The writer pulled a rubbish of....

The writer pulled a rubbish of rubbish into the empty glass of the thoughtful-minded critic, then went on to say: "It turns out that there is only fraud. Here is our way out: to act as a romantic novel by a director of life. The director's job is to arrange for the girls to miss Saturday night; it makes the novels unrecognizable, pinchs, turns the liner, extracts hundreds of episodes, adds new characters and events to their work - all this is because entertaining movie goes without any obstacles, goodbye, you will be punished. The goal is to get a very natural film in its logic, and most importantly, it is unexpected, but everything is final. We, writers, do the same to achieve some conventional harmony, artistic compactness, and change the subjects of life. We're delighted with our fabrications of dishonest and unscrupulous theft. Think that life is too general, trivial and unusual, and its tone is a lot of pinch. In order to please our readers, we take our delicate novels out of the never-ending novels of life. Let me talk about something that happened to you when I spoke to you. "I was traveling on the express train train bed. I love the process of placing the bag - the cold bed linen in the hanging bed, and the last lights of the station that slowly jump over the black window when the train runs. I remember that there was no one in the bed above, and I was very glad. I slipped my hands behind my back and waited, and the elegance of the government blanket compared to the softness of the mattress in the hotel. After a little thought, I wanted to write a story from the life of the wanderer - I quit the light and fell asleep soon. Allow me to use it here, and I've used a tactic that we often find in stories like the one in my head. This is an old trickier who is very well acquainted with you, and says, "I woke up suddenly in the night." When I say, it is a living sentence: "I woke up and saw a foot."
The critic who raised his index finger from his shoulder, asked: "sorry, how?" The printer replied, "I saw a foot. The section was light. The train stopped at a station. An extremely large person had legs, and the bad smell of the thumb of the long-necked thumb had fallen. The stairs near my jacket stood firmly on the stairs and the legs that prevented me from seeing the bed above were the last attempt to get out of place. I found an opportunity to look at the pink trousers in the gray-haired socks and hips full of bent bends below the knee. The woolen jaws from under the long stretch of the wool seemed to be very frowning. This foot was disgusting in all respects. When I looked, the toes were stiff, the stubborn thumb strode one or two times, and then completely rolled up, and went up and disappeared. From the bed above, moaned and whispered - it would be possible to think that the man was getting ready to sleep. The lights went off, and in a few minutes the train moved.

"I do not know how to tell you, that foot was terrible to me. The alpine is a soft and nasty reptile. I was worried that I did not know anything about this man except the cursed foot, and I did not see his face and face. The bed, which made a low, dark ceiling on my head, seemed to be even more humiliated, and I almost felt its weight. Even though I wanted to imagine the face of a friend of the night, the shimmering pearl of the heavenly pearl, which looked out of the sack of the sack, did not go beyond my eyes. In general, it may seem strange that such small things may disturb me, but is not the writer the kind of person who is worried about such small things? Anyway, I did not dream. Listen, I do not know, my uncle's comrade is not nervous? No, he would not, it would not! However, as you know, the overnight tire creates sound hallucinations. But I could not get rid of the impression of noise coming from above. I stuck in the back. The sounds became clearer, and the man in the upper bed was weeping. "
The critic cut his words and said, "How? She was crying with anger? That's it. Sorry, I did not hear what you said, "he said, and pushed his hands on his knees and continued to listen to the story.

---

Posted from my blog with SteemPress : https://wolfofsteemit.000webhostapp.com/2018/10/the-writer-pulled-a-rubbish-of

---