plagiarism

53 Depressed Mario Puzo

Mario Puzo was lying on the bed, smoking an Italian cigar, and staring out the window dully.The sky outside the window was covered with sunset glow, colorful clouds were floating aimlessly, and then a red dragonfly flew into their house from outside the window.

"Hey, my God! Why is my fate so bad?" He didn't care to appreciate the sunset and the flying red dragonflies outside the window, and the annoyance and anger in his heart made him unable to calm down for a long time.

His luck is always bad. He is almost 50 years old, and his future is still uncertain. There are two adults and five children. Debt, the thought of it made him anxious.He came from a bad background, and now he lives in "Hell's Kitchen" on the west side of Manhattan, which is a famous New York slum.He thought that the chef father who immigrated to the United States from Naples, Italy, never failed his responsibilities, brought him up all the way, and let him hang out at the New School in New York and Columbia University for a while.

After all, I have to blame myself.He loved to read books since he was a child, and when he watched and watched, he suddenly had a whim like a poison, and he even made up his mind to quit his job and become a writer!This is great, writing, writing, writing, writing for more than 30 years, mixing with this group of people, messing with that circle, at least two books have been published, and the book reviews are good, but, is it useful?Who cares about that kind of "serious literature"?In the end, I was still poor, and my life was still sad.

In the past few years, seeing his aging years, with a body weighing more than 0 pounds, he feels more anxious from time to time. The editors of the magazine have advised him, you are so good at telling stories, why can't you let go of your figure, and the writing should be softer novel, try your luck.

"What's so difficult about this, but, should I write? Am I just giving up my great ideal?" Last winter, Puzo was thinking about this question.One day when I was hungry, I went to a relative's house to share a share of the thick-skinned food as usual, and everyone didn't think much of him. Italians, family love is better than heaven.Who knew that when he came out full of wine and food, he accidentally fell on his feet when he didn't pay attention to his feet.He was lying in the ditch that was not too shallow, staring at the sky with his eyes wide open.I suddenly felt a burst of sadness and unwillingness to be able to control myself, so I made up my mind, "Then write!"

"I'm going to write the greatest crime novel ever!" His interest in crime novels stemmed from his childhood dream of becoming a "Don".In order to create this novel, he began to collect materials about the Mafia from libraries, bookstores, and Italian predecessors who came to the United States, and started writing "The Godfather" last month.

"When people are unlucky, they will clog their teeth when they drink water!" Now Pu Zuo finally understood this sentence profoundly.Just when he was full of ambition and ready to flex his muscles in the field of bestsellers, a Chinese guy named "Tang Xie" also published "The Godfather", and the sales volume was actually very good.Unable to resist the temptation, he finally walked into the bookstore.

The moment he opened the book, he felt that the whole world collapsed!

"Oh, cake seller! God also came to play a joke on me!" Puzo flipped through the book nervously and quickly, his heart beat faster before he knew it, and he was sweating profusely. He felt that his heart would jump out.

"Buried stones! How could this be? The idea and writing style of this book are exactly the same as his own! What made him even more unbelievable was that the names of the people in the book were exactly the same as those he carefully set up, even a single letter was not bad..." He said His thoughts began to short-circuit, and he did not believe it was true anyway.Under such an inexplicable blow, Pu Zuo was exhausted physically and mentally, and furious, and puzzled, finally felt a sweetness in his throat, and a gust of blood gushed out of his mouth, and then he passed out in the bookstore.

When the people around him woke him up, he could no longer maintain his demeanor. He got up and shouted to the people around him: "Sell cakes! This "Godfather" is my work! This hateful Chinese shamelessly Plagiarized my work...Oh, yes, I have evidence. This is my manuscript, my outline, please take a good look..."

People around looked at him sympathetically, and those who were interested also took his manuscript and compared it with "The Godfather", and found that the content and writing style were indeed very similar, but Puzo's manuscript was only 60 pages.

"The Godfather was published last week, and it's now Thursday, and it's been selling very well. Poor man, be honest! You only have a few dozen pages here. How can others copy your work? Even if he copied yours, how can he explain that there are so many contents behind him? Oh, by the way, this Chinese man named Tang Xiao is your friend?" The person who read his manuscript said calmly: "Could it be that you gave him the manuscript? Did you reveal your creative inspiration?..."

"Oh, no! I've never had any Chinese friends! I don't even know whether this damn Tang Xi is male or female, old or young. I have never disclosed my creative plans to anyone except my mother..."

The Americans onlookers laughed coaxingly, most of them "understood" what was going on, shook their heads and left him.And the person who read his manuscript shrugged his shoulders and said to him: "Oh, my dear friend, I think, I think you should go to the doctor."

Puzo didn't know how to get back.For several days, he didn't think about food and drink, and suffered from insomnia every night. He couldn't figure out why even if he tried his best.The sales of "The Godfather" have been rising steadily, reaching the top of the "New York Times" bestseller list in the first week.

The red dragonfly was flying in Puzuo's room, fluttering its wings from time to time, making a slight noise.

Puzuo finally found it, and he said to Dragonfly with a wry smile: "Little guy, why are you so happy? Oh, are you here to comfort me? No need, thank you, little guy. I decided to go to Los Angeles to find the guy named Tang The joker's theory, if... If there is still no result, oh, it seems that I have to go to heaven to ask God for an explanation."

Speaking of this, he suddenly felt that he was too useless, and it seemed that he could only settle accounts with God. He thought about it painfully, but the thought of "unwillingness" suddenly became stronger in his heart.

"Bang bang bang" he heard a knock on the door.

"I said, I don't want to see anyone! Get out!" Puzo shouted.

"Pu Zuo, there are two Chinese, one big and one small. He said that he wants to see you very much!" His wife said loudly outside the door.

"Chinese? Damn Chinese! I hate Chinese!" Puzo yelled hysterically. He finally opened the door angrily, and immediately saw a gentle middle-aged Chinese, and beside him was a lovely Chinese kids.

Puzo tried hard to suppress his anger, and said to the two Chinese: "Oh, cake sellers! I'm really sorry, sir. I don't know you, and I don't like Chinese people either. Please go back."

It was Tan Xiaozhong and Tan Jiabao who came here.