I like writing prose poems, but I feel that my knowledge is not enough. What can I do to improve my literary level?

Writing is emotional and expressive. Impulse is to turn observations in life into words. As for the relationship between knowledge and creation, it is not very close. Teachers who teach Chinese know the narrative procedure of composition, but they may not be able to write works. Writer Mo Yan only attended primary school for four years in rural areas, and Jia Pingwa was only a high school dropout in rural areas. Such writers with low academic qualifications seem to be better than those with high academic qualifications. It is important to read more literary works. Think while reading, don't pursue the story of the work, but look at the form of language and the structure of the work ... The following is my essay, welcome to guide.

fog

Text/Ge Zhenjiang

The dreamlike morning mist drowned the disappointment and helplessness left in my heart after getting up in the morning.

I especially like foggy days. The true face of the world is completely covered by a soft light, and all the worlds have no ugliness and struggle happiness. When the memory retreats, there will be no sadness.

Fog, clinging to the sky and the wilderness, comes from low altitude and starts from the mountains. Anyway, you can't tell her where she came from. When you open your eyes, she already has it-it's a cloud.

Fog spreads slowly on the ground like thick clouds, like white clouds torn from the sky; Looking at the distance like flying catkins, approaching, it is air with water, water with air, gently floating on the ground, guessing that the powder of crushed water flies with the breeze and dust, wetting your body, making your hair and beard feel moist, so that you can get close to her with your heart regardless of your body shape or expression. Fog has a fairyland dream. No matter where it floats, it can always create scenes outside the world. Light is the scenery gradually hidden, but heavy is everything hidden. My thoughts are hidden in the thick fog and I can't get out mysteriously. Once my thoughts enter the fog, no matter whether my heart is blue or clear, it will turn into clouds. At this time, you can imagine yourself as a hermit who is divorced from the world, or you can imagine yourself as a Taoist wandering in fairyland; Or simply you are a fuzzy mist.

Mist has a lingering snuggle, and a large piece of light fog is wrapped around it, lingering like a furry puppy. If you just open your arms, you can hold a ball and a piece and enjoy it.

Light fog is different from life. There is no vortex and no undercurrent. Everywhere is a wandering tenderness, looming. For example, a woman's slender fingers, neither fat nor thin, are the flesh and blood of her mind, which makes people feel so distressed that they can't bear to disperse.

Written in the autumn of 20 10 in Beijing.