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503 Service Temporarily Unavailable如何将爱情故事中刚开始暗生情愫的那一段描写得惊心动魄？
记得余华还是谁说过，爱情刚开始的那一段暗藏火花是最难写的。回复@带三个表 不是那种一惊一乍的惊心动魄，而是那种跌岩起伏，轰轰烈烈，让人心里咯噔一下，非常有感染力的惊心动魄！
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白丝，制服，翘臀，蜂腰，一米六上下，目测34D。已经观察了好几天，眼前这个小护士正合我的心意。“约吗？”我鼓起勇气向她表白，期待着一段高清无码的色情，不，爱情故事。她杏目一瞪：“你坏死了！”我强作镇定，赶忙赔个笑脸：“妹子，我跟你开玩笑呢。我是想问你相约跑步～”“你真是坏死了！”小护士一转身跑出了病房。我暗叫坏了坏了节奏没把握好，这可怎么办！难道我要注定孤独一生？正当我惊心动魄之时，小护士又回来了，丹唇微启，媚眼含春，瞧四下无人注意这边，轻舒柔荑塞给我一张纸条。有戏！我心说好，原来她早已对我暗生情愫，方才只是嗔怪。一想到我宽厚的大手今晚将翻雪山、穿草地，追随我二十年的老干部会忙碌地出入窑洞累到吐，我不禁是三军过后尽开颜。我展开纸条，是张体检报告单，想必是科室里顺手拿来，写了电话给我。我平复心情，定睛看去：股骨头坏死。
我想题主需要的是这个。 I think love is a touch and yet not a touch.—— J.D.Sailinger &The Heart of a Broken Story&答主是塞林格的读者，并没有在任何国内出版的小说集里找到这一篇，但是在网上可以找到。网上译作《破碎故事之心》，写得太美了。上面那一句是点睛之笔。这句话，答主看过下面这两种翻译：爱情是含情脉脉但是又羞涩难当。爱是想触碰又收回手。可以参考这两个版本的译文，感谢译者。当然，还是要慢慢去读原文，才能体会到塞林格笔下那种惊心动魄的情愫火花吧。J. D. SalingerThe Heart of a Broken StoryEsquire XVI, September 1941, Page 32, 131-133EVERY day Justin Horgenschlag, thirty-dollar-a-week printer’s assistant, saw at close quarters approximately sixty women whom he had never seen before. Thus in the few years he had lived in New York, Horgenschlag had seen at close quarters about 75,120 different women. Of these 75,120 women, roughly 25,000 were under thirty years of age and over fifteen years of age. Of the 25,000 only 5,000 weighed between one hundred five and one hundred twenty-five pounds. Of these 5,000 only 1,000 were not ugly. Only 500 were r only 100 of these w only 25 could have inspired a long, slow whistle. And with only 1 did Horgenschlag fall in love at first sight.Now, there are two kinds of femme fatale. There is the femme fatale who is a femme fatale in every sense of the word, and there is the femme fatale who is not a femme fatale in every sense of the word.Her name was Shirley Lester. She was twenty years old (eleven years younger than Horgenschlag), was five-foot-four (bringing her head to the level of Horgenschlag’s eyes), weighed 117 pounds (light as a feather to carry). Shirley was a stenographer, lived with and supported her mother, Agnes Lester, an old Nelson Eddy fan. In reference to Shirley’s looks people often put it this way: “Shirley’s as pretty as a picture.”And in the Third Avenue bus early one morning, Horgenschlag stood over Shirley Lester, and was a dead duck. All because Shirley’s mouth was open in a peculiar way. Shirley was reading a cosmetic advertisement in the w and when Shirley read, Shirley relaxed slightly at the jaw. And in that short moment while Shirley’s mouth was open, lips were parted, Shirley was probably the most fatal one in all Manhattan. Horgenschlag saw in her a positive cure-all for a gigantic monster of loneliness which had been stalking around his heart since he had come to New York. Oh, the agony of it! The agony of standing over Shirley Lester and not being able to bend down and kiss Shirley’s parted lips. The inexpressible agony of it!* * *That was the beginning of the story I started to write for Collier’s. I was going to write a lovely tender boy-meets-girl story. What could be finer, I thought. The world needs boy-meets-girl stories. But to write one, unfortunately, the writer must go about the business of having the boy meet the girl. I couldn’t do it with this one. Not and have it make sense. I couldn’t get Horgenschlag and Shirley together properly. And here are the reasons:Certainly it was impossible for Horgenschlag to bend over and say in all sincerity:“I beg your pardon. I love you very much. I’m nuts about you. I know it. I could love you all my life. I’m a printer’s assistant and I make thirty dollars a week. Gosh, how I love you. Are you busy tonight?”This Horgenschlag may be a goof, but not that big a goof. He may have been born yesterday, but not today. You can’t expect Collier’s readers to swallow that kind of bilge. A nickel’s a nickel, after all.I couldn’t, of course, all of a sudden give Horgenschlag a suave serum, mixed from William Powell’s old cigarette case and Fred Astaire’s old top hat.“Please don’t misunderstand me, Miss. I’m a magazine illustrator. My card. I’d like to sketch you more than I’ve ever wanted to sketch anyone in my life. Perhaps such an undertaking would be to a mutual advantage. May I telephone you this evening, or in the very near future? (Short, debonair laugh.) I hope I don’t sound too desperate. (Another one.) I suppose I am, really.”Oh, boy. Those lines delivered with a weary, yet gay, yet reckless smile. If only Horgenschlag had delivered them. Shirley, of course, was an old Nelson Eddy fan herself, and an active member of the Keystone Circulating Library.Maybe you’re beginning to see what I was up against.True, Horgenschlag might have said the following:“Excuse me, but aren’t you Wilma Pritchard?”To which Shirley would have replied coldly, and seeking a neutral point on the other side of the bus:“No.”“That’s funny,” Horgenschlag could have gone on, “I was willing to swear you were Wilma Pritchard. Uh. You don’t by any chance come from Seattle?”“No.”—More ice where that came from.“Seattle’s my home town.”Neutral point.“Great little town, Seattle. I mean it’s really a great little town. I’ve only been here—I mean in New York—four years. I’m a printer’s assistant. Justin Horgenschlag is my name.”“I’m really not inter-ested.”Oh, Horgenschlag wouldn’t have got anywhere with that kind of line. He had neither the looks, personality, or good clothes to gain Shirley’s interest under the circumstances. He didn’t have a chance. And, as I said before, to write a really good boy-meets-girl story it’s wise to have the boy meet the girl.Maybe Horgenschlag might have fainted, and in doing so grabbed for support: the support being Shirley’s ankle. He could have torn the stocking that way, or succeeded in ornamenting it with a fine long run. People would have made room for the stricken Horgenschlag, and he would have got to his feet, mumbling: “I’m all right, thanks,” then, “Oh, say! I’m terribly sorry, Miss. I’ve torn your stocking. You must let me pay for it. I’m short of cash right now, but just give me your address.”Shirley wouldn’t have given him her address. She just would have become embarrassed and inarticulate. “It’s all right,” she would have said, wishing Horgenschlag hadn’t been born. And besides, the whole idea is illogical. Horgenschlag, a Seattle boy, wouldn’t have dreamed of clutching at Shirley’s ankle. Not in the Third Avenue Bus.But what is more logical is the possibility that Horgenschlag might have got desperate. There are still a few men who love desperately. Maybe Horgenschlag was one. He might have snatched Shirley’s handbag and run with it toward the rear exit door. Shirley would have screamed. Men would have heard her, and remembered the Alamo or something. Horgenschlag’s flight, let’s say, is now arrested. The bus is stopped. Patrolman Wilson, who hasn’t made a good arrest in a long time, reports on the scene. What’s going on here? Officer, this man tried to steal my purse.Horgenschlag is hauled into court. Shirley, of course, must attend session. They both
thereby Horgenschlag is informed of the location of Shirley’s divine abode.Judge Perkins, who can’t even get a good, really good cup of coffee in his own house, sentences Horgenschlag to a year in jail. Shirley bites her lip, but Horgenschlag is marched away.In prison, Horgenschlag writes the following letter to Shirley Lester:“Dear Miss Lester:“I did not really mean to steal your purse. I just took it because I love you. You see I only wanted to get to know you. Will you please write me a letter sometime when you get the time? It gets pretty lonely here and I love you very much and maybe even you would come to see me some time if you get the time.Your friend,Justin Horgenschlag”Shirley shows the letter to all her friends. They say, “Ah, it’s cute, Shirley.” Shirley agrees that it’s kind of cute in a way. Maybe she’ll answer it. “Yes! Answer it. Give’m a break. What’ve ya got t’lose?” So Shirley answers Horgenschlag’s letter.“Dear Mr. Horgenschlag:“I received your letter and really feel very sorry about what has happened. Unfortunately there is very little we can do about it at this time, but I do feel abominable concerning the turn of events. However, your sentence is a short one and soon you will be out. The best of luck to you.Sincerely yours,Shirley Lester”“Dear Miss Lester:“You will never know how cheered up you made me feel when I received your letter. You should not feel abominable at all. It was all my fault for being so crazy so don’t feel that way at all. We get movies here once a week and it really is not so bad. I am 31 years of age and come from Seattle. I have been in New York 4 years and think it is a great town only once in a while you get pretty lonesome. You are the prettiest girl I have ever seen even in Seattle. I wish you would come to see me some Saturday afternoon during visiting hours 2 to 4 and I will pay your train fare.Your friend,Justin Horgenschlag”Shirley would have shown this letter, too, to all her friends. But she would not answer this one. Anyone could see that this Horgenschlag was a goof. And after all. She had answered the first letter. If she answered this silly letter the thing might drag on for months and everything. She did all she could do for the man. And what a name. Horgenschlag.Meanwhile, in prison Horgenschlag is having a terrible time, even though they have movies once a week. His cell-mates are Snipe Morgan and Slicer Burke, two boys from the back room, who see in Horgenschlag’s face a resemblance to a chap in Chicago who once ratted on them. They are convinced that Ratface Ferrero and Justin Horgenschlag are one and the same person.“But I’m not Ratface Ferrero,” Horgenschlag tells them.“Don’t gimme that,” says Slicer, knocking Horgenschlag’s meager food rations to the floor.“Bash his head in,” says Snipe.“I tell ya I’m just here because I stole a girl’s purse on the Third Avenue Bus,” pleads Horgenschlag. “Only I didn’t really steal it. I fell in love with her, and it was the only way I could get to know her.”“Don’t gimme that,” says Slicer.“Bash his head in,” says Snipe.Then there is the day when seventeen prisoners try to make an escape. During play period in the recreation yard, Slicer Burke lures the warden’s niece, eight-year-old Lisbeth Sue, into his clutches. He puts his eight-by-twelve hands around the child’s waist and holds her up for the warden to see.“Hey, warden!” yells Slicer. “Open up them gates or it’s curtains for the kid!”“I’m not afraid, Uncle Bert!” calls out Lisbeth Sue.“Put down that child, Slicer!” commands the warden, with all the impotence at his command.But Slicer knows he has the warden just where he wants him. Seventeen men and a small blonde child walk out the gates. Sixteen men and a small blonde child walk out safely. A guard in the high tower thinks he sees a wonderful opportunity to shoot Slicer in the head, and thereby destroy the unity of the escaping group. But he misses, and succeeds only in shooting the small man walking nervously behind Slicer, killing him instantly.Guess who?And, thus, my plan to write a boy-meets-girl story for Collier’s, a tender, memorable love story, is thwarted by the death of my hero.Now, Horgenschlag never would have been among those seventeen desperate men if only he had not been made desperate and panicky by Shirley’s failure to answer his second letter. But the fact remains that she did not answer his second letter. She never in a hundred years would have answered it. I can’t alter facts.And what a shame. What a pity that Horgenschlag, in prison, was unable to write the following letter to Shirley Lester:“Dear Miss Lester:“I hope a few lines will not annoy or embarrass you. I’m writing, Miss Lester, because I’d like you to know that I am not a common thief. I stole your bag, I want you to know, because I fell in love with you the moment I saw you on the bus. I could think of no way to become acquainted with you except by acting rashly—foolishly, to be accurate. But then, one is a fool when one is in love.“I loved the way your lips were so slightly parted. You represented the answer to everything to me. I haven’t been unhappy since I came to New York four years ago, but neither have I been happy. Rather, I can best describe myself as having been one of the thousands of young men in New York who simply exist.“I came to New York from Seattle. I was going to become rich and famous and well-dressed and suave. But in four years I’ve learned that I am not going to become rich and famous and well-dressed and suave. I’m a good printer’s assistant, but that’s all I am. One day the printer got sick, and I had to take his place. What a mess I made of things, Miss Lester. No one would take my orders. The typesetters just sort of giggled when I would tell them to get to work. And I don’t blame them. I’m a fool when I give orders. I suppose I’m just one of the millions who was never meant to give orders. But I don’t mind anymore. There’s a twenty-three-year-old kid my boss just hired. He’s only twenty-three, and I am thirty-one and have worked at the same place for four years. But I know that one day he will become head printer, and I will be his assistant. But I don’t mind knowing this anymore.“Loving you is the important thing, Miss Lester. There are some people who think love is sex and marriage and six o’clock-kisses and children, and perhaps it is, Miss Lester. But do you know what I think? I think love is a touch and yet not a touch.“I suppose it’s important to a woman that other people think of her as the wife of a man who is either rich, handsome, witty or popular. I’m not even popular. I’m not even hated. I’m just—I’m just—Justin Horgenschlag. I never make people gay, sad, angry, or even disgusted. I think people regard me as a nice guy, but that’s all.“When I was a child no one pointed me out as being cute or bright or good-looking. If they had to say something they said I had sturdy little legs.“I don’t expect an answer to this letter, Miss Lester. I would like an answer more than anything else in the world, but truthfully I don’t expect one. I merely wanted you to know the truth. If my love for you has only led me to a new and great sorrow, only I am to blame.“Perhaps one day you will understand and forgive your blundering admirer,Justin Horgenschlag”Such a letter would be no more unlikely than the following:“Dear Mr. Horgenschlag:“I got your letter and loved it. I feel guilty and miserable that events have taken the turn they have. If only you had spoken to me instead of taking my purse! But then, I suppose I should have turned the conversational chill on you.“It’s lunch hour at the office, and I’m alone here writing to you. I felt that I wanted to be alone today at lunch hour. I felt that if I had to go have lunch with the girls at the Automat and they jabbered through the meal as usual, I’d suddenly scream.“I don’t care if you’re not a success, or that you’re not handsome, or rich, or famous or suave. Once upon a time I would have cared. When I was in high school I was always in love with the Joe Glamor boys. Donald Nicolson, the boy who walked in the rain and knew all Shakespeare’s sonnets backwards. Bob Lacey, the handsome gink who could shoot a basket from the middle of the floor, with the score tied and the chukker almost over. Harry Miller, who was so shy and had such nice, durable brown eyes.“But that crazy part of my life is over.“The people in your office who giggled when you gave them orders are on my black list. I hate them as I’ve never hated anybody.“You saw me when I had all my make-up on. Without it, believe me, I’m no raving beauty. Please write me when you’re allowed to have visitors. I’d like you to take a second look at me. I’d like to be sure that you didn’t catch me at a phony best.“Oh, how I wish you’d told the judge why you stole my purse! We might be together and able to talk over all the many things I think we have in common.“Please let me know when I may come to see you.Yours sincerely,Shirley Lester”But Justin Horgenschlag never got to know Shirley Lester. She got off at Fifty-Sixth Street, and he got off at Thirty-Second Street. That night Shirley Lester went to the movies with Howard Lawrence with whom she was in love. Howard thought Shirley was a darn good sport, but that was as far as it went. And Justin Horgenschlag that night stayed home and listened to the Lux Toilet Soap radio play. He thought about Shirley all night, all the next day, and very often during that month. Then all of a sudden he was introduced to Doris Hillman who was beginning to be afraid she wasn’t going to get a husband. And then before Justin Horgenschlag knew it, Doris Hillman and things were filing away Shirley Lester in the back of his mind. And Shirley Lester, the thought of her, no longer was available.And that’s why I never wrote a boy-meets-girl story for Collier’s. In a boy-meets-girl story the boy should always meet the girl.
唯引述三段话耳：我十二岁的时候，第一次随父亲出征。敌人的诱兵之计，被困在茫茫深山里。也是个雨夜，手下的一百精兵全部折损，尸体遍布在山道上，他们好不容易保下我，将我藏在一个山洞里。我在洞里听到不远的地方响起猛兽争食的怒吼，我知道它们争抢的全是我部下的尸骸。那时，我身上也中了箭，就算一声不吭藏在洞里，血腥味也早晚引来这些野兽成为他们腹中一顿美餐。可若是点燃驱兽的篝火，又势必引来追捕我的敌人。两条路都是死路。我长到这么大，遇到的最难缠的境况不过如此，可那时，我一点也不觉得害怕。本来以为，连这样的事情我也没什么可怕的感觉，大约这一生也不会再有什么害怕之感。今天晚上，我很害怕。我不该把你一个人丢在客栈里。进入到那条密道，发现里面全是瘴气，而我找不到你。我怕得发抖，人为什么会害怕呢，你说得对，阿拂，是因为有想要守护的东西。你这么笨，我不在你身边，你该怎么办呢？出自《华胥引》，苏誉。见了他，她变得很低很低，低到尘埃里。但她心里是欢喜的，从尘埃里开出花来。初识那年，张爱玲寄给胡兰成照片，在其背后写道。灯下独坐时，总会胡思乱想许多。心境一时仿佛过了多年，年已花甲，假如忽略手边的事，大概再无二致。倒无所谓刹那芳华，无常索命，最最怕是岁月袅袅，我从未能踏足你的心。“讨厌吗？”“超喜欢。”某宴写的。(ノ_＜)
已经有人提到了马尔克斯，但仅限于《霍乱时期的爱情》这本知名度更高的作品。我在这里推荐他的另一本书，这本书也是我认为他写的最好的一本书。那就是《族长的秋天》。在这本书里，他写了一个关于南美小国独裁者的故事。与通常作家冷冰冰的批判不同，马尔克斯几乎是用一种热烈的、迷乱的笔触描绘了一副仙境一样的童话——一个关于政治、关于独裁和成年人的童话。全书几乎不分段，句号也几乎不用，情节在令人喘不过气的大段文字中一波接一波地涌上来，接着像水一样连续地流向远方。以下是正题：————————————————————故事背景是这样的：作为独裁者的主人公在前两天遇到了名叫艾拉·桑切兹的妹子，妹子不甚美丽，主角甚至明确地在心中表达了对妹子的厌恶。但在一堆情节之后，就到了这段描写：……他听到了十二点的钟声，随着大教堂钟锤的最后一次敲击，他感到疝气发出了纤细扭曲的可怖哨声，于是世上再没有别的声音，他一个人就是国家，他将卧室的三把门环、三道门闩、三个插销锁好后，坐上可移动式马桶小便，排出了两滴，四滴，七滴艰涩的尿液，随后扑倒在地，立刻睡着了，没有做梦，他在两点三刻醒了过来，大汗淋漓、战栗不安，因为他能肯定有人在他睡着时看着他，有人能不卸门环就进入房间，是谁，他问道，谁也不是，他闭上双眼，再次感到有人在看着他，他睁开双眼，惊恐地张望，于是看到了，他妈的，是玛努艾拉·桑切兹在房中走动，她没有卸掉门闩，因为她可以凭意念穿墙进出，我的厄运玛努艾拉·桑切兹穿着纱裙，手中拿着炭火般的玫瑰，喘息中透着甘草味道，告诉我这错乱景象不是真的，他说道，告诉我这不是你，告诉我这致命的眩晕不是来自你那疲惫的甘草味的呼吸，但这是她，是她的玫瑰，是她染香了整个卧房中的滚热气息，仿佛一声比海的喘息更古老强劲的挥之不去的低音，我的灾难玛努艾拉·桑切兹，你没有被写在我的掌心，也没有被写在我杯底的咖啡渣上，甚至没有被写在盆里我的死亡之水中，你不要再耗费我呼吸的空气了，不要再耗费我的睡梦和这个房间中的黑暗空间了，这里从没有进来也不会进来哪怕一个女人，为我熄灭那枝玫瑰吧，他一边哀求一边乱抓着寻找灯的开关，他寻它不着却看到了我的疯狂玛努艾拉·桑切兹，见鬼了，你又没有消失，我为什么要寻找你，如果你想的话，把我的房子带走，把整个国家连同它的龙都带走吧，但是让我点上灯，我黑夜里的蝎子，我的疝气玛努艾拉，桑切兹，婊子养的，他吼道，心里暗想光明能将他从巫术中解救出来，他大喊着把她拉走，把她从我身边带走，给她脖子套上铁锚，把她从海边悬崖上扔下去，免得再有人受她玫瑰刺眼光芒的折磨，他在惶恐中声嘶力竭地喊叫着跑到走廊上，把黑暗中的牛粪饼踢得四处飞散，他茫然地自问这世界怎么了，快八点了这邪恶屋子里的人还在睡觉，都起来，一帮浑蛋，他吼叫着，他们应声点亮了灯，在三点钟吹响了起床号，而后港口碉堡、圣赫洛尼莫基地以及全国的军营都响起了号声，随之传来惊慌失措的武器的轰鸣和结出露水两小时之前玫瑰绽放的轰响，传来梦游的妾侍们在星光下敲打地毯、揭开沉睡鸟雀的罩布、将花瓶中隔夜的花朵换成昨夜花朵的喧嚷……这确实写的是初次萌发的恋情，马尔克斯用一种奇怪的方式来描写这种恋情。具体的分析，限于词汇贫乏，我实在不能多谈。我能做的只是分享一个对我来说印象很深刻的片段，并且让更多的人能欣赏到它。
来看看列夫托尔斯泰的描写，那叫一个惊心动魄。关于莱温和基季的爱情：他走向了溜冰场，却不敢老盯着她，就像不能长时间地望向太阳，但即使不望她，也能像看见阳光一样看见她。《安娜·卡列尼娜》上文中的“他”指的是莱温，“她”指的是基季。我们接着往下看：弗龙斯基是个风度文雅，神态从容的人，基季想到他时感到有些局促不安，似乎在她俩的关系里掺进了某种做作的成分，这做作不是在他而在她自己，因为他是那样的朴实可爱。相比之下，和莱温相处时，她觉得自己非常单纯而开朗。然而，当她把自己的未来和弗龙斯基连在一起时，她眼前就浮现出幸福光明的前景。而和莱温在一起时，她则感到前途迷茫。┌(。Д。)┐这描写得真是令人拍案叫绝，但荷尔蒙仿佛是个不靠谱的东西，我隐隐地嗅到了悲剧的味道。---------------------------------------------日更新线---------------------------------------基季被风度翩翩的弗龙斯基所吸引，拒绝了莱温的求婚。不幸的是，此时弗龙斯基爱上了安娜·卡列尼娜，基季心碎了。下段发生在基季和莱温久别后的第一次重逢。她惊慌、胆怯、害羞，因此显得更加动人。莱温一进来，基季立刻就看到了他。她本来在等他。她高兴极了，高兴得窘迫不安，莱温走向女主人时又向她瞥了一眼，在这刹那间，她和他，以及把一切都收入眼帘的多莉都觉得她会忍不住哭出来。她的脸上一阵红，一阵白，又是一阵红，然后呆然不动，嘴唇微微颤抖着，等待他过来。要不是她的嘴唇微微颤抖，眼睛由于湿润而更加发亮，她的微笑可以说是平静的。这时候，她说：”我们好久没见面了！“说着，她毫不犹豫地用自己冰冷冷的手紧握住她的手。基季说出邀请莱温去她家之后，莱温和谢尔盖·伊万诺维奇的对话：“我很高兴，看来她是个好姑娘……”谢尔盖·伊万诺维奇说。“别说，别说，别说！”莱温用两手抓住他的皮大衣领子，把他的脸盖住。“她是个好姑娘”是一句太一般、太平淡的话，和他的感情很不相称。莱温在等候去基季家前的兴奋不安的十几个小时里，第一次发现值班的茶房是如此的善良聪明，于是两人聊天。莱温趁这个机会对他说出了自己的想法，婚姻的首要条件是爱情，有爱情的婚姻永远是幸福的，因为幸福全在于自身。莱温熬过了来基季家前的十几个小时，终于紧张不安的踏入了基季家的大门。林农小姐招待过莱温后，莱温等待基季的出现。林农小姐刚出去，镶木地板上响起一阵飞快的轻盈的脚步声，于是他的幸福、他的生命、他本人——比他本人更好的，也就是他久久寻找、期盼的东西马上就要出现在他面前。她不是走来，而是被某种无形的力量送到他面前。他看到的只是她那明亮真诚地眼睛，那双眼睛同他的内心一样，洋溢着爱情的换了，欢乐之中又有几分惊恐。这双闪耀着爱情的光芒的眼睛越来越近，刺得他头晕目眩。她站在他身边，碰到了他。她举起双手，搭在他肩上。她做了她能做的一切——她跑到他跟前，羞怯和高兴地把自己的整个身心都交给了他。他拥抱她，把自己的嘴唇紧贴在她苛求亲吻的嘴上。见过公爵夫人，订下结婚日期后，莱温和基季单独的说话。“我知道，事情就会这样！我从来不敢抱这样的希望，可是我内心一直深信不疑，”他说，“我相信，这是命中注定的。”看到命中注定这里，我也被这句话深深击中了。大概真是命中注定的吧。基季在等待结婚前的日子里，继续生活在原先的生活环境中。这段描写她矛盾的心理。她过着旧的生活，心里感到非常害怕，怕I自己，怕自己对过去的一切全然无动于衷的那种无法克制的冷漠态度，即对一切东西、一切习惯、对一切曾经爱过并仍深爱着她的人、对因这冷漠态度而伤心的母亲、对这个世界上最最可爱的慈父全都漠不关心。她时而为这一冷漠态度而感到害怕，时而为使她产生这一冷漠态度的那件事情而感到高兴。除了与这个人一起生活外，她就再也没有任何别的想法和心愿了；但是新生活还没开始，她甚至还无法清晰地想象。只有一件事能做，那就是等待，又惊又喜地等待未知的新生活。结婚仪式上，神父在台上念。“永恒的上帝，你把分离的两个人结合在一起，”他用柔和悦耳的声音念道，“你给他们结成的爱情之盟坚不可摧……”结合莱温和基季的经历，“把分离的两个人结合在一起”，这真是一种奇妙的感觉。……结婚后的生活和莱温想象的不同，这段发生在莱温要独自去探望即将死去的哥哥时，基季执意同去，双方发生了点小矛盾。（大概与托尔斯泰自己的经历有关）他对她感到不满，因为她不能在必要时放他走（想到他不久前还不敢相信他有被她爱上的那份福气，而现在却因为她太爱他而觉得自己很不幸，他感到多么奇怪呀！），他对自己感到不满，这是因为自己没能坚持到底。就这样吧。不小心写多了。其实爱情故事刚开始时暗生情愫最好的描写在《安娜·卡列尼娜》这本书中女主角安娜，遇上弗龙斯基的时候那矛盾又紧张的心情。有兴趣的同学可自行去翻阅，这里不透露了（其实是因为我懒得打字了，上面的引文全是对着书来一个字一个字敲的，好累嘛~~）。和其他无数的作家笔下的爱情描写比起来，列夫·托尔斯泰的描写超出何止千万里。
聊斋志异-娇娜...生胸间肿起如桃，一夜如盌，痛楚吟呻。公子朝夕省视，眠食都废。又数日， 创剧，益绝食饮。太公亦至，相对太息。公子曰：“儿前夜思先生清恙，娇娜妹子能疗之。遣人于外祖处呼令归，何久不至？”俄僮入白：“娜姑至，姨与松姑同来。”父子疾趋入内。少间，引妹来视生。年约十三四，娇波流慧，细柳生姿。生望见颜色，嚬呻顿忘，精神为之一爽。公子便言：“此兄良友，不啻胞也，妹子好医之。”女乃敛羞容，揄长袖，就榻诊视。把握之间，觉芳气胜兰。女笑曰：“宜有是疾，心脉动矣。然症虽危，可治；但肤块已凝，非伐皮削肉不可。”乃脱臂上金钏安患处，徐徐按下之。创突起寸许，高出钏外，而根际余肿，尽束在内，不似前如碗阔矣。乃一手启罗衿，解佩刀，刃薄于纸，把钏握刃，轻轻附根而割。紫血流溢，沾染床席，而贪近娇姿，不惟不觉其苦，且恐速竣割事，偎傍不久。未几，割断腐肉，团团然如树上削下之瘿。又呼水来，为洗割处。口吐红丸，如弹大，着肉上，按今旋转：才一周，觉热水蒸腾；再一周，习习作痒；三周已，遍体清凉，沁入骨髓。女收丸入咽，曰：“愈矣！”趋步出。生跃起走谢，沉痼若失。而悬想容辉，苦不自已。自是废卷痴坐， 无复聊赖。
尝试回答一下。如何将爱情中暗生情愫那一刻描述的惊心动魄？暗生情愫是什么感觉？是一眼万年惊为天人非他不可命中注定，还是细水长流愿执子之手相濡以沫，这样的瞬间，用文字表达，如何惊心动魄？我认为，这里的惊心动魄，是指故事读起来给人一种富有冲击力的共鸣的感觉。那么，如何写出这样的故事？1.相信大家都记得王道乾所译《情人》的那一句：比起你年轻的时候，我更爱你现在备受摧残的面容。如果换成：“我更爱你，虽然你已不再青春”来表达，却毫无了那种文字美感对人的冲击。2.予感情适当的表达。如果在读者看来只应该忧郁的场景，却描写了一场毫无根据的痛苦。虽然痛苦比忧郁的程度更深，但所引起的共鸣却不会更多，甚至可能引起反感。所以在写作中应该考虑读者的同情的范围，予感情适当的表达。饿了，吃完以后想到再补充。? o?o?—————————————————丑陋的分割线。接不上刚才的思路了....3.感情的表达方式。如果要给人以一定的冲击的共鸣的感觉，尽量不要用俗套的描述或方式去表现，花一些笔墨在特别的细节上会有更好的收获。
写一本背景在中国的写实bl小说。
你写成聊斋不就得了。
午后的阳光让人放松，如果这个时候肚子里有食物的话，还会让人变得慵懒。　　生子一进村就看见了那个姑娘，花花绿绿的袄子，红扑扑的脸蛋，忽闪忽闪的大眼睛，真的挺好看的——挺好看的一个村妮儿。　　不过这都不重要，重要的是那个女孩子手里有吃的。　　那是一只鸡腿，金黄色的鸡腿，在阳光下闪着厚厚的一层油。本来就又馋又饿的生子，看见那姑娘坐在门槛上啃大鸡腿，就迈不动步了。　　很多年以后，当生子回忆起当时的场景，他是这么形容的——“吧唧，吧唧，吧唧，我当时满脑子都是她吃鸡腿的声音，像是神魔的咒语，将我一步一步指引到她的身旁。”　　“阿弥陀佛，这位小施主，你家中可有长辈在家？还请布施一口斋饭。”张口不说化缘的事儿，先问人家有没有人，生子这是准备动手就抢啊。　　“滚！”　　那女孩朱唇轻启，檀口微开，声音不大，却似魔音灌脑，只一个字就将生子的万千腹稿打散，噎的哑口无言，就差喷出一口血来。　　见生子木鸡似得的呆在那里，小姑娘几口将鸡腿吃了个干干净净，用手一抹嘴，从门槛上站了起来。　　只见那姑娘把眼珠向上一翻，眼皮一挤，双眼化作一对等边三角形，原本可人的姑娘顿时变成了野蛮的泼妇，你别以为翻翻眼皮是一件很简单的事情，配合着叉腰、歪嘴、上步等动作，少女变妇女，可爱变野蛮，差距还是蛮大的，看得出来，这姑娘肯定是深入过生活，对泼妇这一角色有着很深刻的体验和理解。　　“瞅啥瞅，该干嘛干嘛去，最见不得你们这些个承天寺的和尚，赶紧滚犊子！”说完还翻了一个白眼儿，转身关门进屋了。　　那一瞬间，生子感觉树上的树叶全都落了。　　万里奔波，抵不过一次失落。一路上狼奔猪突的逃跑，师傅的生死难测，自己的弱小无力，复杂的情绪在大门关闭的一刻开始释放。　　是的，生子在抽泣，就是哆哆嗦嗦的哭，他哭的很委屈，这次下山，他想的是跟着师傅大杀四方，境界暴涨的。结果让人撵的像个兔子，狼奔猪突之后还让人一顿狗屁呲，胸中那些个原本发着光，闪着电的念头，变得暗淡，变得沉重，变得让人心里发堵。　　生子哭了一会，准备擦擦鼻涕，换个人家，继续化缘。　　突然，那已经关上的门，吱嘎一声又打开了。　　“给你！”那女孩拿着两个馒头，对生子招呼着。　　生子瞪大了眼睛，不敢相信他看见的事实。　　“我娘刚才跟我说，承天寺里的和尚是从来不化缘的。”小姑娘表情有点不好意思，继续说道：“对不起，这两个馒头给你。”　　人生的起起落落来的太突然，生子一时有点接受不了。　　“拿着啊，你还来脾气了是吧！”女孩又要翻脸。　　“没有，没有，不敢，不敢。”生子已经完全没有了主意，怯怯的上前准备去接他和师傅的午饭。　　这时，女孩儿拿起其中一个馒头，放到了面前，长大了嘴巴。　　“不带你这样地！你还要咬一口是咋？？？”生子的眼泪要又夺眶而出！　　“样儿吧！”那女孩儿鄙视的看了一眼生子，对着馒头哈了一口气。　　“你是出家人，不能吃荤的，这个馒头给你，上面有鸡腿的味道，肯定好吃。”说完将馒头塞到生子手里。　　生子看着手里的馒头，热泪盈眶，这么一会儿哭三回，实在是太刺激了。　　“你人长的漂亮，性格又好，对我更是没话说，你，你，你叫什么名字？”受人这么大的恩惠，生子觉得今生无以为报。　　那女孩想了想，摇了摇头。　　“摇头做什么？难道你没有名字么？那我给你起个名字好不好？”　　女孩被生子突如其来的想法逗的一笑，眯着弯弯的眼睛看着生子说：“好啊！”　　“铁锤！以后我叫你铁锤好不好？”
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