I Have 48 Hours a Day

From spring to autumn, Zhang Heng stayed in this manor for three years in a blink of an eye. His writing skills had been successfully upgraded to lv2 as early as a year ago, which was the same as the best-selling fantasy female author.

I have to say that the environment of this manor is really suitable for practicing writing. After all, the opportunity to live with the world’s best authors can be said to be unique.

Although these authors have more or less minor problems, such as Hemingway’s alcohol addiction, Mark Twain’s poisonous tongue, Fitzgerald met a woman and was dizzy… But their talents are undeniable. And the most important thing is that there is nothing else to do in this manor. They are also happy to answer Zhang Heng’s various doubts and help him read his newly created articles.

This afternoon, Hemingway was reading a novelette written by Zhang Henggang. After reading it, he put down the manuscript in his hand and frowned.

“How is it?” Zhang Heng asked.

“The technique is impeccable, and I have nothing to teach you, but I always feel that something is missing when I read this article.”

“Emotions.” Fitzgerald on the side hit the nail on the head.

“That’s right.” Hemingway lit a cigar. “Although there are some schools that emphasize that narrators should maintain an objective perspective, this does not mean that there are no emotions in their articles, but they put these emotions in the book. It’s up to them to show the creator’s emotions in each of the characters.”

Hemingway paused when he said, “Speaking of which, I have always been a little strange. When I first saw you, I thought you were the kind of person who was indifferent to emotions and anger, but after getting along for a long time, I found that you seem to be I have never really been angry, or have been particularly happy, have you always been like this, your spirit… rarely fluctuates?”

“It’s not always. I still had normal feelings before. Although it was lighter than ordinary people, because of certain things, my feelings gradually disappeared and became what I am now.” Zhang Heng said.

“No offense, but if possible, I am willing to spend money to make what happened to you happen to me again.” Fitzgerald said melancholy.

Hemingway disagreed, “It is impossible to write truly strong words without experiencing these fragile moments.” After speaking, he looked at Zhang Heng again, “Your problem is troublesome. Although you only pursue rapid popularity, no matter what It is impossible to have no emotion in such literary works.”

“It’s not completely incomprehensible,” Marquez on the other side interrupted. “If it’s just a popular reading, just add some fake emotions. Although this kid has no emotions, let him read more than a dozen books about emotions. Yes, he can also picture cats and tigers.”

“Sorry, I may not have made it clear before. My new book is indeed pursuing rapid popularity, but there is one other thing that is also very important. I want readers to really believe the story in the book.” Zhang Heng said.

“Stories without sufficient emotional foundation are hard to be convincing.” Fitzgerald said, “After all, reading for pastime is one thing, but it is another thing to really impress the reader. You first need to devote yourself to yourself. Only when your emotions are in it can it resonate with your readers.”

His words also aroused the approval of several writers present.

But then Hemingway patted Zhang Heng on the shoulder, “You don’t have to worry, after all, so many of us are here, how can everyone work together to help you come up with a solution.”

…………

After returning from the author’s party at Hemingway, Zhang Heng did not return to his room directly.

Instead, he turned around and came to the back kitchen. After upgrading his writing skills to lv2, Zhang Heng can clearly feel that it has become more and more difficult to improve further, otherwise the fantasy best-selling female writers will not come in for so long and still have not been able to rise to lv3. .

This is not just a matter of technique, it involves a writer’s perception and refinement of his own life, as well as his views on the world around him. Zhang Heng has no shortage of experience, or more accurately, there is no one in this manor better than him. His life experience is richer. Even the legendary Hemingway in his life may not be as exciting as a copy of Zhang Heng.

However, refining and integrating these experiences into one’s own words is not something that can be accomplished overnight. It also requires a process of accumulation.

Zhang Heng was not in a hurry. After all, he only spent less than a third of his time in this copy after counting his extra 24 hours, but he temporarily let go of things before his writing skills reached lv2. But it can continue.

For example, the mysterious room 515.

It is said that there lived the most mysterious author of the entire manor. No one had ever seen him walk out of his room, and even the windows of the suite were completely covered by curtains.

For this reason, some people couldn’t help but ridicule that there was an old vampire who lived there for hundreds of years, and everyone in the Reasoning Club firmly believed that the owner of the manor lived in that room.

After living in the manor for two years, Zhang Heng became more and more inclined to agree with their views.

The reason is simple, because Zhang Heng has already ruled out other suspects, whether it is the residents here or the service staff.

It’s as if you are doing multiple-choice questions. After all the wrong options are eliminated, the remaining one should be the correct answer no matter how bizarre it is.

However, Zhang Heng was turned away from several visits before. Strictly speaking, after he knocked on the door and reported his name, there was no reaction at all, as if no one was living there.

So Zhang Heng decided to use something else this time. He walked into the back kitchen and said to the chef there, “I want to order a dish.”

“Of course, the manor will meet the requirements of all guests.” The chef respectfully said.

“I want to eat dry fried Niuhe, but the dry fried Niuhe I want is more special. I remember that when I was traveling in Guangdong, I had a bowl of Niuhe at a stall. It was the best Niuhe I have ever eaten. I want to eat Niuhe with the same flavor that I ate that day.”

Faced with this obviously a difficult request, the chef still appears polite, UU reading www.uukanshu.com “Okay, can you tell me the name of the food stall?”

“No, I have forgotten.”

Hearing this answer, the chef finally showed an embarrassed expression on his face, but he was still respectful, “Well, we can try to do it, but I am afraid there will be more attempts, and you need to be in time. Give us feedback.”

“No problem.” Zhang Heng said.

Two hours later, everyone in the kitchen was sweating and surrounded Zhang Heng, nervously watching him taste the first bowl of Niuhe.

I saw Zhang Heng pick up a piece of Pho with his chopsticks, put a piece of beef into his mouth, closed his eyes and chewed slowly. For about ten seconds, Zhang Heng put down his chopsticks and nodded,” It’s this smell.”

Suddenly, cheers erupted from the entire kitchen, as if the scientists in the research institute had just overcome a world problem.

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