A few days ago I published a blog about the reward of English learning, to which several friends responded with compliments, but there was one friend, who obviously offended by some of my obtrusive remarks, criticized severely my prejudiced view of the culture of other nations. It was indeed unexpected! I quickly looked over my blog and investigated the criminal site for the smoking gun. It was there red-handed. I couldn’t believe my eyes; I have no idea how on earth those provocative words came there. My face burned. Promptly I deleted the unwelcome article and sent a conciliatory message to my friend to assuage his raw. My friend readily accepted my apology, and let the hard feelings go away.

   A seemingly trivial incident was actually the result of a horrible habit I have cultivated recently.

    I was living here alone for over two years. Initially I enjoyed this opportunity,  as solitude could provide a haven for my study, but later on I began to know the meaning of loneliness. Dining out, travelling and seeking entertainment could not dispel the torment of homesickness. Fortunately I love reading and books have become my best companion and friend here. Like the enthralled audience in an auditorium, who were not satisfied with being passive spectators and, with a single motion of her gesture, sang and danced with passion and enthusiasm, I was also eager to experience the thrill of being a star. Then I began writing my journal. My journal covered up a wide variety of topics, some real, some only fantasy, the content of which I myself declined to have a second look. What scribbling is to a child, writing is to me at this period: the joy lies not in the work done but in the process of doing. I have published several articles on other webs with few responses. It seems that many of our netizens are here to relax, to find fun or anything other than taxing their already over strained brains. So with no idea of what this web is, I successively published several blogs, at first merely to score a point or to attract attention. I didn’t bother to emend some of the misspellings, let alone take time to dwell on the propriety of words, which proved to be a mistake.

 When we make a blunder during a conversation, the other party either puts up with it or tells you outright that he is offended; but writing is a different matter, as the finished work there is at the mercy of our readers, good or bad depending on their taste and partiality. So we must bear in mind that when you are trying to make your point, whatever your motive is, your readers deserve your respect, and even the greenhorns are not exempt from this rule. From then on, I have changed my way of writing. An idea sparkling, I shall quickly note down the main frame, then incubate it for a time till it takes form, grows up, becomes so impatient that it begins to peck at the hard-shell; finally I will give the hatchling a hand and lead him into the limelight. 

 A stumble may prevent a fall. A timely advice has cured me of my bad habit.