My hometown is the land of fish and rice in the southeast of Zhejiang. In the early 1950s, my liberated hometown was beautiful, and I, a Cape Town girl, was filled with joy. At that time, I just learned to write and loved reading. When I come into contact with books, I feel that my ignorant and empty head is filled day by day.
The first thing I saw was a small picture of a child named Cigarette Man. This kind of cardboard with pictures printed on the front and words printed on the back is slightly larger than the matchbox, which is a plus point for each box of cigarettes. These little pictures with the stories of Water Margin, Three Kingdoms and Elvis Presley are the first comic books I have ever seen.
I read it with relish at first, but after a long time, I felt dissatisfied.
Later, I saw some real comic books-several sets of comic books by a teacher who loves art in a primary school, which fascinated me and moved me: seven-color flowers aroused my fantasy, and blood and tears made me cry like pearls. Later, I finally got some short books from my brother's friends: Biography of Liu Hulan, The Story of Zoya and Sura, The Road to Gu Liya ... At that time, as long as I had a book in my hand, I forgot to eat and sleep. It is because I love reading so much that I never let go of a piece of paper with words, which makes me more and more interested in literature.
Little books like comic books can't satisfy me gradually. I finally found an oasis again-there are hundreds of books in the newly established cultural station in the town! So, as soon as I put down my schoolbag every day, I ran there In the past few months, except for those voluminous theoretical works, I have borrowed almost all the literary books in this small library. I read very fast, gulping down dates, and I have the taste of Mr. Wu Liu's "good reading without asking for anything." Because at that time, what attracted me first was the story, not the fate of all kinds of characters. Their joys and sorrows often worry me.
Shakespeare said, "Books are the nourishment of the whole world." For a teenager like me who is eager to learn, its role is self-evident. Enthusiastic reading has made me gain a lot-since I began to learn writing in the third grade of primary school, I have often jumped to the top of my class, and reading has greatly expanded my imagination. At home, facing a flower wall with complex patterns, I will stay for half a day and conceive various fairy tales; When I meet a disabled person on the road, I will feel dejected and edit his or her tragic life experience. ...
I remember when I was in primary school, I wrote a composition entitled "Autumn is coming". The teacher quoted a "model essay" as usual. When most students started to write "Autumn has come, and the leaves are all yellow and floating to the ground one by one", I suddenly passed the uneasy thought: how boring it is for everyone to write like this! I want to see autumn with my own eyes and write autumn with my own feelings!
I compare autumn to a fairy in a golden robe. Her light sleeves brushed away the scorching sun, but shed light and freshness on the earth. She blocked the cold with wide clothes, but propped up heavy grains and fruits for the world. People love autumn, her sunny days, her high sky and light clouds, and her fragrance floating in the fields. Autumn makes farmers smile brilliantly. ...
So, I got an "A", the teacher circled and clicked on it in the text, and then read it in class as a model essay.
These little glories have made me realize a little truth: the composition should first have a unique idea and have a distinct "taste" when writing. Naturally, these insights and cleverness are gifts from extracurricular reading materials.
After junior high school, I am not satisfied with just reading ordinary stories. The obviously much richer books in the school library attract me like magnets. Those novels, ancient and modern, Chinese and foreign, fascinate me. I spend all my spare time borrowing books. At this time, I also developed the habit of taking notes: writing down beautiful words and wonderful paragraphs in the book ... taking notes exercised my memory and enhanced my understanding.
I wrote a composition entitled "An Unhappy Thing", and I was particularly excited. I think I got a good opportunity to show my talent: I was wronged when I was a child, and all the words I usually read played the same role as "yeast", so I started writing from a cold evening, setting off the loneliness of this wronged little girl with the beautiful moon and the laughter of people around me. The teacher also circled the paragraph about the moon with a red pen. But when the teacher pointed to the phrase "like a jade plate embedded in the blue sky" and said that the word "embedded" was particularly accurate, I blushed. I can't accept this kind of praise with a clear conscience-because this description, this "particularly accurate" word "embedded" is a sentence that I never forget after reading Mr. Ba Jin's "Home".
Then, I realized a little truth: composition, to move the true feelings, photo love; Writing practice can not be separated from reference and imitation at first, but what really touches people's hearts should be their own painstaking creation.
I finally began to learn to "create"-that was in the second grade of junior high school. I wrote an 800-word short story "Little Storm between Husband and Wife", which was posted in the newly established county newspaper and finally published a week later. I can't tell you how happy I am to see the manuscript turned into a typed manuscript and the composition marked as "novel". This is probably the most successful "composition" I wrote when I was a student.
I deeply understand that I would never have written those 800 words if I hadn't read hundreds of real novels. It is books-the "longevity fruit" of human spiritual civilization-that nourish me.