小说原文很有意思，说最后自己的第一名奖被颁奖人给临时调整为第二名，理由很可笑，但作者还是接受了，毕竟他找到了自己的passion。而且作者很幽默地说，这个结尾让大家失望了，但现实就是这样的。

我在想：如果这种不合常规的情节出现在平时考试中，会不会被打低分呢？

再对设题角度说两句：我们大多数比赛会让考生写拼搏过程，而本次考试没让你写这个，让写获奖后的事情。这也是角度的不同。

我想大多数同学会这样写：

第一段写：我和同学们的震惊和兴奋，然后我拿着奖跑向老师那。

比较原文：同样写震惊，但作者加了一个人物，就是班上的学霸的不可思议到和我握手，然后又加了一个颁奖人，且让我从第一名变成第二名。

我们以往总说，不要在续写中加人。实际上这已经给原本就受到限制的续写加上了层层镣铐。估计莫言都不敢下结论，但是我们从来没有小说创作过的人却敢下结论如何写小说。

所以我的第二个结论是：

创作中的情节构造只要逻辑自洽即可，然后看主题和语言。我相信，改卷子也会这样评分的。

但是再回过头想：未来如果再考比赛类的，角度会又如何？

我认为，未来考试可能会加一条：模板式的千篇一律情节，且无法照应到前面的线索，会得不到高分。

譬如上文倘若都这样写：

我和同学开心和震惊，然后老师表扬我，老师很开心，我从此改变了。

这种干巴巴情节，最后全靠平时积累的各种心情描写表情描写动作描写去堆，怎么给分？

读后续写要走得远，必须考虑到这层功利心。 应该把情节的趣味放在第一位。

我上面是从话题来分，也就是比赛类，这在我的写作著作中也有：

也在我考前的最后一讲中讲到：

但我认为还有一种分类，那就是按照主题分类，这个主题就是Change类。因为人物的改变可以在不同的话题中体现。

我的《新高考英语写作王中王》这样分：

个人感觉，万变不离其宗吧，就语言和主题而言，没什么新花样，只要平时认真研读范文都没问题。

有问题的是：

未来，如何在情节思维上出彩？

套路模板最终肯定走不通的，唯有情节的思维品质上见高低。

附上原文：

原作品信息

标题：Lighting the Candle: A Wild Ride

作者：Carmen Agra Deedy

出处：The Horn Book Magazine

网址：https://www.hbook.com/story/lighting-the-candle-a-wild-ride

01

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阅读部分

When I was in middle school, my social studies teacher encouraged me to enter a writing contest, sponsored by an organization in our hometown. I demurred.

I loved history.

I did not love writing.

I was a Cuban refugee, and English had been my nemesis from the moment I first shoved a chunky No. 2 pencil up and down the dashed lines of D’Nealian paper.

My teacher knew my writing was cursory. And I knew that I lacked discipline. (What neither of us knew was that I was also dyslexic.)

Writing was so excruciating that my teacher had allowed me to present my paper on the sinking of the Titanic as an oral report — a one-act play, where I played all the parts. No one wheeze-laughed harder than he.

So, why the sudden hectoring to do something at which I was sure to fail? His reply: “Because I love your stories. And if you’re willing to apply yourself, I think you have a good shot at this.”

***

Few things motivate a writer like a bit of shameless flattery.

I chose Paul Revere’s horse as my subject. The story would come straight from the horse’s mouth. Not a brilliant notion, but funny; and unlikely to be anyone else’s choice.

What did the horse think, as he ripped through the night, his coat sloughing sweat, his eyes wide with adrenaline? Did he get tired? Have doubts? Did he want to quit?

I sympathized immediately. I got tired. I had doubts. I wanted to quit.

But, like Revere’s fabled horse, I kept going.

I worked hard. I checked my spelling. With a dictionary. I enlisted my older sister to correct my grammar. I checked out a half-dozen books on Paul Revere from the library. I even read a few of them.

When I handed in the finished essay, my teacher read it, laughed out loud, and said, “Great. Now, write it again. And no name. Entries are anonymous.”

I wrote it again. And again and again. If I didn’t win, I didn’t care. I had poured a wobbly writer’s blood and sweat into something that made my teacher proud.

02

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续写部分

Weeks passed. I forgot the competition. Thoughts of winning — a pipe dream to begin with — gave way to the enticements of a Georgia spring.

Then came the news.

There were two winners from each grade. A lanky, sweet-natured redhead in my class won second place.

I won first place.

That may have been the first time in my chatty life I was struck dumb, in any language.

Our teacher hooted with delight, my classmates stared at me in open disbelief, and Second-Place Red gamely shook my hand.

The following week, the winners met with the head of the sponsoring organization. We stood in the office, clutching our plaques and tittering to one another, when a small, birdlike woman entered. She spoke to the adults, then made her way down the line of winners, congratulating each of us and shaking hands. Red and I were last. We introduced ourselves. She looked from one to the other.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t extend her hand.

After a few awkward seconds, she cleared her throat and explained that there had been an embarrassing mistake.

Then she gently reached down and took our plaques — hands crossing at the wrists, she re-assigned them — and apologized for the error.

I was now the second-place winner.

No one challenged her.

It wasn’t until later that I remembered. Our entries were anonymous. How could she have known which child had won what?

***

I can’t tie a bow on the end of this strange tale and make it pretty. It’s not that kind of story. But there is this: I got a taste for writing that spring. I learned to respect a writer’s labor and perseverance. And — despite the challenges of both dyslexia and a second language — I never stopped writing.返回搜狐，查看更多