1978 Synthetic Writers

Chapter 210: Meeting a fragile person while revising the manuscript?

Zhu Lin has been cooking these days.

She made some clanging and soon brought out two bowls of hawthorn porridge, some cornmeal cakes, a plate of smashed cucumbers, and a plate of scrambled eggs with zucchini.

It's been so hot in Beijing these past two days that I basically cooked with my eyes closed.

Jiang Xian drank the tiger bone wine and picked up some food with chopsticks. The cucumber was refreshing, the zucchini was a bit overcooked, but the fried eggs were fluffy and soft.

"How is it?" Zhu Lin looked at him expectantly.

"You are so beautiful and talented, wouldn't other men be jealous of me?"

"Virtue."

Zhu Lin covered her lips, smiled, and asked, "What do you think?"

"What did I think?"

"What you said, of course it's about the director asking me to film a TV series today."

"I support you to act." Jiang Xian encouraged.

He hoped that Zhu Lin would develop in both movies and TV series. She was originally developing in the TV series industry and won the Golden Eagle Award for Best Actress for her role in "Triumph at Midnight".

Gong Xue, who is as famous as her, developed her career in the film industry. One of her films won the Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers Awards, but it was a flash in the pan. Later, Zhu Lin won many awards at home and abroad, and she is also a member of the China Association for Promoting Democracy.

The tracks are different. If we really compare, our Zhu Lin’s title of national first-class actor is enough to knock down a lot of people.

"You can give it a try. This drama has three episodes in total. It will take at most two months to shoot. It won't affect your study in the training class, but the pay won't be that high."

According to Zhu Lin's status and industry regulations, CCTV has to spend 2-3 times Zhu Lin's salary to hire her from the Beijing Film Studio, which is about a hundred yuan. This hundred yuan will not go to Zhu Lin in the end. The Beijing Film Studio will also take out 30% for the company's own use, and the remaining dozens of yuan will be Zhu Lin's reward.

This is considered pretty good. Except for the actors, the CCTV crew members did not earn a penny. This is their job.

"I don't care too much about the pay. I think this is an opportunity to learn and get in touch with the TV industry."

"Well, go talk to Director Wang. I agree with this."

"."

Zhu Lin glanced at him, pursed her thin lips, leaned on his shoulder, and felt at ease.

Her revolutionary partner always supported her cause at all times.

Jiang Xian took out two more tickets and waved them in front of her.

"You like to listen to opera, don't you? I asked someone for two tickets to the opera house. Let's go and listen to it when we have time."

"Ah, the Central Opera House!"

She looked up at him.

"Jiang Xian!"

"Ok?"

Zhu Lin put her arms around his neck, her almond eyes twinkling, her thin lips slightly parted, "With a husband like this, what else can a woman ask for?"

"Don't worry, don't worry, I haven't washed my butt yet."

On the weekend, Jiang Xian and Zhu Lin went to the Central Opera House to listen to an opera. There were not too many people, and the two found a place to sit.

The opera performed that day was not Zhu Lin's favorite "Madame Butterfly", but also a very classic opera "La Dame aux Camélias", adapted from the work of the same name by Alexandre Dumas fils by the opera master Verdi.

After the Buzz Buzz ended, Western classical operas have been performed more and more frequently in China, and the Central Opera House also has classic repertoires such as "Carmen" and "Otello".

The "aria" in opera is listened to with great gusto by those who like it, but becomes sleepy when listened to by those who don't like it.

Jiang Xian is fine, he can enjoy it by changing his angle.

The Lady of the Camellias is a bit like a romance novel, a cliché that has been used to death in later generations, where a down-and-out Cinderella meets a rich young man, and then "Here's five million, leave my son!"

It's really fun and interesting to look at it from this angle.

After watching it, Jiang Xian and Zhu Lin left while talking about "La Dame aux Camélias".

"Sometimes I really hate you writers. How can you write so sadly?"

"Artistic, that's the power of tragedy."

"Can't you write a story with a good and memorable ending?"

Jiang Xian thought about the novel that had not yet been compiled and chuckled, "Okay, since you've spoken, I'll write a good ending for the next article."

Well, that’s a rare work of that writer’s with a good ending.

After using Wan Fang's ticket, Jiang Xian did not forget to work. He quickly corrected Wan Fang's manuscript and sent it to her. "How do you feel?" Wan Fang took it and looked at him expectantly.

Jiang Xian glanced at her and gave a relatively sincere evaluation.

“A little bit worse.”

Her manuscript was indeed rejected by many publications, it was a complete mess.

Wan Fang frowned slightly and gave a fake smile, "It doesn't matter if it's almost there, I just want to get the manuscript passed."

"How can I get through it? Let me tell you about your manuscript."

Seeing that she had no self-awareness, Jiang Xian could only count on his fingers and make comments.

“First, the intention is not profound.”

“Second, there’s nothing new.”

"Third, the subject matter is not good and I don't know what it means."

"Fourth, the whole story is too long-winded and lacks any artistry or storytelling."

Every time he spoke, Wan Fang felt as if a huge thunderbolt was hitting him head-on.

By the end of her speech, her whole face had darkened and her nose was wheezing like a Spanish bull.

"I'll change it first."

"To be honest, there's no need to change it."

Jiang Xian has a very straightforward face, and it’s not that he has low emotional intelligence, it’s just that’s how literature is.

If it's not written well, then it's not written well, even if God comes to do it.

"I suggest you give up writing this article and just come up with a new one. This manuscript is not good at all. No matter how you revise it, it won't be accepted by a magazine in Beijing. At least it won't be accepted by a magazine in Beijing. It's written very poorly."

"."

The three words "very bad" sounded particularly long in Wan Fang's ears. She took a deep breath and felt like her lungs were about to explode from Jiang Xian's anger.

Do you know how to write novels? Do you know anything about novels?

This is my writing style of Western modernism!
Blind eyes! Blind eyes!
Wan Fang was greatly disappointed. She had been hoping that Jiang Xian would find some highlights in her article. The two of them would meet and talk about modern literature.

As a result, Jiang Xian, like Li Xiaolin, was a literary old-fashioned person with limited knowledge and vision, and could not appreciate her modern works at all.

"If the manuscript can't be approved, then it can't be approved. I'm not a novelist. I write novels just for fun." Wan Fang toughened up his attitude and tried hard to maintain his self-esteem.

When Jiang Xian heard this, he thought, you have a fragile heart, right?
Then he was too lazy to argue with her any more.

Honest advice is unpleasant to the ears, and the more you say it, the more you offend people.

Respect the fate of others.

"I wish you happiness."

"???"

Wan Fang felt inexplicably angry when he heard this.

I pretend not to care because I want you to give me a way out. What's your attitude?

Before she could say anything, Jiang Xian left quickly, even more ruthless and indifferent than Sun Shiwan.

Chen Wu died in battle to save Sun Shiwan. Sun Shiwan was very sad, and in order to repay Chen Wu, he asked his wife to be buried with him.

After Jiang Xian left, Wan Fang was angry and frustrated for a long time, but she couldn't find a way to vent. All she could think about was Jiang Xian's words "I wish you happiness."

"I wish you happiness!"

"I wish your whole family happiness!"

When she got anxious, her Northeastern accent came out. She had been working in the Northeast for a long time.

Thinking of his own manuscript and looking at the dense traces of revisions on it, Wan Fang began to revise it silently.

Since there is no talent in her country, she will go abroad.

He's just like the mysterious writer his father talked about. Why hasn't anyone in China heard of him? He must have been buried in China!
Feeling frustrated and unhappy, he turned to overseas studies, but when all else failed, he would try again.

The opera house often communicates with foreign countries, and she has several friends abroad. She asked them to pass the article to The New Yorker for her.

(End of this chapter)