at the new class teacher.

The teacher also said: "I will also explain to the teachers of other classes, what do you want to do-although you are young, the teacher believes that you know it well, in short, as long as you don't interfere with the class, you can do it according to your own ideas. It's your own business."

After the class teacher finished speaking, he stood up and wanted to leave. I said, "Teacher, thank you."

He took two steps. I thought the teacher in charge didn't hear it. I lowered my head and was about to revise the manuscript, only to hear him say in a brisk tone, "Student Yang Lu, you're welcome."

----

The novel "A Letter to Angel" is the second novel I officially started to write. At the beginning, I just wrote as miserable as I wanted, and watched how the beauty came from how the words and sentences were put together and piled up.

But one is that there is really not much ink in the stomach, and the other is that after all, novices deviate from the style of writing when writing, so that they have to take out "Firefly" every few paragraphs in the five classes in the morning and open it. Look at the style of the novels you want to refer to.

I kept reading and comparing with what I wrote, and finally felt dizzy and nauseous. I felt that what I wrote was like a pile of rubbish, and I really didn’t have the talent for writing.

When I read novels, two of my favorites are a short story of more than 8000 words and a long serialized novel. Both of them have a common feature.

Every character portrayed by the author is not only the protagonist, but even the supporting roles are written very three-dimensionally. With a few strokes or a trivial matter, it seems that the character image of the character is already in front of his eyes.

I think this should be a necessary condition for a qualified novel.

Look at what I wrote again, not to mention the novel I submitted in the last article, but this "To Angel", the perspective can never escape the heroine Shixi.

Even the beginning of writing more than 2000 words, the perspective of the heroine is not, but it is all rambling and neurotic in Shixi's tone, saying how resentful and lonely she is.

Such a large number of inner monologues moaning/groaning without illness, two thousand words are just the beginning.

I used to think that many of the novels in "Firefly" and "Flower Season and Rainy Season" magazines were literary and hypocritical. Now that I read this imitation of others, I found that its hypocrisy and ability to moan without illness can be described as a higher level.

What's even more powerless is that the heroine I wrote can see the shadow of Gu Tingsheng in his previous life, and the heroine Shixi I wrote is probably my shadow.

What is a good writer like?

I don't know, but I don't think I should reflect myself in it, otherwise it would be too sad.

----

This manuscript was barely finished after school at 05:30 in the afternoon. I didn’t get rid of the random thoughts at the beginning—the heroine’s stream-of-consciousness-like hysteria and crazy chatter. It should be so.

This text should be like this, even if the beginning of this is a failure, that failure is destined to be part of this article.

When the get out of class bell rang, write down the last word and write the date at 2001:4 on April 25, 17.Putting the notebook into the schoolbag, the class teacher at the podium had already put away the lesson plans and went out, and the boys below waited for the class teacher to leave the classroom, and rushed out with their schoolbags quacking and quacking.

I carried my schoolbag and went up to the first floor to find Wanwan. Before I reached the door of her classroom, I saw Wanwan coming out with her schoolbag and one of their homeroom teachers.

When she saw me, she waved to me. I walked over, and she said, "Xiaolu, I'm going to the teacher's office. Teacher Zhao wants to guide me in composition. You should go home first."

I listened, and just as I was about to say yes to her, she suddenly pointed at the second and sixth grades across the street: "Xiaolu, that boy is Gu Tingsheng, why are you lying to me? You lied to me that he is from the high school."

When I turned my head and looked at the door number of Class [-] and [-], Xia Wanwan wanted to ask again, the Chinese teacher in her homeroom walked a few steps and saw that the student was lost, and turned around and called her: "Xia Wanwan, why are you not moving?" ? Didn’t you want me to guide you in writing?”

Xia Wanwan quickly walked towards the teacher, and told me by the way: "You go home quickly—you can explain to me when I get home."

I think with Xia Wanwan's character, I probably forgot about it when I got home. I waited for her to go downstairs, saw the steps on the stairs paused, and turned a corner and walked towards the sixth grade of junior high school.

When I walked to the gate of Class Six, I met a few girls who were with me. I stood in front of these two girls and asked them, "Is Gu Tingsheng here?"

The chattering girls stopped in unison, and I saw them look at each other with subtle complexions. After a few seconds, a girl lowered her head and asked me: "Who are you? What are you?" What do you want Gu Tingsheng to do?"

I looked at her face and noticed the weirdness in it. I usually go to which class to find someone, and report the name. The students in this class will usually enter the class and call this person. How can any student's first reaction be to ask you to find someone? What is he doing and asking who you are.

"What happened to Gu Tingsheng?"

I asked directly, and the girl's face changed. I thought something happened to Gu Ting, and another girl said to me: "Little brother, don't look so bad, you look so scary. Where is it uncomfortable?"

It was only then that I realized that my complexion was bad. I tried to slow down my expression, and my tone was very polite: "I belong to Gu Tingsheng...brother, is Gu Tingsheng in the class?"

"Not here." The girl shook her head, then she told me after a pause, "You go to the small playground at the back, the small playground that has been going to be renovated but has been suspended... go and have a look."

As soon as I heard it, I subconsciously felt that something was wrong, and hurriedly accompanied the girl behind me to complain, "It's not good for you to let him go", said "Thank you", and ran towards the small playground .