劫后

1999年，美国作家Stephen King 跟平常一样一个人去散步时，出事了。一辆货车撞上他，几乎要了他的命。医生替他动了六次手术才保住命，当他能够坐起来时，他动笔，写下On Writing。
重新提笔，今非昔比：
The first writing session lasted an hour and forty minutes,by far the longest period I'd spent sitting upright since being struck by Smith's van. When it was over, I was dripping with sweat and almost too exhausted to sit up straight in my wheelchair. The pain in my hip was just short of apocalptic. 这，是身体上的苦。
And the first five hundred words were uniquely terrfying- it was as if I'd never written anything before them in my life. All my old tricks seemed to have deserted me. I stepped from one word to the next like a very old man finding his way across a stream on a zigzag line of wet stones. 这，却是精神上的痛。
There was no inspiration that first afternoon, only a kind of stubborn determination and the hope that things would get better if I kept at it. 这，会不会就是我们失去的或者从来没有的？
死里逃生，Stephen King 感悟最深的是什么？
Writing did not save my life - Dr. David Brown's skill and my wife's loving care did that- but it has continued to do what it always has done: it makes my life a brighter and more pleasant place.
Writing isn't about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it's about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well. It's about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy.
当我们很小的时候，爸爸妈妈握我们的手，教我们一笔一划写的第一个字是什么，我们都忘了。不过，应该还记得，乱涂乱写的快乐。
当我们长大，很少机会握笔（不过是签名/填抽奖表格才用），笔换了鼠，爸爸妈妈也不再握我们的手，这双手，长大了，乱涂乱写的时间少了。
快乐也变得不一样了。
爸爸妈妈的手怎样了？
多久没看过，多久。