She said, "I wonder how you came up with those words and phrases?"
That's a really hard question, because I don't know how they came to me at the time, how they passed through my brain and then out of my fingers. They've become what they were, and I can't recover from them now. Just as at this moment, I'm typing these words, wait for the next moment, maybe it's something else.
Whenever I look back at my own hands to concoct those old articles, although often for their tenderness, pretentious regret and shame, but occasionally will be one of the "magic strokes" amazing (please allow me to be cheeky a bit), and I even a bit of a trance: these beautiful sentences are really written by me? Why is language so mediocre these days?
After a while, I look back at what I consider to be mediocre writing, and I can find the same sparkle.
I realized that every moment is unique. No matter what you think at the time, good or bad, when you look back, it is the road you really walked, a draft, an answer, objective, impartial.
There are no two identical leaves in the world, and people can't step into the same river twice. Everything, everything, has its uniqueness, even if the last second and the next second, are different. The river is constantly running, life is constantly moving forward, everything will not start over. Every minute and every second of different behavior, will lead you to a completely different future.
If you walk down to earth, with heart and soul, life will definitely give you the corresponding reward, either early or late, or directly or indirectly. All the sweat and tears, will not flow in vain; all the road, will not go in vain; all the pay, will not be wasted.
A while ago, my friend M found me chatting, pouring out bitter water: "Knife, I think it, the world is really unfair. I wrote so many years, in newspapers and magazines have published a lot of articles, writing can not be said to be bad, can not be said to be not a solid foundation, the public did so long, but has been red not up. Some people, wrote no more than a few, but because of a burst of text all of a sudden fire. I really can't understand you, why are you not anxious at all ......"
I interrupted M's chatter: "Why should I be anxious? What's the rush? I'm writing because I like it. What's the hurry in doing what I like? To say a bad word you do not get angry, I think you think more than do, if everything is holding the purpose, too utilitarian, is not far, and can not be successful."
"Then what should I do?" M bitter face.
"Write! If you like, just write. Immediately, right now, stop complaining and stop wasting time. Okay, I've said everything that needs to be said, I'm going to write the text, if you continue to talk nonsense, you're wasting two people's time, and you're plotting to kill people. Goody goody goody!" After saying that, I never bothered with her again. I have been merciful, amitabha. Whether she listens or not is her business, after all, the road is all on their own.
Time is the most fair, just when you complain, just when you mope, time does not stop for you, it does not stop for anyone. What you are wasting is more than time. It's your life you're wasting and the chance to be better!
Luck? I really want to laugh out loud. If you can really rely on luck, why do I bother to sleep, sleep and vomit in my words? I've been writing until my shoulders ache, my cervical spine clicks, and my hair has gone gray.
In the evening, outside the cool wind, I want to blow a little more; the square, the ladies have a new dance, I want to see a little more; the circle of friends, there are a lot of new dynamics, I want to see what the strange and bizarre things; I heard that recently came out of a few hot TV movies, I want to go and see it ......
However, I know that if I don't hurry back to code, my just burst of inspiration, the words and phrases hovering in my mind, my urge not to vomit, will be fleeting, dragged and dragged, into nothingness.
The code, not only is the brain work, or physical activity, must be a word by word, knocking and beating, in order to become a text into a piece. You a "luck" summarizes all my efforts? Which of my small progress and achievement is not by the real pay for? Every step has a way to follow, every now by countless once accumulated.
I am a mortal, not without desire, but if I am easily disturbed by the outside world, indulge in eating, drinking, playing, singing and dancing, each of my present will be quietly wasted, and ultimately become a pale and lack of once, no trace.
Because I like, I willingly, without regret to pay, do not seek attention, do not ask for results.
What does it mean to be successful? The first thing you need to do is to get the attention of all the people in the world. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands dirty. There is no denying that this is a kind of success, but, do what you like, walk the selected road, one step at a time, whenever you look back, not because of the wasted time and regret, but full of good memories and real happiness, and even for their own efforts and touched, and because of their own actions and words and behavior to the people around them to positively influence the positive energy, is not also a kind of success?
M? Because of the delayed "red" up, anxious and anxious, sick and desperate, change the style of writing, take sensational vulgar eye-catching title, write a messy gossip theme, every day in the circle of friends and various groups running around: ask for forwarding, ask for appreciation! Tossed even the last bit of fans also ran away. Looking at the public number of the door can not be seen, M discouraged, simply closed the pen, no longer write.
Sadly? If she had followed her own heart, written down to earth, not utilitarian, not vulgar, stick to it, it would have been a completely different scene.
Many people, always think too much, too little action, the giant of thought, action dwarf. In the day after day in the wasted, will be so many good present into the empty once.
Many people are always good at finding excuses for their laziness at the moment: just a moment, what does it matter? Do it again tomorrow, anyway, in time.
The wise ancients have long written a warning to the world of the "tomorrow song": tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, how much. I live to be tomorrow, all things become wasted. The world is tired of being tired of tomorrow, spring and fall, old age will come. When I look at the water flowing in the east, I see the sun setting in the west. How long can a hundred years of tomorrow last? I'm not sure how much I'm going to be able to get out of this one.
If you are still bored, uncertain, complaining, please take action immediately, from this moment on, will be full of days wonderful living color.
Every moment, will become a once that can never come back, countless efforts of the moment, will build a once without regret. The life to the end, is composed of countless once.