Back to 80: My Literary Life

On the weekends, he went to Western University to take correspondence courses as usual. Although it was summer vacation, the courses did not stop. In addition, Fang Minghua's task was to revise the manuscript as soon as possible.

Du Pengcheng also sent a preface to the novel, titled The Most Precious Youth, Fragrant Years

He shared his thoughts after reading this book from the perspective of a veteran soldier, and finally wrote:

Youth is not years, it is a state of mind, boundless longing, magnificent imagination, the deep spring of life flowing, fiery emotions, a symbol of beauty, infinite hope, the blooming of strength, and a medal of courage. , Youth belongs to you and me. Precious youth will never disappear, it will become the most beautiful memory, which will remain in my heart forever, recording that fragrant time.

The rating is quite high.

You have to work harder.

That afternoon, Fang Minghua was wearing a vest and shorts, and was writing hard in the room alone. He heard someone knocking on the office door, and when he opened it, it turned out to be Chen Zhongshi.

Wearing an old-fashioned short-sleeved white shirt with small lapels, he held a black faux leather briefcase under his arm. He probably just came in from outside and was sweating profusely.

Teacher Chen, please come in, sit down, sit down.

Fang Minghua quickly called him in and handed him a cattail leaf fan.

Chen Zhongshi was not polite and simply untied his white short sleeves, revealing an old-fashioned vest underneath. While fanning the fan, he said, I went to see President Huang for something, and I didn't come back until I heard about it, so I came here to sit down with you if I have nothing to do.

You can sit down wherever you like. Fang Minghua greeted politely: Are you thirsty? Let me pour you a cup of herbal tea. Let me tell you, my tea is quite good, West Lake Longjing!

Chen Zhongshi laughed and said:

Everyone in the magazine now knows that Lu Yao likes to smoke, and he smokes good cigarettes, and the lowest grade is Peony; Pingwa likes to drink, and he wants to drink good wine! Xifeng doesn't even like it, he likes to drink Maotai; and you, like Drink tea, drink good tea, and have a special liking for West Lake Longjing, am I right?”

Teacher Chen, you are so right, what do you like?

Me? I like smoking, drinking, and tea, but I'm not as particular as you. For wine, West Wind will do. For tea, the tea produced in Qinnan will do. As for the old dry cigarettes rolled by yourself! As he said, he took it from his pocket. He took out a cigarette.

Don't rush, try my tea. Fang Minghua poured an enamel jar of tea and brought it to Chen Zhongshi.

Chen Zhongshi took it and tasted it: Yes, it is indeed good. If it is hot tea, it will probably taste better!

Like it? Then I'll give you some. Fang Minghua said.

Don't, I'm afraid that my mouth will become naughty.

The two chatted and laughed for a while, and Chen Zhongshi said again: Xiao Fang, have you sent your novel?

Not yet, we are making final revisions. Fang Minghua said truthfully: Please take a look at it when the time comes and help me check it.

Chairman Du has already taken care of it, so I won't add any further details. Chen Zhongshi declined: I will read it after you officially publish it. Hey, Xiaofang, have you read the article Life written by Lu Yao?

After reading it, he let me read it after he finished the manuscript. It was quite well written. I dare say that the stories and thoughts reflected in it will influence an entire generation.

Yeah. Chen Zhongshi took a sip of herbal tea and lit up his old dry cigarette habitually: I got this issue of Harvest from our district cultural center. When I returned to my office, I sat down on the chair. I got up and read the novel almost in one sitting! Do you know how I felt after reading it?

How does it feel?

There's a paralyzing feeling.

ah?

It's not because of Gao Jialin's ups and downs of fate, but because of the perfect artistic realm created by this novel, Chen Zhongshi explained: I really didn't expect Lu Yao to be able to write so well.

But I can't write it. He let out a long sigh.

Chen Zhongshi seemed to have been holding back a lot of words, and he seemed to have found an opportunity to vent today.

Last Sunday I was riding back to Xijiang Village. I met a classmate of mine from middle school. He also likes literature. When this old classmate saw it was me, he immediately blocked the way. Do you know what he asked me?

What's the question?

He said, why didn't you write Life?! I was so ashamed and speechless.

Now, Fang Minghua finally understood Chen Zhongshi's unhappy expression at the party that day.

Quickly comforting him, Fang Minghua said: Teacher Chen, Brother Lu's Life is indeed very good, but don't belittle yourself. I think you will definitely write a better work than this Life!

Haha. Xiaofang, you are so relieved.

Teacher Chen, I am not relieved. Sima Qian once said in his Historical Records: Funny Biography: This bird is fine if it is not flying, and it soars into the sky; it is fine if it is not singing, and it is a blockbuster. You are one of these people.

Haha, it's a blockbuster. I'm going to be 40 soon. I'm no longer confused about turning 40. I don't know when I will be a blockbuster?

Having said this, Chen Zhongshi sighed deeply.

It really takes a few years.

In Fang Minghua's memory, Chen Zhongshi was not a prolific writer. He wrote some novellas and short stories one after another in the 1980s and was not very famous. It was not until the early 1990s that White Deer Plain came out.

It takes ten years to sharpen a sword.

After resting for a while, Chen Zhongshi left.

Looking at his thin back, Fang Minghua could more or less understand Chen Zhongshi's mood. These writers who were usually brothers were secretly holding back their energy and competing with each other in terms of literary creation.

Without competition, where would there be pressure? How can one write a great work in the end?

As for myself

Forget it, just be better than salted fish.

It took Fang Minghua 10 days to revise the manuscript again, affix a stamp and send it out by registered mail.

We've done our best, now we're just waiting for fate.

Don't worry, just wait.

Fang Minghua's life suddenly became leisurely.

Time soon came to September, and the university semester started, but Fang Minghua still had no response from the manuscripts he submitted to two magazines.

Is it useful or not?

Fang Minghua was unsure.

Could it be like Yu Hua said: after he finished writing his novel, he would first send it to big magazines such as People's Literature and Harvest, and when it was returned, he would then send it to the less popular Yenjing Literature and Yanjing Literature. Send it to Shencheng Literature. If it comes back, send it to a small local magazine.

At that time, the postman would not knock on the door when returning a letter, but would always throw it into the courtyard wall. As long as he heard a pop, Yu Hua's father would say to him: The manuscript has been returned again.

fine.

As someone who traveled to this era and was born with a cheat, Fang Minghua was not so miserable.

This morning, he had just finished making a cup of tea at work and before he could drink it, he saw Zhang Baofu running over in a hurry, holding two letters in his hand. He shouted before he entered the door: Brother Minghua, your letter! October and a letter from the editorial board of People's Liberation Army Literature and Art to you!

Fang Minghua glanced at the thickness of the two letters, which were relatively thin.

OK, adopted.

Because there is no rejection.