写给你的信(48)
～～～～～～～～～我是突然知道新消息的分界线～～～～～～～～～～～～～
小歪说，“可是，我高中时候并没有收到二顺子的情书。”
作者有话要说：二顺子发来的大段英文我就不写在正文里占字数了，发在作者有话要说吧。有兴趣的小读者可以看看。
另外我打算规范一下自己的更文时间和频率，有什么意见请在评论区告诉我。
放心，故事还有很长，不会很快杀青。谢谢看到这里的小读者，谢谢可以陪我走这一段路。
I have known very few writers, but those I have known, and whom I respect, confess at once that they have little idea where they are going when they first set pen to paper. They have a character, perhaps two; they are in that condition of eager discomfort which passes for inspiration; all admit radical changes of destination once the journey has begun; one, to my certain knowledge, spent nine months on a novel about Kashmir, then reset the whole thing in the Scottish Highlands. I never heard of anyone making a 'skeleton', as we were taught at school. In the breaking and remaking, in the timing, interweaving, beginning afresh, the writer comes to discern things in his material which were not consciously in his mind when he began. This organic process, often leading to moments of extraordinary self-discovery, is of an indescribable fascination. A blurred image appears; he adds a brushstroke and another, and it is gone; but something was there, and he will not rest till he has captured it. Sometimes the yeast within a writer outlives a book he has written. I have heard of writers who read nothing but their own books; like adolescents they stand before the mirror, and still cannot fathom the exact outline of the vision before them. For the same reason, writers talk interminably about their own books, winkling out hidden meanings, super-imposing new ones, begging response from those around them. Of course a writer doing this is misunderstood: he might as well try to explain a crime or a love affair. He is also, incidentally, an unforgivable bore.
This temptation to cover the distance between himself and the reader, to study his image in the sight of those who do not know him, can be his undoing: he has begun to write to please.
A young English writer made the pertinent observation a year or two back that the talent goes into the first draft, and the art into the drafts that follow. For this reason also the writer, like any other artist, has no resting place, no crowd or movement in which he may take comfort, no judgment from outside which can replace the judgment from within. A writer makes order out of the anarchy of his heart; he submits himself to a more ruthless discipline than any critic dreamed of, and when he flirts with fame, he is taking time off from living with himself, from the search for what his world contains at its inmost point.
JOHN LE CARRE “What every writer wants” from Harper's
第26章 阳光灿烂的日子（一）
嗨！想告诉你，吃完皮蛋后不要立即吃水果哦，再甜再新鲜的水果，放到嘴里一嚼都能苦到让人怀疑人生。至少草莓，西瓜和小番茄都会有这种效果。别问我怎么知道的，我现在还在厕所漱口。
之前说二顺子，完全打破了顺序，我要强行拉回初中的时间线。
今天想说的是小S，我不知道要在这个名字前面加上什么样的定义才合适。初中同学这四个字显得过于生疏，事实上，她是我从小到大除父母外，遇到的最为要好亲密的人。我们是无话不谈的闺蜜，是塑造对方性格的良师，是见证对方成长的益友，是要一辈子一起走下去的小伙伴。
人生的际遇总是奇妙又神秘。我说不清楚，两个性格迥异的女孩子是怎么慢慢从陌生走到莫逆的，女生之间的试探和接纳、嫉妒和宽容、猜忌和温情，是怎么在岁月的磨砺下变得隽永和温暖，还有我们是怎么一步步敞开心扉，分享所有的喜怒哀乐，怀着羞涩的心情谈论起喜欢的男孩，小心翼翼地暴露出心底最脆弱的部分，相信对方可以接纳自己的好与不好并保护自己的尖锐与柔软。
我们一起犯二做过的的蠢事，现在想起来还能笑出猪叫。
我们背着书包，手拉着手，走过的校园的甬道，现在还开着大朵的洁白的玉兰吧。
我们谈论起喜欢的男孩子，害羞与坦诚，像是分着吃一包色彩斑斓的彩虹糖，慢慢放到嘴里，有的酸到流口水，有的清新甜蜜，一颗颗，都是少女的心事，是我们青春的味道。
我回忆起生命中的很多人，都没办法想起第一次遇见时的印象与场景。但是我记得很清楚，小S第一次和我说话时，她微笑的样子。
当时初中开学差不多有一周了。英语老师每节课都要听写上一节课学到的单词和句子。然后第二天下课后，让课代表发给我们。课代表拿了一沓子的英语四线作业本，有些生疏地叫着同学们的名字。一群人围了过去。我刚起身走到走廊，一双细白修长的手就自来熟地搭在了我肩膀，我先看到的就是春葱般细嫩，竹节般细长好看的一只手，才讷讷地回头，看到了小S。是个很潇洒干净的女生，非常瘦，单薄的肩膀，个子比我稍微低一点，一双狭长的丹凤眼带着笑，眉目疏朗，下巴秀气，见我回头，直接搂了上来，说，“你找到你作业了吗？”