Soul Bird

Author: Wang Yuewen
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-11-01
Features: I’m increasingly doubting my own writing. In nearly two decades, I’ve written some novels and other texts, which could be compiled into a few books to comfort myself. The so-called "premium works" are merely an excuse for publication; I never agreed with this term and would rather call them practice works. Perhaps all my writing in this life will ultimately only be practice works. I really can’t imagine whether I’ll be able to write better works in the future. My lack of confidence stems from seeing others’ confidence. Every year, I see people publish massive works and then claim to the world how great their books are. If someone criticizes them, they get angry. Others have such strong conviction, and I lose my morale. I can only quietly remind myself: be cautious with writing, don’t speak big talk. What kind of quality the words a writer produces is something readers can judge by holding the book in their hands—there’s no need for the writer to say it themselves! When works are compiled for publication, one inevitably looks back. Looking at one’s old works is truly an embarrassing thing. My past practice works were verbose in language, unrestrained in emotion, mediocre in insight, and confined in perspective. Reading them now fills me with terror. I could take this opportunity to revise and improve some shortcomings; but whether a person becomes wiser with age is uncertain. If there’s another chance for a new edition in the future and I have new ideas, what then? I don’t dare to believe my perspective will truly become broader by then. So, it’s best to keep the original form. I also don’t want to say my old works are completely worthless. I let my follow my nature, as if I were an ignorant and innocent child, completely naive and carefree. I also know the benefits of maturity, but I don’t want to become worldly-wise. My writing has no reservations—I don’t want to please others, I refuse to compromise with the world, I don’t want to follow the blue-and-white rules of reality, I know the so-called golden rules but don’t them, and sometimes I even defy the conventions. I want to improve in art but haven’t succeeded, so I just write as I please. Fortunately, the truth is generally, and since I write with heart, others read with heart too. My books have finally found readers who are willing to read them, and I’m afraid this is the reason.