这部长篇.干2007年动笔:当然。构思。已经在多年前=或许每一个作家.都为着完成上帝赋予他的某种使命,之前的生活、成长.都是准备,那些痛苦、欢乐、疑问、表达,在某个时机之下,将有所归属。写作的过程,是一个历练自我、剖析自身的历程,以己为牺,呈现人性,尤其写到自己家族的一些历吏,显得更为严峻和凝重。似乎书写成为一种仪式、缅怀或审视。不停地自问.我到底是一个写作者,还是一个追寻者?是要为自己的先人树碑立传,还是将他们作为模本,放入人性的熔炉内冶炼、拷问和抚慰?怀着忐忑和谨慎,触动了自己长辈、先祖的一些故事。它们在我成长的道路上,作为只言片语、绯闻逸事或者确凿事件,不时来到耳边.一点点养育着我的好奇心和探知欲.连缀成脉络和画卷:人类有寻根的欲望,想知道自己的来处,哪怕回到平凡而卑微约泥土中.打探从未谋面的人,挖掘已然盖棺的事件。不美化,不夸大,不矫饰,真实地还原他们作为人的梦想、挣扎、破碎与含垢,这是写作的初衷。现在回头看始于八年前的这场书写,我还是在某些地方闪烁其词,有所退却,不敢或不愿意将不名誉不光彩的事情加在自己亲人身上,这或许是这部作品的小小遗憾,或者说既成风貌。好在有创作谈,这或许是在最后的关头,再给我一次机会,让我有勇气说出真相:奶奶的前夫。并非土匪打死,而是在一次夫妻欢娱之后,痛饮凉水,暴病而亡。这听起来很不体面,也不高尚,可的确是事实,就像很多堂皇的事件,揭开幕布与装饰,里面总有不堪的原貌。世间事大多如此,看起来是上半身,其实多由下半身引发;人类为了下半身的享乐,动用上半身所有智慧与能量。八年前起笔时候,我还年轻,认为不如土匪打死来得无辜,较能说得出口。现在看来,一个年轻生命,不论怎样死去,都是无辜的;而活着的人,总要擦干眼泪面对今后的生活。 This is a long chapter. Idea. Already many years ago = perhaps every writer is ready to fulfill some mission, previous life, and growth God has given him, with pain, joy, doubt, expression, and at some point there will be Belonging. Writing process is a self-experience self-analysis of their own course, to sacrifice themselves, showing human nature, especially to write some of their own calendar family calendar, even more serious and dignified. It seems that writing has become a ritual, a memory or an examination. Do you keep asking yourself: Am I a writer or a hunter? Are you going to preach the word for your ancestors or use them as a template to smelt, torture, and soothe the furnace of human nature? , Touched some of their elders, some of the ancestors story. They grew up in my path of growth as gossips, gossip or incidents, from time to time, a little nurturing my curiosity and suspicion. Wherever you go, even if you return to the ordinary and modest part of the earth. Not beautifying, not exaggerating, not pretentious, and truly restore their dreams as human beings, struggling, broken and containing dirt, which is the original intention of writing. Now looking back at the writing that began eight years ago, I still flirtated in some places, retreated, and dared not or unwilling to add to my own loved ones my unworthy affair, perhaps this Little regret, or both. Fortunately, creative writing, this may be at the last moment, give me a chance, let me have the courage to tell the truth: Grandma's ex-husband. Not a bandit killed, but in a joyous couple, painful cold water, storm died. This may sound very disgraceful, nor noble, and may indeed be the truth. It is like a lot of magnificent events, with the unveiling of the curtain and the decoration, which always have the unbearable appearance. Mostly in the world, it seems that the upper body, in fact, caused more by the lower body; human pleasure for the lower body, using upper body all the wisdom and energy. When I started writing eight years ago, I was still young and thought I was not as innocent as the bandits were killed. Now it seems that a young life, no matter how to die, is innocent; while the living people, always have to dry their tears to face the future life.