每一个真诚的写作者都像一条用尽全力倾吐的蚕。食桑,吐丝,织就万里云锦,这是它作为蚕的本分。但这世上可能没有一条蚕说得清它为何吐丝,怎样成茧,以及吐丝究竟是怎样的一个行为。写作也是一样,一个人在倾吐中袒露了自己以及意识深处的世界,他一次一次完成了自己的单元内写作,但他很难告诉你,写作究竟是怎样的一回事。因为写作就是写作,单纯,明净,说起来却语焉难详。 Every sincere writer is like a silkworm who does her best. Fresh mulberry, silking, weaving brocade, which is its part as a silkworm. However, there may not be a silkworm in this world who knows how to spin silk, how to make it, and what kind of behavior it is. The same applies to writing. A man reveals himself and the world of consciousness in his pouring. Once and for all, he has completed his own in-cell writing, but he has a hard time telling you what writing is all about. Because writing is writing, simple, clear, it sounds hard to explain.