For five years, sitting in front of the computer, I couldn't find the coordinates of writing for the first time. During the several months of serializing "Fate Hunter", I have not stopped creating independent stories. "Love is two good and three bad" killer, etc., the scope of creation continues to expand, and it is still not limited by the fetters of genre. Writing two or three stories at the same time is the norm.Under such continuous self-training, the so-called "writing style" is a strange term for me.My brain is like an extension cord with a flashing red light, and there are several electrical outlets on it, each marked with the power required by different story genres.Every time you start a new story, you just connect the plug to the socket, snap it, and start an imaginative adventure.

For a writer with an inexhaustible supply of subject matter (OK! I know farts are my problem), choosing a subject turns out to be an annoyance, because once a new creative battle begins, it means that the next few What emotions and rhythm should be used in the month to adjust the focus time difference between stories. Now it's time again for me to think hard about which story to write. What kind of subject is it?martial arts?Fantasy?will?love?Whimsical?Each story is banging in the brain's pool of inspiration, roaring to let it out. "It's that easy." I muttered. Stories are my wings, never my prison.

Just wait for the right wind and I can start flying. I couldn't help but start thinking wildly.Many things have happened in the past six months, and my mother’s illness has particularly affected the lives of all family members. I opened the door of memory beside the hospital bed and recorded everything about my mother and my youth and frivolity.Day after day, when I poured out the sad and sweet past with the keyboard, a flood called "youth" submerged me again. "Then write a story about us." Liao Yinghong put on his military cap and smiled. "Yes, let's record our story." Xu Bochun was studying in the United States and wrote it on the bbs class board.

So I found a pair of wings quietly growing on the back. "I'll think about it again." I scratched my head.Because the wind hasn't blown yet. Then, she sent a phone call.