The college entrance examination season, a variety of strange news flying all over the sky, parents of the candidates and square dance amazons two of the toughest team to start a battle; the bell room next to the examination room to ask for two thousand a night; because of the elevator noise affecting the candidates to rest, the parents asked all the occupants of 15-storey building to pick up the steps; a county, the parents of the candidates to the statue of the Buddha step by step a kowtow to the burning sky-high price of incense. ......
From these sensational news, I see two words: fear, I have never experienced this kind of fear, in a step away from it, I fled away.
At first, it was a minor disagreement with the teacher in physics class, and at the end of class I made the big decision to drop out. It was early 1994, I was a sophomore in high school. On the surface, I was angry to leave, but I always understood that this small storm in the classroom, but the long confusion pushed to the crunch.
From the time I entered high school, I wasn't quite sure what I was sitting here for, and with the level of bias I had at the time, it was unlikely that I would get into a decent college. What happened next can be assumed; after a year and a half of suffering, I got a dismal grade, and then relied on my family to find a way to get into a junior college at one of the last-rate universities, come out, and then continue to mix with a miserable life.
There are much more interesting things to do, reading, writing, going to the countryside to learn about the local customs, and inquiring about the details of my family's past. I had already published some works, and I had already thought about becoming a writer, so why did I have to go with the flow?
The next day, I didn't go to school, I went to the suburbs with my backpack, and went to the reading room of a university to read books. I can't remember how long this kind of day has passed, it seems like it wasn't too long. When the first snow drifted in the small town, the roads became muddy, I was tired of that kind of hiding days, heart, told my dad the truth.
My dad's reaction shouldn't have been too serious, or I wouldn't have been so unimpressed. He persuaded me a bit, but I emphasized that the current situation, it is not appropriate to go back to school. He thought for a moment and said: good, you will write at home. I'm not sure how much I'm going to be able to afford it, but I'm sure I'll be able to find a way to make it work.
But my dad said, "You're still young, it's not realistic to write at home, you should go to school. If you don't find the middle school program interesting, we can find a way to go to the university to sit in on the classes.
This is the first time I've heard of a writer's class at a university.
I went to the university where I read the book and moved a table into the history department classroom. The first thing I did was to ask the students about their fear of worms, and the boy at the table said, "I thought there was nothing in the world that you were afraid of. I don't have much contact with him, I am so brave in his mind, about with the rash appearance.
As such, after half a year, one day when my father left work, he brought back an envelope, which is the Fudan University writers class enrollment letter, my father said, he has contacted, can be enrolled. We will leave in the next two days.
We are in the third day out of the door, that is my life in the ride, no, stood on the most crowded train, can not even put the whole foot on the ground, worse, at any time there will be a salesman pushed a trolley through the past, both sides of the compression of the people compressed again, some people stepped on the chairs next to a place where you can take a foot place, suspended in the air, the salesman was angry: "How can you step on there? How can you step there? You look like a bat."
We got off the train at dawn, took the bus to Fudan University, and quickly completed the enrollment procedures.
My father took me to the dormitory, helped me to settle a bit, and then left in a hurry, my grandmother's health is not good, he had to rush back that night.
That night, the wind outside the window, I cried. On the one hand, it was the guilt of my father who suffered on the train; on the other hand, it was the fear of a future as unfathomable as the color of the night. When I was in my hometown, I could think that my life hadn't started yet, it was just a preparatory state. Now, life has officially started, and I have to fight my way out of the world with my bare hands, and make a road in the middle of the poor road, which I don't have confidence that I can definitely do.
There are six girls living in the bedroom, some studying English, some studying computer science, and two writers classmates, all of whom are working in the Cultural Affairs Bureau and the Association of Writers and Publishers. Everyone was like ants, purposefully busy with their own business, and I therefore seemed very surprised that so few people would actually train themselves as writers.
I went to the writers' class, as well as to other classes in the Chinese department. Unlike the college in the small town, the teachers at Fudan University are very liberal in their lectures, teaching the Analects of Confucius if they want to, Laozhuang if they want to, and special categories such as turn-of-the-century literature and the literature of the Wei and Jin dynasties. Imagine how luxurious it is that I can stand in front of a long row of course schedules and develop my own special menu according to my own preferences.
But human beings are complex creatures, after all, and on top of this fish-out-of-water learning, there was something else that took up half of my energy: fear. Though I had started publishing articles by then, these little scattered essays could not make me look like a writer. At the time, I hadn't heard of anyone making a living from writing prose at home, and my dad was saying that he could support me for 20 years, but I couldn't bear the thought of ending up there.
Many noon, return from class, the sun has not been melted, chaotically floating in front of the road. Next to a bakery has just opened the oven, the aroma exploded, flourish seems to have invisible mushroom cloud, these all let me blank. I pondered the ultimate question: where am I going? My heart instantly became mottled as if eaten by worms.
After two years of study in the writers' class, I returned to the small town, and this question really came to me. I didn't come back from my studies, I didn't have a brocade coat to return home in, I just published a few more articles, and these were not enough for me to get a decent job in a small town.
I have written many times about that trepidation, and many nights I couldn't sleep until I heard the rooster crowing, a different kind of heart-stopping fear, and I felt like a female ghost who couldn't survive in broad daylight. But at the same time still writing, submitted to various newspapers and magazines, God bless, these, although not enough to get me a job in the small town, but let me come to the provincial capital, and successfully enrolled in a newly founded newspaper, as a deputy editor.