Freaks can only recognize freaks (although they are more likely to repel each other). So the gay editor from New York fell in love overnight, and the teacher who was also a writer fell into a love-hate relationship that was more complicated than an extramarital affair. Parents, classmates, principals, and even the future society will not accept poison, but they can't reconcile themselves with a kind of instinct of the same kind. That is talent. The person who owns this kind of thing is not necessarily a good person. They can rob in order to complete the work, steal all their parents’ property, abandon their wives and children, and die of alcohol. The writer cannot and should not be a mortal. This is most fully manifested in Grady: extramarital affairs, divorce, and smoking marijuana are just crisis games often played by middle-aged post-50s. What kind of rebelliousness? The work needs a powerful exocrine to let the world melt into the author's imagination and purpose. If your parents love you, you should write them as devil sadism; if the bar owner is very honest, you should write that he killed his brother. If what you write on paper is only a psychological diagnosis and treatment record or a forehead reality lawsuit, the split between imagination and reality will sooner or later bring about "lose-loss": reality is painful, and the work is out of control. The source of the evil is: you have been normal for too long.
Art is a freak business in most cases, and people have accepted this. In fact, even in this group, a large proportion of cannon fodder will also be consumed. The difference is that most of the people who fell from both sides of the single-plank bridge did not regret that they did not take another path. In fact, they rarely had any other choice besides coming here to join in the fun. Kerouac without "On the Road" would still drink and drift, and Yates would not have more milk and peanut butter in the refrigerator without "Eleven Kinds of Solitude". In their journey, there is no such thing as packing and going on the road. They have been walking and alive like this, and suddenly some people popped up to grab their hands and broke into their houses, saying that they had written classics. After a bottle of wine, maybe these people will disappear again. The bones of hangover, irritability, loneliness, and reluctance to get up are their own.
Therefore, the miracle boy does not need a principal who put him on the recommended list, but an editor who can sleep with him in a bed. Technically speaking, he has a pair of extraordinary eyes. You can see the charm from the non-stop list of suicide artists, and the genius from the half-page in the typewriter. In terms of professional ethics, he is a saint. Carrying explosive packs through the gunhole for an overwhelming author who hadn't produced anything for seven years, he didn't mention anything in person. Such a good person for ten thousand years, I hope all the writers in the world (especially the unknown ones) will be blessed to encounter. He will not turn into a phantom after a bottle of wine, but will stay in your trench (or bed). The reality is that the probability that an editor can get this close to a non-best-selling same-sex author is lower than that of throwing the other's manuscript as paper money. This behavior rather than sexual orientation is alternative. The publishing house boss is generally not interested in whether you are involved in the foundation, but he will definitely care about your performance.
The colorful scene of the film is Grady's 2,000-page manuscript that goes with the wind. Anyone who has dreamed of a writer knows that it was the moment of the destruction of the universe and the death scene of the only child (daughter) who was born. Even if Hemingway and Fitzgerald also lost the manuscript gossip can be used to "enlighten", many people will still not survive. What's more, a work shouldn't be dragged for seven years at all (you think you are Proust), and it should not be fireproof, anti-theft and anti-editing (people's jobs are tied to your waist). This is the apocalypse. It can only be regarded as apocalypse: this book should not be published, it has no life. People cannot compete with Apocalypse, just as they cannot hide geniuses. As a result, jealousy, anxiety, and troubles disappeared. The labor that God has given to freaks will naturally loosen from the shoulders of normal people. However, if the miracle with no choice is you, then you still have to die to the end.
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