1978 Synthetic Writers

Chapter 30 I'm jealous of your talent

In 1978, the national telephone penetration rate was only 0.38%, with less than one telephone for every 200 people, which was almost 75 years behind the United States.

It is no wonder that after the reform and opening up, many people pessimistically believed that we were so backward that we would be expelled from the "game".

The guesthouse of "Beijing Literature and Art" was not so shabby that it needed a crank phone.

Jiang Xian picked up the microphone unskillfully and put it to his ear. "Hello, who is this?"

After waiting for a while, a familiar voice came from the other end.

"Is this Teacher Jiang? Sorry to bother you, I'm Shi Wenxin from the Beijing Film Studio."

"Teacher Shi, why did you call me?"

"Are you free recently?" Shi Wenxin said embarrassedly, "During the creation process, there are a few parts of the novel that we don't understand thoroughly enough, and we are afraid that we will go in the wrong direction. Would you be able to give us some advice?"

"."

Why is it so troublesome?

He is just a novelist, so what does he know about "The Chess King"?

Besides, aren’t these questions in the future all about asking the investors’ opinions?

"Teacher Shi, can we talk on the phone?"

"I'm afraid I can't explain it in a few words. I want to invite you to come over and hold a meeting with everyone. It won't take long."

"alright."

Jiang Xian agreed anyway for three reasons:
One is to improve their favorability so that they can continue to take advantage of the Beijing Film Studio in the future.

Secondly, Shi Wenxin is so old and such a big name, and he keeps calling me "teacher", so I felt embarrassed to refuse.

Third, he received all the radios.

"Teacher Shi, I'll be there early tomorrow morning."

"Hey, let me know when you come, and I'll take you around the Beijing Film Studio after that."

"Okay, contact me again."

"Goodbye."

After hanging up the phone, Jiang Xian picked up a copy of the day's "Guangming x Newspaper" and "People x Newspaper" from the table in the mail room.

The People's Daily published an editorial entitled "Our Patience Has Its Limits."

[If no one offends me, I will not offend anyone. If someone offends me, I will definitely offend him!
If you continue to push your limits and act recklessly, you will receive the punishment you deserve.

We have said this in advance, so please don’t say we didn’t warn you.]
Reading this editorial, Jiang Xian suddenly remembered Hegel's famous saying:

The only lesson humanity has learned from history is that it has learned nothing from history.

Holding the newspaper, he pushed open the door of Room 305 and happened to meet Zhang Jie's dazed eyes.

"Xiao Jiang, is this manuscript for your next novel?"

Jiang Xian slapped his forehead.

I was so busy answering the phone that I forgot about it.

"Teacher Zhang, did you see it?"

Zhang Jie smiled embarrassedly, "I'm sorry, Xiao Jiang, I thought it was the symposium materials, and it took me a while to realize it, but I couldn't help it and read it all."

Jiang Xian had not written much, only about seven or eight hundred words in total, and Zhang Jie finished reading it in just three or four minutes.

By accident, Zhang Jie became the first reader of "Animal Fierceness".

Jiang Xian was also somewhat curious as to whether his modification was abrupt, and looked at her expectantly.

"how do you feel?"

“It’s hard for me to comment on the story because it hasn’t started yet, but the language is so unique!”

Zhang Jie was excited. "I've never seen anyone write a novel like this before!"

Jiang Xian brought out a set of excuses that he had prepared long ago.

"I also want to try a new style of writing. Huang Zunxian once proposed the literary idea of ​​'I write what I say'. After The Chess King, I want to go a step further and use vernacular slang to make the novel's dialogue as easy to understand as possible."

"I write what I say? Really, you really incorporated Beijing dialect into this novel." Zhang Jie covered her mouth and smiled, "And" "And what?"

"I told you not to be angry with me."

"Teacher Zhang, please feel free to give me your guidance."

"Look here." Zhang Jie pointed to somewhere at the beginning of the manuscript.

[After I returned to the city, I lived the decent life I had longed for. My efforts were rewarded. I created a clear image in front of people, which even fascinated and amazed me, and whether people liked or hated it was just what I wanted.

If it was a natural image at the beginning, then in the process of finally establishing it, I was influenced by many complex mentalities. I can ignore the attacks of haters and be more stubborn while secretly rejoicing, but I cannot disappoint the expectations and praise of fans, just like water turns into beer and finally turns into vinegar.]
"Your sentences are like those of a drunk person, speaking incoherently, making no sense, and moving in a crazy manner."

Zhang Jie paused.

Jiang Xian was waiting for a "but".

“But you can also feel the helplessness and sadness from it.”

Zhang Jie analyzed it and smiled affirmatively, "I really like this kind of sentence, I can't think of or write this style.

Xiao Jiang, I am so jealous of your talent!"

Faced with this praise, Jiang Xian was no longer modest. Being overly modest at this moment would seem hypocritical.

I simply joked, "Teacher Zhang, aren't you saying that my manuscript is full of drunken ruffian spirit?"

Zhang Jie was amused. "Xiao Jiang, I am so sure that you wrote this article. Your speech is exactly the same as your article."

"It doesn't matter if I have a ruffian streak. Liu Xinwu called me a ruffian writer. I was quite angry at first, but later I thought, at least he acknowledged that I am a writer. I wrote this article to respond to Mr. Liu's expectations of me. In fact, it's not terrible for ruffians to engage in literature. What's terrible is that people who should be doing political commentary come to write novels."

Zhang Jie couldn't close her mouth, "Your words will make him sick."

Jiang Xian's lips curled up slightly.

China's literary world is not large, but it has many talented people.

The most wonderful person must be Teacher Liu Xinwu.

One day, Teacher Liu dreamed that he could compose poetry. He only wrote one sentence, which was profound, broad and beautiful. Before he could think of the second sentence, he woke up with wild laughter. After waking up, he was surprised and happy. He couldn't believe that he had such skills. He hurriedly picked up the pen to write down the beautiful sentence "accidentally obtained in the dream": The night rain in the rivers and lakes has been lights for ten years.

However, a thousand years ago, there was an ignorant guy named Huang Tingjian who stole the beauty of others and wrote a sentence in the Song Dynasty: A cup of wine in the spring breeze, a lamp for ten years in the night rain.

Public opinion was in an uproar for a while, but Teacher Liu remained fearless and explained: "His sentence is the lower couplet, and mine is the upper couplet. As for the lower couplet, we have to wait for Qiao Meng to come up with another one."

This wait made the literary world wait for decades. Teacher Liu stopped writing novels and turned to destroying "Dream of Red Mansions".

"Write a manuscript, write a manuscript."

Jiang Xian sat down across the table again and continued writing "Ferocious Animals", asking for advice from time to time.

"Teacher Zhang, isn't this a bit abrupt?"

"No, it feels real, fresh and hot to read."

"That's good."

Zhang Jie buried her head in revising the outline for a while, then raised her head and glanced at the young man who was writing furiously across the table.

Whoosh whoosh~
It took only a few lines to finish.

Zhang Jie is extremely envious of such creative efficiency.

Her writing is as difficult as squeezing toothpaste.

In contrast, Jiang Xian wrote with almost no punctuation and his writing was fluent.

His qualifications are truly countless times greater than hers.

The night passed quickly.

The next day, Jiang Xian got up early.

After having breakfast in the cafeteria, I rode my 28-inch scooter to the Beijing Film Studio in Haidian.

It took about half an hour to ride to the nearby area.

Before I stopped the car, I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure.

(End of this chapter)