Ben Stavisky stands in the hallway of a limestone building. He is surrounded by other contestants, few are women, most are men.
Everyone is waiting.
Dearest friends,
I wrote the Chinese version of this short story in April, 2008. This March, I failed to come up with an idea for a new story. So I decided to turn this old piece into English. The funny thing is, I felt that what had been put into the story was exactly what I was doing when I was rewriting the story into English: I was also trying to prove that I worth something.
I got a somewhat ‘professional’ feedback/correction of a story I’ll send you next month called Amber Field. I like the story a lot. But I’m afraid it’s not as sophisticated as I thought it is. At some point, she even hinted that I need to take English lessons, mark that it’s English lessons, not even writing lessons. I have to admit that I was discouraged a little. But I stuck to my writing plan. Later, when I finished a new story, I felt better.
Someone asked me what I write. I told him I write things I want to write. He told me I am wasting my time. Am I? No, I don’t think so. It’s the only thing true about me. I want to leave something before it’s too late. And I’m afraid I’m already running out of time.
What is my plan then? My plan is that I want to keep writing before I give in.
Preview- Amber Field
The police came. I turned to look at dad who stood still in the field, knees bended, arms half raised, half down. He looked at the police car with his mouth open, gasping for air. His blonde hair now turned dark, dripping. His tanned skin was covered with sweat, like beads, sliding down his chest, heaving with his heavy breathing, his eyes blinking. He didn’t look like dad anymore. He’s that boy, the boy I never met, handsome, sexy, beautiful, exotic, smart, young boy, lost in the fighting locals and people who turned away, but at last, set free.
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