The fate of the book
Li Xiao
Most writers have a rich inner world, and the vast soul makes this writer actually not benefit in the secular world, and even falls into loneliness and difficulty. So, what makes a writer support the enthusiasm for continuous writing, and build buildings of words in the air where the soul dances.
"There must be some people waiting for every word I write, who are neither my relatives nor the people who write this line." A writer wrote this in a text. The writer also said that for the books published by the writers and literary friends, he rarely opened his mouth to ask them to donate books, and if he really liked it, he would buy a book to read, which is also the greatest respect for a writer.
I always feel that as a writer, they have to bear more of the weight of life than the average person. Because the heart of the writer is mostly sensitive, slender, enthusiastic, dense, thoughtful, and worried. The state of a writer, all things rushing in his heart, always thinking about how to describe the state of words.
So in my room, the weight of the study was the heaviest, and those books allowed me to reach the vast territory of fate through reading, and to receive the signal of the continuous flow of rich life. The books in my study also include some gifts from literary friends, some of which are mailed by courier, some of which are given in person at a party, and some of which are personally delivered by the door. A few of my well-connected literary friends also called me to the printing house to wait for the books that had just been packed out of the workshop, and then they humbly wrote words such as "please correct" on the title page of the book that was still "hot" and sent it to me.
Among the books donated by these literary friends, there are many books, and I really just simply browsed them like I looked at the WeChat circle of friends, and I never opened them again, but I still classified them into the study collection. Most of the interactions between literati and literati are as light as water and as thin as paper. The water is light, can not leave for a day, the paper is thin, only to feel the ethereal soul, only to have if there is nothing to worry about.
Some of the wenyou's books, which meet my tastes, I read them quickly. I had no interest in reading it, and when I closed the book, I thought about waiting for time to read it patiently, but I never opened it again. I also feel guilty, I feel that I did not finish reading their books, and I have failed to live up to the sincere intentions they placed when they sent books, and a person who gives his own books is not also a trust of a soul.
However, my current reading has long lost the patience of the slow letters of the previous carriage. Many of the books I bought in bookstores or online have not been finished. In fact, this is also a book lover's entanglement and even pathological psychology, whenever he sees a good book that he thinks is good, he does not get it in his hand, does not put it in the study, and his heart is always empty and restless. Therefore, the atrium of a literati may be in the seemingly indifferent to material desires, and there is still the ambition to hunt down the world's best books.
When I read, I also suffered a lot of interference, often while watching and walking around the Internet, so that the reading was cut into fragments, and the quality was greatly reduced. Especially the kind of books that I can't attract me to read in one breath, I can only give up completely, and the intersection of these books with me regrets that have not fully penetrated into my life.
Wenyou Yugo, he published 13 novels at his own expense. He wrote novels, most of which were more than 300,000 words, and he wrote extremely fast, a novel of 530,000 words, which he only took 7 months. Yugo is one of my literary friends with good feelings, and I like his chubby Maitreya Buddha-like face, full of compassion and concern for all sentient beings. But I really didn't have the patience to read his landscape descriptions, which cost more than 10,000 words, and I felt that Yugo's words were like his bloated posture, but I was embarrassed to point it out to him.
None of the 13 novels that Yugo gave me read in their entirety did not affect my friendship with him. I remembered that in the early summer of last year, he came to my unit office from the old alley full of roses, respectfully presented a new book, smiled and said, Brother, you have more advice! That night, I invited Yugo to eat grilled fish downstairs at the unit. Yugo was drunk, and I was ready to help him home. Yugo said, let's go to the top of the building and sit down. We went up to the top of the building, looked at the lights in the city night sky, and suddenly fell into a state of speechlessness. After half a day, Yugo said, Brother, I'm going to slow down, my 14th novel, write it again next year, you are not in a hurry to read it. I nodded and said, no rush.
Not long ago, a writer from Jiangsu Province, Wenyou Express, gave me a collection of essays, which was written for the Grand Canal. I touched the book of heavy water, remembering that it set off from the ancient canal-side city of Jiangnan, arrived in my city in the mountains and rivers, and a heart also floated above the canal, staring at the warm city of steaming water.
I often go to the old book stalls in the city, pick and choose the yellowed old books, and rub the little marks left by time on the old books with my hands and eyes, and I can't help but sigh the drift of these books, just like the drift of fate.
(Author Affilications:Wuqiao Subdistrict Office, Wanzhou District)
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