勇敢 = 做你該做的事
勇敢 = 做你該做的事
[Solution] 那就定立一種態度。像Melissa Alexandria在她的YouTube channel談minimalism、veganism、fashion and beauty，看似雜亂，但她的主旨是positivity。
去年我在香港書展以$30的清貨價買入一本非常切合我需要的工具書，叫《部落客也可以賺大錢》。(書是2008年出版，當時social media還未當紅。作者于文強早前寫一篇鼓勵愛寫的人不要放棄blogging的文章，強力推薦！) 在我如常地邊讀邊畫重點的時候，忽然停在139頁，教寫「有吸引力的標題」那一章。我的心，有很多很多疑問：
徐徐記下這些問題，答案雖未成形，但隱若地曉得，一切學問貴以「用」，就像理科要做lab、商科要present proposal、文科也有field trip一樣。邊學邊做、邊做邊紀錄、邊紀錄邊反省…… 事事能力強的人未必表達能力強，表達能力強的人未必有真材實學。不要只看書，還要試試看，因為寫理論的人未必靠譜，就算靠譜，理論終究要落實呀。
I wrote my novel throughout the summer of 2008 and completed the first draft the day before my birthday. Not knowing what kind of a crap it was, (and actually thinking that it was a gem) I even dare to call a publisher, where the editor was merciful enough to read through it, asked me to come up to her office and offered to publish it for me, on the condition that I had to make a few changes. I thought my dream as a writer would be realized, that I was different from others who had to struggle a lot before they were “successful” because I am gifted. I swear I had not less than 50% of nasty feeling towards my editor who confiscated my almost-reality dream besides my not more than 50% of gratitude towards her. She didn’t know what she was missing, I thought.
But tonight as I looked at the buried document in my computer, well I just skimmed through it, but it was enough to let me, the present me, the sane me, know the truth. I was the most foolish person in the world, almost like the big bully in the Japanese animation Doraemon who forced people to listen to his horrid singing, dreaming to be a star when he doesn’t even get the right tune of any song. Yes, I was like him. Just to name one example, the dialogues, the tune to be specific, don’t match with the age of the characters. It’s more like a thirty years old woman reflecting upon her silly childhood. Well I didn’t want that. I meant to create one innocent and angelic character. My editor told me that. I was just too proud to admit that there is still a lot I have to work on regarding my writing skills.
There is a tiny voice telling me to write it all over again, which is plausible, as I am a freelancer who have nothing but time. And I am quite confident that I can make it a lot more presentable and perhaps able to be published for real three years later with all my nourishment on words and life. But there is just one thing that I cannot fake–my passion. My goal was to be a successful writer, which by my old definition was to be praised by reviewers. But now I have different opinions about the so-called experts. I am sorry if I sound too proud (again) here, but those experts, those literary critics, not to mention common people, common readers, are only humans. What’s so special, and is it worth yearning for, about humans’ admiration and adoration? They are the sheep who don’t know what they are doing. They are walking and talking, sleeping soundly calling their dreams realities. I just don’t have the energy and cannot afford to cater to their appetite of constructing the wonderland of fairy tales.
When I walked into a bookstore, I used to imagine my name printed on one of those books on the shelves. This fantasy is long forgotten. In fact, I can’t even remember when I last walked into a bookstore. There was few an occasion that I pick up an actual fiction either. I am no longer the avid reader who carries a book wherever and whenever she goes. If I ever read, it is to cultivate my spirit, to remind me of utilizing my life as a human to go to the pure land, or to be prepared for tutorial classes with my students.
To succeed is to covet. To copy the pattern of the icons that one wants to be. But the icon that I am after wasn’t a writer, so I really have no interest in writing anymore. But I want to challenge myself. I have never really achieved anything marvellous in my life. I started numerous projects but most of them were miscarried or underdeveloped. I just wish to prove to myself that I am capable of starting something and finishing it beautifully, and perhaps, I think, it can be my novel? Well, I am not sure. I just feel agitated when I read my old words. And to write is the biggest investment I have made second to the boys that I have loved. I have written so much, after all. Perhaps I can try a little bit harder, take a few steps further and achieve mastery someday?
I really am not sure. But I feel better that I have written this all down.