I remember, when I was eight years old, almost the most curious time to the world, my mother, a big fan of Tang Dynasty poetry, started to read poetry to me every day. I was like a clumsy and awkward kid, followed her slowly and seriously read these pentasyllabic or heptasyllabic sentences. That’s my first experience of reading, with Tang poetry’s dominant metre and rhyming couplets, like singing graceful songs. Then I was like a reckless brat, first saw my love girl, and started to chase her passionately. I was in love with reading from that time. The delicate and graceful tongues, fiery but insidious emotions, like a sea of flames, induce me to read more and achieve self- transcendence. I can’t remember the time I started to read some …show more content…
The same scenery, hot and bright sunlight, high-pitched birds’ tweets, and pink azaleas mosaicked lake. When I felt excited and happy, the sunlight would streak the water with gold and set lit the rosy clouds. The grass would be soft and mellow, with the fragrant azaleas. The petals of azaleas with the intricate arrangement, expand themselves under the sun. The birds’ chirpings would sound like graceful songs by harp, with the dances of crickets. However, when I felt upset and experienced failure, I would hear the annoying noise, which made by the never stopped birds. The high- pitched chirpings would sound like mussy chorus without rhythm. The sunlight would be strong. It would be uncomfortable to open eyes under the sun. The azaleas would be listless in the hot sunny day, like I am doing the petty tasks and holding negative attitude toward …show more content…
And later, I felt not enough to just write about people in real life. I started to describe stories about people in my imagination. I was quickly and completely absorbed in it. I felt like I was a scriptwriter and my actors followed my film script. Their life and opinion, the further plots going and the development of story were in my control. Then I felt so satisfied and started to call myself “a writer”. However, I quickly experienced the writer’s block. My characters lost control and my story started to be unattractive and no logic. I was like an overanxious mother, and I tried to stop my son, my character, to full in love with that girl. I told him loudly in a huff, “She is poor, freewheeling and without any good upbringing from upper class. You are the successor of our family. How dare you get married with that girl?!” However, my character yelled at me, “She has the brightest eyes and warmest smile. She is lovely and energetic. I cannot stop my love to