Art comes from life and is higher than life. There are many great artists, and their works often imply their lives, and life is the material library of art, and if there is no life, there can be no great works. Many singers become famous in their 20s and then have nothing to offer, or even rely on drugs to find inspiration, because they have lost their lives. After these people become famous, they have money, they no longer have what they want and can't do, they lose their pursuits, they are lost in triviality and desire all day, naturally they can't write good songs, even if the songs they write are far from the public's feelings, they can't resonate with the audience, and naturally no one cares.
I thought I would be able to focus on writing after I quit my job, but reality snapped in the face. Because I was out of touch with life, except for Fang Jie, there was no one else in my life who intersected with me, and my inspiration dried up. At the beginning, I wrote an urban novel about office romance, planning to complete 100,000 words in 3 months, but I had to hold back for half a year to finish the manuscript. In fact, 100,000 words is not a lot for me, the difficulty is to portray the details of the story. For example, I want to write about how a man and a woman met because of late-night overtime, and then how to date, and then what kind of psychological changes were after being discovered by colleagues... The portrayal of these details can create a sense of picture. I often lie in bed with my eyes closed, imagining myself as a male or female protagonist, simulating their psychological changes. But because I have been away from work for too long, I have forgotten the feeling of the office, and I often close my eyes and go blank.
I named the novel "Shame Moon" and submitted a manuscript to a provincial publication, but it was ruthlessly returned, without even a single suggestion for rejection. I really didn't want to be the result of half a year's hard work, and then I voted for a lot of municipal publications and magazines with niche themes. After almost a month, when I was about to despair, the editorial department of a magazine called "Wind and Snow Moon" sent me an email back, saying that my "Shame Moon" was well written, hoping that there would be more sense of picture in the details of love to meet the needs of readers of their "adult novels", and promised that once they were included, they could pay 20,000 contributions, and had the opportunity to become their contracted writers and get a fixed income... I have not earned income for more than half a year, and the money on my body has been spent, and every time the sister comes to "collect rent", in addition to bringing some food, she will occasionally give me a little pocket money. 20,000 yuan is not a lot, but it is very important for me, on the one hand, I urgently need to ask for an explanation for half a year's hard work; on the other hand, I also need to improve my life. I did not hesitate to take on this task.
The source of the material about the details of the novel "love" comes entirely from the true story of me and Fang Jie, I imagined myself as the male protagonist, and fang jie as the twenty-five or six-year-old female protagonist, we both worked in the same office, and her workstation was next door to me. I wrote in the story: "One night we worked overtime until late at night because we hadn't finished a report. Suddenly, the office power went out, and the room was horribly dark, but the blue night sky outside the window was romantically hung with stars. She said she was afraid of the dark, and I walked over to her, took her hand, and said, "Let's see the stars together!" She didn't break free of my hand and followed me to the window, looking at the blue starry sky together. I stood behind her, gently hugging her, breathing against her earlobe. Her eyes stared into the distance motionless, and I could feel the broken hair of her sideburns trembling. My hand is like a snake, drilling into the gap between the buttons, looking for the mysterious and delicious forbidden fruit...", in this scene, no one should be able to resist the temptation of the forbidden fruit, and the story behind it is naturally that the male and female protagonists have unspeakable things happening in the office. I added a lot of space to the novel to describe the details of the picture, as well as various time and space scenes, such as the male and female protagonists going camping together, trying on clothes in the fitting room of the mall, and they went to the KTV to sing together...
"Shy Moon" was recognized by the editor of "Wind and Snow Moon" magazine, in addition to the 20,000 manuscript fee, I also became a contracted writer of the magazine, and I needed to output some manuscripts regularly and quantitatively, and get paid at a price of 300 yuan per thousand words. In the year that followed, I wrote about men and women in a variety of ways. In order to achieve that immersive feeling, every key detail always takes a lot of space, not sparing every hair and every breath.
I shut myself in the house all day, I was away from society for a long time, and the material library (life) had long been exhausted, so the things I wrote were getting more and more similar. Later, I was dismissed by the magazine, and more and more manuscripts were returned, and my spirit became more and more anxious. I tried to use alcohol to inspire, and after a bottle of liquor was put into the stomach, the spirit and the body began to separate, and the body became heavier and heavier, but the spirit became open, as if it was out of the cage of the body, freely changing various forms. Sometimes it was like going back to college, we played games together, crazy screaming; sometimes it was like lying on the bed with a woman, her skin was warm and smooth, I could feel every pore of her, but I couldn't see her face clearly, no matter how I rubbed my eyes, it didn't work, from the outline of her cheeks, she was a bit like Zhang Schumann, a bit like Zhou Miaomiao, and a bit like Fang Jie. Whenever I get drunk into this confused state, I will have a feeling of a fountain of thought, but the scale of this feeling is difficult to control, drink too little to achieve this feeling, drink too much and fall asleep on the bed. Just as Wang Xizhi wrote the "Orchid Pavilion Collection" in one breath, I also struggled to write on the paper. But every time I woke up and saw something on the paper, I was confused, like words, more like graffiti.
Because of the continuous alcoholism and staying up late, my body was as thin as a dry corpse, and I naturally could no longer cope with the "rent collection" of my sister. Even feeling disgusted, subconsciously the affairs of men and women became a bloody, slimy, smelly thing, like hundreds of earthworms hugging each other, foaming in the mucus. These things are also gradually reflected in my work, describing the affairs of men and women as a kind of punishment. In the story, the male and female protagonists often have to suffer inhuman torture, such as the female protagonist is kidnapped, the male protagonist comes to the hero to save the United States, the kidnappers let them live ML, if they can't get up, they will slash a knife on her. Or the male protagonist is possessed by the devil, encroaching on the female protagonist in some disgusting and cruel way, describing the complex feelings of the male protagonist waking up and seeing the flesh and blood blurred female protagonist lying next to him, disgusting, afraid, sad... Both. Naturally, these works did not meet the tastes of the editors, and I chose to vent all my anger in alcohol.
For my refusal to "collect rent", Fang Jie did not say anything at first, but just let me pay attention to my body, and often intimately made me some delicious dishes, such as braised sheep whip, stuffy boiled beef treasure and other big supplements. To this end, she bought a very delicate insulated lunch box, the lid opened, the aroma is fragrant. Sometimes she would clean the house for me, help me organize my clothes, and take the finished bottles downstairs to the dumpster and throw them away. All this made me have the illusion that I was the man of this house, and I took it for granted, and even sometimes I would yell at her when I was drunk. One day I was still asleep when I heard a harsh scream, and when I opened my eyes, I saw sister Fang standing in the doorway of my room with her mouth open, and she was relieved to see me open her eyes, but it was still a look of horror.
"The way you looked just now, I thought you were dead, it was too scary. Legs hanging on the edge of the bed, chest collapsed, can not see a little undulating, the whole body is skinny, a miserable white, it is simply a scene of drug overdose to death..." Fang Sister patted her chest, she did not bring good food today, look at my eyes also less that kind of admiration, the expression of more disgust, like a fly dropped in the meal.
"Sister Fang, am I still sleepy?" I don't want to 'collect rent' today, can you let me sleep for a while? I didn't care at all about the scary scene she said, and fell down again to continue sleeping.
"Whoever wants to 'collect the rent' with you, you clean up and find a time to move away!" I'm going to rent this house to someone else. After saying that, she turned her head and left, and in the confusion I heard a "bang" of the door closing.
I thought that Sister Fang was just talking casually, who knew that within two days, two big men opened the door and rushed in. They asked me to move out now, and I said I wouldn't go, and there would be nowhere to live outside. One of them grabbed one of my arms and threw me downstairs, then threw my stuff and kicked it up next to the trash can. After the two big men left, I sat next to the trash can in a daze.
I haven't left this building for half a year, and the outside environment is a bit strange to me at the moment. The sun has just risen from the southeast, giving this autumn a hint of warmth. Spotted doves frolick in the trees and make "grunting" sounds, and they are very good at camouflage. In the distance, only the leaves could be seen shaking, and there was no figure of a spotted dove. A mother came out of the building with a small child, and the child jumped and sang in his mouth, "Under the bridge in front of the door, swim over a group of ducks..."
I got up, found my wallet in a pile of garbage, grabbed a coat, and left...