GL Eighteen-Line Novelist and Reader's Love Story

If you happen to know very little about novelists, I can offer you a quick icebreaker with people like us here: "Tell me about your inspiration?"

That's right, just eleven words.With any luck, you might even get a silent writer to babble on for over half an hour.

The reason is simple, every artist needs a Muse: this muse may not belong to him, and may not even exist in the three dimensions we know well.But she must be unique, and it is his obsession of "wishing for it, dreaming about it".

The source of all his suffering, the source of all inspiration.

What, you ask me if I have obsessions?Just kidding, although I'm not a novelist yet.But when it comes to Muse, I'm no less loyal than any famous person.

But I am luckier than most people, and I am also much more unlucky.

1. My muse really exists.

2. I can see her every day.

3. She is a long-time reader of mine.

After reading this, your brain may have started to judge quickly: Which of the above three items should be considered lucky, and which should be considered unlucky?Honestly, I don't know either.Also already gave up on figuring it out.

When I first noticed her, I barely started writing.A hammer in the east, a stick in the west, wandering in various websites and blogs.

In particular, she regularly writes reviews for me wherever I go, and it's not the 'couches, benches, big and fast' kind of reviews.

Originally, things could have continued like this.

Until one time, I, who was in the advanced stage of lazy cancer, thought it was a bit troublesome to reply, so I sent her a private message directly in the background.According to her description, she was surprised and terrified at the time, and the author had never turned over the brand in person. ——I guess the translation means a little flattered?

I didn't feel anything at all.After all, at that time, I might only receive three or four comments a day.So little that for me, the only difference between private messages and comments is which is more convenient.Besides, I haven't learned the routine of creating a sense of mystery until now.

On the other hand, her sense of surprise didn't last long.After coming and going a few times, she seemed to get used to being 'favoured'.Later, she simply gave up the comment area where the user experience is touching.Directly send what you want to say into one after another long and short private messages:

At the beginning, she was more reserved and polite. For example, she would say:

"This update is a little hard to understand. When I am free, I will read it a few more times."

"Small suggestion: Can you focus more on the psychological description? Sometimes the character's mentality changes too quickly, and I can't keep up with it when I read it."

Later, her comment became:

"If you continue to make the male lead say such cold jokes... the female lead will definitely be scared away."

"Hey, I didn't mean to be happy, why did you write another tragedy... Have you never written comedies?"

……

To be honest, I don't come back every time.After all, with such a reader, my mentality is sometimes quite broken.More than once, I murmured in my heart: If you were a little smarter, you wouldn't be unable to keep up, okay?

But complaints are complaints, and most of the time she is right.I also had no choice but to hold a Buddhist mood of "Amitabha, crossing others and crossing oneself", and reluctantly went back to tinker with it: change to a more readable expression, adjust the word order, add some foreshadowing, and emotional description.

I used to disdain to do these things.But no matter how unwilling I am, I have to admit: if it weren’t for a loyal author like her who pointed at what I wrote, I’m afraid I would always live in self-appreciation.I will always regard all those who do not understand my articles as fools who 'can't keep up with the rhythm'.I even feel complacent about inventing a unique way of expression for myself.

It wasn't until she appeared that I realized: If I really want to be a writer, I can't just be satisfied with letting myself understand.Nor can we live in heaven forever on our own.

For that...or many, many ways, I'm grateful for her existence.But...But this doesn't mean that I can accept the reality in front of me with joy - she really appeared in my life, in a way that caught me off guard the most.

It was an ordinary Sunday evening.I was forced to turn into a BBQ embarrassment while cycling around the campus: the embarrassment was mainly composed of a few acquaintances who were basically nothing to talk to, plus a few other obvious unfamiliar faces.At that time, I didn't want to chat very much, so I took the initiative to run to the barbecue grill in the backyard and took up the job of a barbecue expert.

I still remember that the working environment at that time was quite good, and I couldn't help but not have to chat awkwardly. When I looked up, I saw pink cherry blossoms all over the tree.Occasionally there is a cool breeze blowing.Squinting my eyes, I sip the iced lemonade and turn the grill leisurely.I secretly thought that when the first batch of meat was cooked, I could say goodbye after eating two bites.On the way back, I went to French Bakery to buy half a baguette to eat...

But how do you say it, people just can't be tempted. Before I finished daydreaming, the wind turned a big corner.The smoke that was originally flying out rushed back at me like a hungry tiger.

When I noticed that someone seemed to be approaching the oven.I've been smoked from the stove to a proper medium.His eyes were so hot that he couldn't open them, and he could barely tell from his figure that the person in front of him was a girl.

I squinted my eyes, suppressed my cough, and said to her as kindly as possible, "Miss, you can't eat raw meat in a hurry. It's the same for even the most beautiful people."

And she asked inconsequentially, "Are you an [-]th-line novelist?"

I don't know how she could recognize me.And why my first reaction was to pull her wrist in a panic and run to the side.Afterwards, I almost broke my heart with regret: I pretended to be in a daze and passed.I wear opaque sunglasses and she can't even look through my eyes to tell if I'm lying.

When we talked about it later, she laughed so hard that she almost died of anger: "Hahahaha, I thought at the time that even if you were, there was no need to drag me away. Is this person a wanted fugitive or an alien The spies sent here are still the best of the show?"

"Please...you are the scarier one." I couldn't help trying to get back the situation for myself: "You can definitely pull me aside and ask. Why are you standing in front of the grill all of a sudden? I was so scared that my chicken wings fell off. "

She rolled her eyes, "Wouldn't that be more scary? If I walk in front of you, you will drag me and run wildly. If you pull you to the side, I'm afraid you will take out the propeller and take me with me. took off."

Suddenly, her voice lowered a little, "Let's talk..."

"Don't talk in half!"

She brushed her hair up pretending to be shy: "Girls should be more reserved. How can everyone be like you..."

I? ? ?I can't resist...

I think about it after a long, long time.Maybe the first time I fell in love with her can be traced back to the afternoon in front of the grill.It's just the conditioned reflex of my arm, which is far faster than the thinking speed of my brain.

Even a mere arm knows that it is necessary to grab the person you like as soon as possible with lightning speed and jingle bells.My brain, which consumes 75% of my blood sugar intake a day, is in a daze, and it took me several years to figure out the situation.

At this moment, she is sitting leaning on the light brown armchair opposite me: she is holding a large glass of iced Americano in her left hand, and her right hand is resting on the trackpad of my MacBook.I saw her scanning the text on the screen line by line.His brows were slightly frowned, as if he was extremely serious.

And I, I was really panicked.I was trying to pretend to be doing nothing, looking at the scenery outside the floor-to-ceiling windows—it was a summer afternoon, the sky was clear and cloudless.But for me, it was like returning to the third grade of elementary school, waiting for my dear Chinese teacher to finish marking the papers.

I have been "running now" for three and a half years, and I don't know how many times she has reviewed manuscripts for me, but today's manuscript is really different.This is a story about a secret love written for her.As a novelist, that's the best way I can think of, to be honest with her.Also, the best way to say goodbye.

Glancing at her focused expression again, I tried my best to restrain my ups and downs.The sun outside was too harsh, so I took out the mirror case from my backpack, took out the sunglasses and put them on.He also blocked his overly eager eyes behind the lens.

Finally, she took her eyes off the screen and leaned back on the chair with a relaxed body.She always bows her head when she thinks.So I knew she must have something brewing.

Sure enough, she slowly opened her mouth: "Hey... I forgot if I told you. But you seem to have a habit recently."

Gotta start playing mystery again.I asked cooperatively: "Whichis"

She looked at me quietly, "Your recent works seem to always tend to... describe the heroine particularly well."

"Really?" I sat up straight almost subconsciously, and covered up, "I have also tried unpleasant character designs before."

"Indeed. But even when writing about a heroine like that, you seem to subconsciously rationalize her behavior." She said seriously, "It's like the previous novel about the heroine's cheating. You will Add a large paragraph of discussion below, saying that 'everyone should have the right to choose again, as long as there are no two people who are not buried together, the choice is not over.'

But in comparison, you seem to be very ruthless every time you deal with the male lead.Just like this one. She turned the computer in front of me, got up and sat down on the seat next to me, pointed at the screen and said, "It's obvious that the hero is just hesitating whether to confess to the heroine, yet you write his motives in a selfish and selfish way." cowardly.For example, like this sentence:"

As she spoke, she read out word by word: "'She is such a good person, but I selfishly deprived her of the right to choose that should belong to her." She stared at me and said, "Why do you do this? ? Or, do you think "she" is good, or "I" is bad."

I was stabbed in the heart by a sword, and I didn't know how to speak.

She chuckled and said, "People say that works are the writer's projection of himself. Do you think too badly of yourself, that's why it's reflected in your writing again and again."

I'm speechless...still so perceptive as expected.In desperation, I had no choice but to change the subject to talk about the novel, "So you think I wronged the hero?"

She pretended not to mind me changing the subject, and said, "I can't say it's 'wronged,' but it's too harsh." She smiled lightly, "It's really cunning to hide your emotions. But everyone also has their own hidden secrets and difficulties. You can understand a girl who cheats, why can't you be friendly to a male protagonist who is ashamed to speak?"

I tentatively asked: "Then what would you do if you met such a person?"

She didn't seem to expect that I would ask such a question, she froze for a moment, "Me? Me..." Her eyes gradually softened, "I should give him a hint. If he still refuses to take a step forward, maybe Just don't like me."

After finishing speaking, she nodded my forehead and said with a smirk, "What's wrong, great writer. Could it be that inspiration has been so poor recently, do you want to seek inspiration from me?"

I snorted lightly, noncommittal.

"Anyway, that's what I want to say. You should be more tolerant of 'characters in your own writing'." She deliberately put the accent on the word "myself". "Also, a good writer should not use his own values ​​to set his own character. Even the character most like you is not allowed. This is the most basic courtesy."

"Okay..." I was disheartened by her tirade, "I will revise it properly."

She made a soft "cut", propped her chin with one hand, and joked, "I don't know if you are real or fake."

I looked at her fixedly, "It's true."

Right now, right now... I took a deep breath.Try to calm yourself down.Yes, I came to say goodbye.I have been planning this topic for half a year.But when it really comes time to open it, it is still more difficult than imagined.

I said: "After all, I have decided to live in another place. I am afraid I will not be able to hear your guidance often in the future."

Almost instantly, her expression froze, but her tone was normal, "Really?" But maybe my eyes were dazzled, I saw her fingers trembling slightly.

"Well, I've never stayed in the same place for more than three years before. It's time for a change." She remained silent, nibbling on her straw.There is no joy or anger on the expression.I had no choice but to continue, "Maybe I'll go to Europe for a while, and then I'll see how I feel."

As I spoke slowly, I saw her lips gradually purse into a straight line.Finally, when I ran out of words, she slowly said, "Go alone?"

"Yes, go alone." I almost forgot that I was still protected by sunglasses, and deliberately avoided her sight.

I don't know what my eyes look like, but I don't want her to see it.

But she obviously saw through my intention: "Can you take off the sunglasses!" The usually gentle voice was filled with a little anger at this time, "Do you think you are handsome wearing sunglasses? Who would wear them?" Farewell with sunglasses on?"

"Ahem..." I took off my sunglasses with a guilty conscience and held them in my hand, "Just... the afternoon sun is very dazzling." Then, I handed the sunglasses to her and asked tentatively, "Do you want to wear them?" ? I heard that sunscreen around the eyes can prevent crow's feet..."

"You!" She was angry for a while, and said through gnashing teeth, "I am young and beautiful, and she insists on using eye cream every night. There is no dry line, crow's feet or anything, thank you for remembering."

"Yes, yes." I nodded hastily, "Use the most expensive cosmetics and stay up the latest night. Your skin is the healthiest."

She didn't pick up on me.I could see that she was trying to calm down.Finally, she recovered her previous look, raised her eyebrows and asked, "Then the great writer, you asked me out this time, is there any parting message for me?"

Seeing her return to her domineering appearance, I was secretly relieved, but also a little sad.It's pretty quick to recover... I guess it won't be too sad.I don't know if I'm comforting or beating myself up,

After thinking about it, I took out the prepared package from my backpack and gently pushed it in front of her. "Here, this is a parting gift."

Her gaze briefly fell on the light blue packing box, but she didn't rush to reach for it.Instead, he calmly asked me: "Do you want me to dismantle it now, or go back and dismantle it later?"

I pretended to be plain and said: "The fine traditions of the East still have to be practiced, you can open it when you go back." Seeing that the gift was given out, I felt a lot more relaxed, "It's not a particularly expensive thing. It's just a book."

"What! Your book has been published?" She jumped up as if she had been stung, and hurriedly went to get the gift on the table.

I was really taken aback by her, and said indiscriminately: "No! How...how is it possible. Don't worry. It's just a book I like. If I published a novel, how could you not know about it? "She put the book back on the table resentfully, with four big characters written on her face: "I just said..."

I couldn't laugh or cry: "I chose it for you anyway."

I tried to finish the sentence in the smoothest and most relaxed tone possible.I don't want her to underestimate this gift, and I don't want to ignite her curiosity to the point where she wants to open it immediately.

"If you miss me in the future, pick it up and turn over two pages. When you forget me someday, just throw the book away."

I said it to myself, but never noticed how her face gradually became gloomy.Finally when I was about to throw the book, she slapped the book on the table.

Before I could say anything, she had already stood up. I had never seen such a cold look in her eyes: "Oh...forgot to throw it away? Then you can take it back now."

Her eye circles were slightly red, "Gu Shiba... We have known each other for more than two years, I have read so many of your novels, this is how you bid farewell to me. Let me read another one of your novels, finished reading Give me another book." She couldn't bear it anymore and said, "Are you sent by UNESCO to popularize literacy?"

I was almost scolded and laughed by her...but when I looked up, she was shaking with anger, and tears were rolling in her eyes.I hurriedly wanted to go up and hold her hand, "No...this novel is written..."

Her smile was full of sarcasm, "Novels... novels are always novels. Why can't you just say something if you have something to say. Just tell her not to. Why do you keep showing me." She pointed out Looking at my computer, I said, "Everyone can see what you mean in these novels. Have you considered my feelings? Am I that much like your free editor?"

My brain was frightened, and I said dumbfounded: "Then...then I will pay you some money?"

"Why don't you choke to death if you don't eat donuts???" She flung her hands away, and I just wanted to chase after her.But she saw that she came back angrily to pick up the books on the table, and left without looking back.