The idea of becoming a writer had come to me off and on since my
childhood in Belleville, but it wasn't unt il my third year in h igh school
that the possibility took hold.
从孩提时代,我还住在贝尔维尔时,我的脑子里就断断续续地转着当作家的念头,但直等
到我高中三年级,这—想法才有了实现的可能。
Lying on the sofa, I finally faced up to the unwelcome task,
took the list out of my notebook, and scanned it. The topic o
n which my eye stopped was “The Art of Eating Spaghetti.”
我躺在沙发上,最终不得不面对这一讨厌的功课 ,便从笔记本里抽出作文题目单粗
粗……看。我的目光落在“吃意大利细面条的艺术”这个题目上。
When I finished it the nig ht was half gone and there was no time
left to compose a proper, respectable essay for Mr. Fleagle.
等我写完时已是半夜时分,再没时间为弗利格尔先生写一篇循规蹈矩、像模像样的文章
了。
I did my best to avoid showing pleasure, but what I was f
eeling was pure delight at this demonstration that my words had
the power to make people laugh.
我尽力不流露出得意的心情,但是看到我写的文章竟然能使别人大笑,我真是心花怒放。