Genius writer

Ren Mingqing sat absentmindedly for a while, Zhuang Mo took his arm: "Come on, let's talk."

The two went upstairs.Zhuang Mo wanted to have a good chat with him, but Ren Mingqing was not interested.He excused that he was tired all day and had a headache. Zhuang Mo thought that he had stayed up late last night, prepared a medicinal bath for him, and shamelessly threw Tan Si's book into the trash can.He waited for three or ten minutes, and there was no movement in the bathroom.He finally couldn't wait any longer and knocked on the bathroom door.

Ren Mingqing hugged her knees in the bathtub and meditated.

"What are you thinking?" Zhuang Mo sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

Ren Mingqing said in a daze, "Have you ever thought that I might not be able to write about Tan Si in my whole life?"

Zhuang Mo poured the shampoo into the palm of his hand, and gently rubbed Ren Mingqing's head: "When I first met Tan Si, Tan Si also asked me such a question."

Ren Mingqing listened attentively.

"He said that he would not be able to write Xuan Yuan in his whole life."

Ren Mingqing was still frowning.He didn't feel that he and Tan Si had gotten a little closer just because they had encountered the same troubles.After all, Tan Si did it later, but he didn't know if he could surpass the Great God like Tan Si did.

"Today's draft comparison is not fair. You have already drawn up a detailed outline, your draft is solid, the plot is full, and there is not much room for self-expression. You must be good at detail description, atmosphere rendering, including psychological description. Not as good as Tan Si who was just struck by lightning."

Ren Mingqing looked at him in surprise.

"Yes, he was struck by lightning. He was lucky today and was struck by inspiration. This may be because you were by his side and he had a sense of crisis. During the five years he worked with me, he There has never been a day when the number of code words reached 7000. He is afraid of you."

"It's mainly inspiration." Ren Mingqing returned to the topic.

"Anyone has inspiration. Every writer, more or less, even not a writer, will think of one or two good stories and ideas in a long life. Inspired works should be compared with inspired works to reflect How much difference is there between the talents of the two authors. Do you really think you don’t have aura? The New Tenant, which was released within three days of your night shift, received rave reviews, didn’t you have aura at that time?”

Thinking of "The New Tenant", Ren Mingqing hugged her knees and showed a sad expression: "I had it at that time, but I don't have it now..."

Zhuang Mo laughed, and lightly stroked the tips of his ears: "Why are there no more?"

"I've written too much, and it's exhausting... This time I'm writing a biography of characters, and I've compiled many stories, not with inspiration..." Ren Mingqing got into the horns, and the more he thought about it, the sadder he felt, and he felt that he was ingenious. Extremely.

Zhuang Mo didn't take it seriously: "That's natural. 30 words, limited time, how do you ensure that every story is inspired and natural? Why does Tan Si's book look so spiritual? He doesn't write at all without inspiration. He also Waiting for the muse just like you, but once he loses his inspiration, he can't do it. You can still write, and your writing is still good-looking, this is the difference between you. If you don't believe me, go and see the end of "The Paradise" , you can feel the pain that you can't make up and you can't convince yourself from between the lines of his words."

Zhuang Mo picked up the finale of "The Paradise" from the trash can, and stuffed it into Ren Mingqing's hands.

Ren Mingqing finally stretched out his hand slowly, and silently caught it.

"I value you not only because you are very talented. There are a sea of ​​talented writers, but they are not as good as you. You have a persistent pursuit of your works. In order to present better quality articles, you can sit alone Change there ten times and twenty times, this is where you are more valuable than them, believe in yourself."

Ren Mingqing couldn't believe it anymore: "Jia Dao has been chanting for 20 years, but it's not as good as Li Bai's melody..." He couldn't help crying silently when he thought of this allusion.

"Poetry is different. You have to believe that you are not Jia Dao, but Beethoven. Mozart was a child prodigy, but Beethoven only emerged in his 30s. However, Beethoven's compositions are magnificent, atmospheric, deep, and rigorous in structure. They are classical. The pinnacle of music."

Ren Mingqing was moved. He felt that his own writing was indeed a bit like German and Austrian music.

"Some of Tan Si's plots are just like Mozart's melodies. They are very charming and make people fall in love at first sight. This is the case with inspirational works. It is injected into your brain by God, and it suddenly pops out as a product of collective unconsciousness. But there is no way to write a novel like this. God can’t generously stuff a long novel directly into your mind. A novel is like a symphony. He needs 1% of inspiration and 99% of brain power. This 99% of brain power is yours. As a writer, as a mortal can work hard, you have to spend countless painstaking efforts, countless painstaking efforts, countless weaving, trying, and modifying to complete."

Ren Mingqing just couldn't understand: "Why Tan Si got it so easily, but I have to suffer so much?!"

He is obsessed with the text, scratching his head for every plot point, thinking about how to write the article when eating and sleeping, but Tan Si can create wonderful stories by playing games and watching TV every day, and he is very unbalanced.

Yes, even as Zhuang Mo said, he can catch up with Tan Si by working harder and harder, but the efforts of the two of them are not equal at all!

Zhuang Mo suddenly stopped talking, and he looked at him as if he had never known Ren Mingqing: "So you envy his easy and simple writing?"

Ren Mingqing didn't know why he looked angry.

Zhuang Mo stopped rubbing his head for a few seconds, and then started again: "Creation has never been an easy task. No one can easily write excellent works. Tan Si and Xuan Yuan are examples. They I’m very lucky, a book will become a hit and be on the altar, but you see, even authors like them, who are so rewarded by God, can’t last a few years without hard work. You hope that your creation is a sprint , or a marathon?"

Zhuang Mo's tone was not harsh, but serious.But Ren Mingqing sat in the bathtub and stopped crying.He was like a frightened bird, every time Zhuang Mo said a word, he was terrified.

"Of course you can learn from Tan Si, fishing for three days and posting on the net for two days. You are also very talented. I believe that what you write casually will not be difficult to see. But you ask yourself, if you write with a pen, What kind of work do you want to write? You suffer because you know that your writing is not good enough."

There is a paragraph in "Reincarnating Wheel", about 90 words, Ren Mingqing wrote four drafts, each time was overturned and rewritten, for no other reason - none of the first three drafts reached [-] points.

They have always cultivated when they are not good.

Ren Mingqing's tear-stained eyelashes fluttered quickly, and she begged softly: "I just think it's too unfair..."

The existence of Tan Si made him seem like a fool. He tried his best and couldn't compare to others, so he naturally doubted whether his efforts were appropriate.

"It's unfair, but there is no shortcut." Zhuang Mo said decisively, "If even you haven't found a shortcut, it means that the shortest shortcut is to keep your feet on the ground. Ren Mingqing, I have said more than once that you can stand here today and compete with Tan Si on the same stage. It is the 3000 million waste manuscripts behind you that support you, no one cares whether your 3000 million writing is easy or difficult, I don’t care, and readers don’t care, there is always only one standard for evaluating writers: whether you write well or not.”

Zhuang Mo put Tan Si's manuscript in front of him: "Since you think his writing is better than yours, then what's good about him, what's your problem, we can solve the problem. It's better to spend twice as much energy as him , ten times as much energy, let him be dealt with."

Ren Mingqing sat in the bathtub, hesitated for a moment, sniffed and picked up Tan Si's manuscript.

"He...has a lot of tension between the characters."

"That's right, confrontational, with strong conflicts."

"The purpose of the two of them is very clear, but also contradictory. They threw it out at the beginning, so it is particularly urgent."

"That's right, one is a murderer, one is a police officer, hunting each other, trying to kill each other, that's all. Can't you write it? The characters you write today are not in this confrontational relationship, so you are not as excited as him, The plot is not as intense as his. But you are not intense, but the writing is very moving." Zhuang Mo supported his shoulders, turned him over, and looked straight into his eyes, "Look, hard work is never in vain, right? ? Every bit of your efforts, the story itself will reward you. Don't be afraid of Tan Si, and at the same time, don't let yourself go in the slightest."

Ren Mingqing clenched the manuscript paper tightly, pursed his lips and remained silent, but his expression was no longer so desperate.

Zhuang Mo picked up the bath towel beside him: "The water is cold, come out."

-

That night, Ren Mingqing wanted to "be alone alone".

He understands the truth, but sometimes he has to screw up.

He just read the first two volumes of "The Paradise" yesterday, which is Tan Si's famous work, and it can be said that it is the pinnacle of Tan Si's life. If it is said that the writing is not good, no one will believe it.Today, Tan Si wrote more smoothly and better than him, and his mentality collapsed.

First of all, he is jealous of other people's good writing; Zhuang Mo presents the facts, reasoning, and forcefully quotes and believes that he can write better than others, at least a tie, and he is jealous of others' easy writing.

But he cries, he cries, he talks, and he will write when he wakes up tomorrow.

It is that he always has a resentment in his chest: this job is tiring and hard, and it may not necessarily produce results.No matter how good-tempered a person is, he will complain a few words after a long time, but he is mainly out of temper, and got into a dead end for a while.

"I will do my best to help you get out of the dead end." Zhuang Mo stood beside Ren Mingqing's bed and argued hard.

As an editor, he did not neglect his duty in any way. When Ren Mingqing's mentality collapsed, he acted as his pinnacle to calm the sea and solve his problems.

"You said you don't care how hard it is for me to write..." Ren Mingqing was wrapped in a quilt and turned over, with his back facing him, revealing only a bunch of aggrieved hair.

Zhuang Mo: "..."

Aphasia for a moment, did not adjust his position.

"Then you should rest well."

The author's state of mind is the most important thing. Mr. Zhuang left his home for everyone, wrapped in the bedding, and ran towards his destination generously and heroically.