Count On Writing#3

 

There is such a thing as good writing, and there is such a thing as bad writing. Learn

the difference. Strain to produce the former whilst accepting that you will, much of the time, 

produce the latter. As you grow in confidence, you’ll know which bits to throw away and which 

to keep and work on. Be shamelessly elitist in your pursuit of excellence. Writing is not a 

democratic activity; only you can know whether you’re doing what you are here to do. Read a 

lot, write a lot and don’t listen to any post-modern oaf who tells you that, after all, 

no-one can say whether Stieg Larsson is ‘better’ than Shakespeare.

                                                                   — Paul Kingsnorth

 

The Fucking Book – Less Than Mystery

The Fucking Book – Less Than Mystery – My first English novel is done.

Finally, here is a copy of the Fucking Book, Less Than Mystery.

It is almost as thick as the length of this lighter; total 6 parts, 484 pages, 129,237 words. It has taken three versions of  the manuscripts. The very first one, which was finished within one week, was crap. The whole book took me about two years to complete – one year of writing, one year changing and editing. More precisely, if not counting the parts on suffering from writer’s block, traveling and worrying about other things, it would be half a year of writing and half a year of changing and editing. It is sometimes like a lighthouse sometimes a nightmare. 

Why is it the Fucking Book? Because  sometimes it weighs as heavy as my heart can carry sometimes as thin as the air that my lungs need to breath in and more importantly, because it holds my life between something and nothing. 

To be honest, I thought  I would celebrate it, but now it is more like a victory that brings no joy.  Why? Because it is not the final victory. Just not yet.

It may not be great but absolutely unique. Initially, it is  quite a fanciful illusion – with a structure like Pulp Fiction, a language like William Faulkner’s, a sort of anger like Henry Miller’s and a rightful dream for women’s liberation in China like Simone de Beauvoir’s in The Second Sex. What is it now? – My angers, my wonders, my observations and my beliefs wrapped in mysteries. In a word, it has my character.

 
The next book is In Between.

At the moment, there is the same question – “To be or not to be”.

But –

 

I must write, or I die. If I write, I must survive too.

Drawing#23: Like Father Like Son

Can you see the baby elephant and father elephant? :-P.

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From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid.

Drawing#22: Family

Family education are very important to the development of society. If parents are happy, their children will be happy and grow up healthily. If not, more children have mental sickness and more social problems are unavoidable.

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From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid.

Drawing#21: Ancient Beauty (Masturbating)

 

The beauty of a classic ancient Chinese woman who we know nothing about her sex drive but a vague mystery.

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From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid.

Drawing#20: Lesbian

 

The beauty of women…

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From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid.

Drawing#19: Man and Nature

You know what?

No comment. 

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From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid.

Drawing#18: The Crown

The Crown

The price of taking the crown is always the blood and the fear of losing it never goes away.

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From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid.

Drawing#17: Half Man Half Beast

Half Man Half Beast

The half man half beast not only eats her beauty but her pussy. (This drawing was already given to a great friend as a gift. But I think it would be also great to share with my friends here. Cheers! :-))

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From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid.

Drawing#16: Chinese Society(2)

Shit or shit happens.

Shit or shit happens! This is a load of shit if you realise Chinese social problems. Chinese men repeat what their ancestors did and only very few Chinese women are the hope to change something or merely their own fates.

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From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid.