Say what? I don't seem to know where to start. All stories begin with people, so let's talk about people first. Many people say that I am a person who loves words. In fact, I can't give myself an accurate positioning. Used to be a soldier. A soldier? Worked, worker? Write mood words occasionally, literati? Still learning to play the guitar, artist? I don't know who I belong to. I prefer to be a scholar, because I like words, and only words can make me really forget my troubles. At this point, I want to talk about three people. One is my grandfather, a kind old man who died two years ago. The reason why I like writing is that he is undoubtedly my first mentor. Grandpa can speak very well. Here, grandpa is absolutely eloquent. Grandpa can tell stories. The Journey to the West, Xue, A Dream of Red Mansions and other famous works are all in an orderly way. Grandpa didn't even graduate from primary school, but he can talk. I think grandpa was born in the wrong age. If he comes to work in Guangdong now, he will become a famous writer. Look at me. I have a drink, and the topic digress. Ok, let's get down to business. Under the starry sky in summer and in front of the kang in winter, grandpa tells stories to our seven brothers and sisters (two cousins were not born at that time) every year, and these stories accompany our whole childhood. In this contact, I fell in love with storytelling, and I still remember every story told by my grandfather clearly, so my grandfather inspired my most primitive motivation or potential; Then I want to talk about my eldest brother, who is six years older than me. At the age of fifteen, he published an article in Women's Daily in Changsha, Hunan Province, exposing the ugly face of school fraud. Later, the education department came to investigate, and the angry headmaster flew into a rage. Then, he published a poem to make friends. Since then, letters from all over the world have been flying like snowflakes. It is in this poem that Big Brother started a long marathon love. 12 years later, a girl from Shaoyang, that is, her pen pal and eldest brother, entered the marriage hall. To a great extent, my eldest brother touched me; Finally, I want to talk about my sister. I have no sister. There are four cousins, but they are closer than my sister. Grandpa's story only gave me a vague impression, and my eldest brother touched me a little, but it was my sister who really inspired me to love words. Sister Yao is one year older than me and studies a year earlier than me. In the third year of that year, she participated in a national junior high school student composition competition and won the first place in Hengyang Division with a prose poem "Sixteen-year-old Flower Season". When Da Hong's honorary certificate was sent to the school, there was no doubt that there was a small poem fever in the school. Sister Yao came home with a certificate of commendation, and grandma rubbed her rough hands, full of compliments. I envy it. Grandma said, you should also work hard, write well and write your name on the book! This scene, after seven years of precipitation, is still clearly printed in my mind.
This is why I love words. Many years ago, I worked as a technician in a factory in Gong Ming. The benefit of the factory is very good, and production will continue at night. At that time, I was on the night shift, dozing off like an omnipresent demon, and all the employees were sleepy. So grandpa's story played a great role, so I told stories to the following employees and chatted one by one. Sometimes, I will ask everyone to stop the machine, then sit together, tell stories to everyone and drive them to sleep. An employee told me that it is good to do family education in the future, and I believe you can communicate with your children well. Here, thank you very much for those stories told by grandpa!
Now I want to talk about our childhood. Before the age of four, childhood nights were dark and there were no electric lights. Every night, my mother cooks pig food, and all the sweet potato vines, cabbages and radishes have to be chopped before they can be eaten by pigs. The dim light reflected mother's flashing face and shone on the wall. Nowadays, children in the city have everything to eat, drink and be merry in their childhood, but we have nothing in our childhood, but I feel happier than them. That kind of happiness comes from a kind of truth. Oh, my brothers and sisters, do you still remember the hill we walked through in spring? There, we picked ferns and mushrooms and sang and laughed all the way. Do you still remember the coolness of the fields we set foot on in midsummer? Do you still remember that we climbed the mountain in autumn and looked far away, singing Wang Zhihuan's classic poem: Go up the mountain one after another. Looking up at the white clouds and the red sun, Wan Li has a panoramic view of the mountains and rivers: Do you still remember the snow we skied in winter? I believe it is a lush grassland now. We are happy all the year round. Even in the evening, we will find entertainment programs and begin to perform the Huagu Opera that Grandpa told us. Usually perform "Caotang Grinding Daughter-in-law". I put on my sister's skirt and dress up as a delicate daughter-in-law, making adults laugh every time. Today, we live in different parts of the world, such as Shenzhen, Guangzhou, Shaoguan, Liuzhou and Hengyang. When you grow up, it's hard to get together once. Even when my grandfather died, I felt sorry for joining the army. It was not until the end of last year that my eldest brother got married that I retired as I wished and my brothers and sisters could be reunited.
Brothers and sisters, I know that you are very busy and may not have time to look at my space. Maybe you can't read my diary because of the limited conditions, but I still hope that one day, you can see and arouse the softest thing in your heart and remember the years we passed together!
Childhood is happy, home is beautiful, landscape Hengyang, amorous feelings Hengyang. I have a diary, Memory 1977, which objectively and truly describes Hengyang countryside, so I won't go into details here.
Over the years, I have read many famous works, such as Xue Mo's Sacrifice to the Desert, which tells about the rural life in Liangzhou and laments the Liangzhou culture, Xixia culture and the reality. Shen Congwen's Essays on Xiangxi and Xiangxi express his deep affection for his native land and show people the simple Xiangxi customs. Local culture has always been an inexhaustible creative theme for writers. I know my ability is limited, but I also want to write a novel that can reflect the rural life in Hengyang. I hope I can do it in my lifetime. Speaking of which, I feel a little depressed. Isn't it a novel in the early twenties? What's the big deal? In the future, I will take time to write some diaries and write down all the stories my grandfather told me. Maybe many stories are difficult to write because of their hometown dialect, so try my best.
Some time ago, I discussed with a comrade-in-arms what life is. He said that life is a hot spot for us to step on. I quite agree with the land where our ancestors lived. I am only a lover of words at best, but I hope to set foot on the hot land of my hometown, stick to the spiritual highland that a scholar should have, and use deep brushwork, just like the river in my hometown, from the martial water in the town to the steamed water, to the Xiangjiang River and to the Yangtze River. Eventually merged into the ocean. I wish I were like a river, rushing forward and heading for a higher sky. ...