/kloc-before the age of 0/8, there is no sign of life. I am a good student with a boring face. I listen carefully, do my homework on time, cut my nails cleanly, never stroke my shirt sleeves above my elbows, try to get full marks in every quiz, and actively publish blackboard newspapers and participate in cultural performances. In short, everything that can be compared is definitely better than the last one. I am in a science class, and my English is the strongest. I also won the prize of physical chemistry outside school. But I know in my heart that I am not a genius in science, and I have no talent in music and painting. I don't know what I am good at, so I do what I am doing seriously. My composition is also good, generally good, and the top three in a class are good. Watch some Xi Murong after class and recite some ancient poems and famous sayings during the exam, that's all. At that time, I didn't want to be a writer at all, or even waste my time writing. My time is mainly spent on reciting English and studying mathematics and physics, both of which are courses with extra points in the college entrance examination.

I was too realistic at that time. It is also realistic to fill in the college entrance examination volunteers. I am sensitive, afraid of socializing, and feel that I am not suitable for being a reporter, but I still reported Fudan News. It was entirely out of the consideration of an ordinary citizen: this major was relatively easy to find a job at that time, and it was respectable. Since I don't know what I want to do, I'll study a major that seems to do anything.

Everything seems clear, but in fact it's just to cover up the confusion. Why do I have to strive for Excellence in my most annoying classes? In retrospect, it is mainly because of inferiority, insecurity, pleasing others, and fear when facing the uncertainty of life. In the later life, these hidden psychology troubled me for a long time. It's a pity that I was too young to be alert enough to myself when I volunteered for the college entrance examination, thinking that I could plan everything well.

Soon after I entered the university, I suddenly became a literary youth. I can't explain how this inner change is done casually. In The Moon and Sixpence, Mao Mu described a boring stockbroker who broke away from life one day and quietly went to Tahiti to paint. Mao Mu didn't casually explain what happened to the painter's heart. He used the narrative perspective of onlookers to avoid the problem. Perhaps Mao Mu thinks that readers can understand by themselves, and they can use their emotions and experiences to give logic to the protagonist's behavior. Yes, I think readers can fully understand. Everyone's soul is rich and meaningful. But most of the time, they are asleep. This is why, for a long time, I like to write about little people, their souls are covered, and they occasionally wake up and sleep.

▲ Writer Mao Mu

Back to those days on campus. At that time, the central poster column of Fudan University was occupied by GRE advertisements and management lectures, but the residual temperature in the 1980s still burned me. There are always young people with long hair whizzing by with guitars, poems on the lawn, and plays in Xianghui Hall. At that time, I knew there was a Kafka. In the era when there was no Internet, a young man whose reading interest was influenced by the extracurricular reading list and 100 Cases of Middle School Composition opened his eyes in surprise. I saw a completely different world.

It was a relaxing time. Skipping class, reading, staring blankly. I'm losing interest in my chosen major. Many of my classmates are born journalists. The rapid change of the world scares me, but it also excites them. One day in a news class, the teacher asked the whole class to go to Wujiaochang to write news at once. I stepped on my bike, walked slowly halfway, and soon turned back to campus. I am desperate for the imaginary future where I run around looking for news. It was because I found my interest that I felt unbearable for the first time for the task that I was not interested in.

That afternoon, the bell rang and I didn't even go back to the classroom. I sat on the lawn, lazing around, watching some shiny faces come and go, and my mind couldn't help shaking up some words, such as afternoon, lawn, sunshine and so on. I took out a pen and paper, wrote it down, revised it several times, and felt like a poem.

▲ "They" author Ren Xiaowen Jiangsu Literature and Art Publishing House, June 2008.

I have been writing poems ever since. This is written at random. He was influenced by Xi Murong, a middle school student, and imitated Wallace Stevens and e·e· Cummings. In the cold campus literature group, lyricism is a matter of ridicule, and the pioneer is political correctness. So I also quickly pioneer.

I accumulated some poems at the beginning of my study. While entertaining myself, I actually thought of letting more people see it. I chose a few songs, copied them on the manuscript paper, copied the address of Germination magazine and sent them out.

Just when I almost forgot about it, the employment letter came. Then it was published in "Germination" one after another and won new concept awards one after another. Everything seems to come too easily, and it is not as difficult as many writers describe. As a college student, I joined the new concept adult group and was not paid attention by the media, so I still won't jump in my life. The biggest gain is the encouragement from the teacher's "bud". In their tone, I seem to be very literary.

So I can't help but feel very talented. Being good at one thing can make one thing so effortlessly. I became more ambitious and wanted to write novels. In my last few poems, the narrative elements have become very obvious. I am eager to say more words and describe more things. At that time, I liked everyone's magazines very much and bought every issue. A woman writer attracted me. I can't remember the name now, but I was deeply impressed by the way she told it. At that time, I didn't know such terms as "original narrative", but I found it interesting to jump between fiction and reality and switch between narrative and rambling. Freedom, large capacity, easy to imitate.

So I spent a day writing my first novel. It is a mixture of plot fragments, philosophical reasoning and various fragmentary thoughts, and it is a half-baked hodgepodge made by Sartre, Kundera and Borges in my mind. I just learned computer at that time, so I printed it out and sent it to everyone's magazine. I remember the only thought after I sent it was to be glad that there was such a good thing as a computer. Otherwise, the magazine is too lazy to reject the manuscript. How many copies of such a long text should be copied?

Unexpectedly, everyone came to a letter, not a rejection, but a thin letter of employment. Teacher Li Wei, the editor, then called for encouragement. I am so happy that I am about to fly. I caught a gay man in the classroom and said, "My novel has been hired by everyone." The classmate said "Congratulations". I can see from his vacant eyes that he doesn't know who everyone is. Then there was nothing in the carriage, and he walked away politely. At that time, students were busy with internships, job hunting, TOEFL or other things related to the future. And I seem to have been sleepwalking. Later, a friend of the philosophy department told me that she asked my classmates about me and got the feedback: Ren Xiaowen, what a strange man.

I'm really surprised. I actually decided to apply for a postgraduate degree in journalism. I'm not good at this major, but I find it easier to muddle along here. I skipped classes too much, and the teacher didn't know what the teacher was like. The kind teacher actually let me graduate. So I continued to study news. This choice is similar to the mentality of filling in the college entrance examination volunteers before. I haven't made up my mind to be a writer and I don't know what I want to be, so I'd better choose a major that can be advanced or retired for the time being.

▲ "Flying Carpet" by Ren Xiaowen Shanghai Literature and Art Publishing House in May 2006.

In fact, I once considered the Chinese Department, and several masters of the Chinese Department tried their best to stop me, saying, "A doctor in the Chinese Department is not as popular as a journalism undergraduate." In fact, I can also answer them: I don't care about finding a job, I want to devote my life to writing. That sounds great. But on second thought, I think it's a bluff. So I nodded, followed their advice, and gave up the idea of applying for the Chinese Department.

After three years as a graduate student, I spent the rest of my time writing novels, except reading some western Marxism and postmodern theories to cope with my tutor. After everyone else, another article was published in People's Literature. I didn't know it was the last chance. In the future, I will face unhappiness in all aspects of my life for a long time.

I gradually found that writing novels is far more difficult than I thought. Disciple writing, like Duan Yu's Six-pulse Excalibur, is full of inspiration and uncontrollable power. For a novice, whether it can be published is even more confusing.

The initial encouragement has always supported me. I haven't written a short story before I started writing a long one. The first attempt failed, and the second narrowly succeeded. In 2002, I finished my first novel "The Island" in a few months. The earliest inspiration came from michel foucault. I conceived the story of a group of lunatics. In The Wild Heart, I think there should be a motif of strength and resistance, a reflection on China's modern history and a refraction of contemporary chaos. The miscellaneous ideas in the mind of a young literary woman of the new left academic school contributed to the formation of this work.

▲ "Isolated Island" by Ren Xiaowen Shanghai Literature and Art Publishing House in August 2008.

Since then, it has been constantly submitting and rejecting manuscripts. Rejected by magazines and publishers. I took a gamble and revised this work again and again. In the process, I touched some doorways. It turns out that writing novels is a systematic project, just like architecture. The top architecture is art, but before it becomes art, you must learn kung fu brick by brick. It is impossible for an untrained person to become an architect. So do novelists. The initial ignorance and arrogance were worn away. I lowered my head and began to practice basic skills. Many years later, some media chose one of my words as an interview topic. I said, "The most important thing in the world is talented people." A friend saw it and said half jokingly, "You are so proud." He may not know that this seemingly artificial remark is my experience gained through years of suffering.

I still remember one of the countless rejections on the island. At that time, it signed a contract with a private publishing company, and all three schools seemed to have passed. The editor sent me the proof, and I revised it several times, so I had to think twice about adding or deleting the word "De". At some moments when my cervical vertebra hurts, I will put down my pen, twist my neck and rub the stack of printed manuscripts, determined to make it perfect. I also printed out the designed cover pictures, cut and pasted them on other papers, put them on the bookshelf, and pulled them out from time to time to look at them, as if I were really looking at my first book. At this time, my friend who signed a contract with me resigned from the publishing company, and the editor also resigned. It is still a little unclear who will take over in the future. I comforted myself: after the big deal came out, no one cared about publicity. No promotion, no promotion. You can always give it away yourself. With this in mind, the publishing company called me. A middle-aged lady with glasses and a low ponytail who looks a bit like the director of the Political and Educational Affairs Office is in charge of the reception. Before I could sit on my ass, she suddenly asked, "What do you think you have to sell yourself?" I was a little embarrassed and stammered a few boastful words. She interrupted me and began to criticize me and my novel. It sounds as if she hasn't read the novel, so she gradually focuses on belittling me. I watched her wait for a while, feeling that every word echoed in my ears. She avoided my eyes and occasionally narrowed her eyes to see my reaction. A dull person like me gradually understood that the publishing company wanted to break the contract, but it didn't want to take legal risks, so it forced me to give up. I blushed and put up with it, thinking: If I put up with it again, maybe she will relent and shut up and let the book be published as usual. Middle-aged women scolded a lot, but when they saw that I didn't respond, they were a little anxious and their words became more and more unbearable. I finally couldn't help it and let go and said, "Forget it, I won't publish here."

I don't remember how I felt when I left that publishing company. Since then, countless greater setbacks in life have healed the traumatic pain caused by that setback. I only remember that day, and I realized the fact that literature may not give me anything, or even take away what I have. So what? I just like it. What do I really like in the little half of my life that I have squandered? There is nothing but writing. When I was in middle school, I seemed to have a wide range of interests. At that time, I was just playing a versatile good student, trying to win the favor of irrelevant people. I don't like painting, dancing, playing guitar and carving stamps, just as I don't like math and physics. Many people have never found their love and expertise in their lives, and live with some unspeakable sense of deficit. Compared with them, I am lucky, at least I know what containers like me are born for.

In 2008, after six years, The Island was finally published. No publicity, no attention, just like all unimportant things in the world, passed quietly. With this real book in my hand, I have long lost the joy of pulling out a simulated book with a cover on it from the shelf.

In fact, since then, all publications and various honors have not really satisfied me. They are more like after-the-fact compensation. I dare not look up because I have a huge appetite waiting to devour me. Desire is as big as disappointment, and so is appetite. I can only read every word I write with my head down. Only when I feel that my writing has improved, can I feel satisfied.

After that, I still write, submit and refuse. It took me five years to write a 390,000-word "They". I don't know if it's because it took so long to delay the arrival of the follow-up affairs. Maybe there is a little psychological factor. Sure enough, as I had a hunch, the fate of "them" was as depressing as that of "islands". Although it was finally published and unexpectedly nominated for the Chinese Media Award with low attention, the long process of grinding people simply made me suffer from "novel writing end syndrome". Sometimes I can't help but wonder if deleting a work immediately after writing will make me feel much more relaxed. A familiar person said, "It's really strange. Trash words are everywhere in the market, and many beginners just publish books. Why are you always so unlucky? " I don't know. Maybe God disciplined me in his way and taught me to be patient and wait. On this ground, there is no absolute fairness and luck. The only thing I can do is to keep moving forward in the marathon of my life.

So, I seem to be that meticulous middle school student again. Writing has become a daily homework. The difference is that no one grades me anymore, and no one cares whether I am behind or improving. I'm the only one left. Ask yourself, deny yourself and set your own direction. This is absolute freedom and absolute loneliness.

▲ Ren Xiaowen's "Life, that's all"? Beijing October Literature and Art Publishing House

Soon, another six years passed. Wang Jue, a girl from Lijiang Society, found me online and said that she would reprint the island. I'm a little embarrassed. She wrote a colorful page with a waist. Two or three months later, the Swedish version of Island was also published. By accident: Ms. Chen Anna, a Swedish translator, happened to see this book in the library, and she liked it very much, so she began to translate it without knowing me. In the same year, Han Jingqun, a teacher of literature and art in October, discovered my writing and signed three of my books, two of which were not finished when signing. Later, various manuscripts followed. I have always been grateful to these teachers and friends who have recognized me. I must also tell myself to learn to thank those who have hit me. Because people are so proud, how can they think of looking down on themselves without punching?

Of course, these are all my inner plays, less ambiguous and more melodramatic. More importantly, people who write novels should be behind the scenes, and "I" is not important unless "I" is divided into countless "you" and "your" experiences. This leads me to dislike talking nonsense about my mental journey. But this is a propositional composition that I am embarrassed to put off. So, please forgive me if I say too much.

Interview with Ren Xiaowen, Editor-in-Chief of Great Dad

Q: I am very touched to see your mental journey. Everyone says that writing is an inner expression. Why do some people have a lot to express and others don't? Do you need to deliberately accumulate a lot of things in your heart? Do you need to observe and think more?

A: Everyone has a desire to express and feelings about life, although there is a difference between plain and sensitive. The more you express, the better you can learn to observe.

Q: After you started writing, did you feel that you would observe and think from another angle?

A: Not the same. More acute.

Q: You mentioned that writing should start with basic skills. What basic skills are the most important in your experience? When is a good time to start practicing? How to practice?

A: The sooner you start practicing, the better. Read more, think more and write more. Reading is mainly based on classic reading.

Q: Many children are afraid of writing now. Any good suggestions? Do you think the composition practice in primary and secondary schools is helpful for your future novel writing?

A: No suggestions. Writing exercises are of no help to writing novels.

Q: A novel is a novel, but school narration requires recording real events. So, is it a waste of time for middle school students to write novels

A: No waste. As an experienced person, I deeply understand that many middle school students' narratives are also made up.

Q: If you were asked to be a teacher to teach children writing, what would you pay most attention to in cultivating students?

A: Honesty, accuracy and conciseness.

Q: Can you recommend some books to primary and secondary school students?

A: Primary and secondary school students can read according to literary classics. I may not understand it when I was a student, but I may understand it when I have rich life experience.