法国巴黎的回忆. 如果巴黎是个女人,她就过着情妇的生活

Paris is like a writer’s stage breathing love into life. “My Dear Eleanora, I can still feel the softness of your kiss leaving its passion upon the roof of my mouth. A delight that can only be compared to the sweetness of tartes aux or a summer’s breeze on a Paris day.”


当创造性的思想家死亡时,他们会去巴黎。

There’s no way back, when confetti turns to ash.

When I first heard Etta James sang, “At Last” I got goosebumps, then I heard Beyonce Knowles sang it, and I experienced the same. What do these two artists have in common? Talent. What we are talking about here, is whether he or she got what it takes. There are some literary agents in the publishing industry that doesn’t know writing talent if it comes up and bite them on the nose. Then there are those writers that assimilate talent; the armatures turned professional writers. I get it. Many writers are seeking that ultimate desire, to sign a book deal. But would you give a stranger your infant and say: “Here, take care of this child for me.” No one knows your talent better than you. There are two types of literary agents. Those that are the Maxwell Perkins persona, yes, I know Mr. Perkins was a literary editor. But I’m talking about his ability to recognize “rough around the edges” literary talent and mold it into works of art.

Then there are the Bretton James type, the character from “Wall Street: Money Never Sleep” and the Jordan Belfort from “The Wolf of Wall Street.” Again, I’m talking about their persona, and for these type of agents, it’s all about the money. The “What are you worth to me?” Agents.  They will try to package you like processed food. “Is your work like or similar to someone already famous or popular?”, “Is your story interesting and ‘properly’ written?”

And last but not least, “I’m sorry, but your story isn’t the genre we service. “My fellow writers, publishers, and newbies.  There are literary writers, and then there are novelists. And sometimes, a novelists’ disinter-expressions often insult the regiments of literature’s complacency. 

Someone stood up in a movie theater and shouts, “Fire!” instinctively everyone rushes the exit. People are climbing over each other to get out with an unquenchable desire to live. What are you going to do? Join the mob or find an alternative exit. If you bleed ink, and your heart and soul is made up of letters, words, and syllables you don’t have to be a starving artist. A novelist submitted his manuscript and received a rejection. He sent his work to a publishing company overseas. They signed him and sold over fifteen thousand copies within the first quarter of the book release.  Manuscript rejections are like feeding the industry’s hedonistic appetite. But for you, the writer, it’s that constant waterboard feeling. Success for some writers is writing for a publishing conglomerate,  fine, but you have to begin somewhere. Don’t limit yourself.