Гений перевод на английский

Prologue
Once upon a time you were little. One meter tall. You held a spoon incorrectly. You spoke poorly. But you grew. You felt and you were afraid. You held your parents' hands. You learned your first poems by heart. And your scribbles in notebooks. And magical dreams. You didn't want to get up in the morning and go to school. Your parents shook you.
-Get up quickly. It's time to get ready for school.

Chapter 1
The streams began to flow. Their eternal murmur. My first impressions. The first date. And the house by the stream. And multiple falls. And bruises, and abrasions. And illnesses, and pains. You absorbed a lot from childhood and understood some laws of existence.

Chapter 2
I decided on something and understood the main thing. And what happened next. Love and broken dreams. Persuasion and farewells. And I approached the precipice. I was stopped by hope and my parents' eyes, piercing glances and their feelings. Anxiety raged in my chest. I couldn't cope without outside help.

Chapter 3
And now, as never before, the poetic lines flowed. Everything went like clockwork, without delays or remorse. I scribble, write, think and reflect. I say to myself:
-I am not guilty of anything. That I am like this and I want more freedom.

Chapter 4
It's hard for me to write this. I always ask myself, who needs this? What is characteristic of this letter? What will the reader be able to understand? "And in my thoughts I see red letters, like thorny flowers that hurt my hand. And my soul, as if it were being wound into a ball."

Chapter 5
It should be simple. But no, everything is complicated and ambiguous. Something always prevents one from getting out of the writer's confusion of feelings. "There is no way to put out the fire. And fire trucks won't help, nothing will save."

Chapter 6
Another break. How could it be otherwise? Everything is put on stream. "It is possible to think correctly. But no one knows how." How correctly. You are a genius and this changes everything.

Chapter 7
The coat is made of cloth. The writer will go somewhere in it. "And are the doors open for him? The door to another world. The readers are somewhere there."

Chapter 8
"But you don't wave your hand at them, because your hand is busy with the pen and there's a lot of work in front of you." I'm not happy with it either. How much paper is wasted. Pages are written on and thrown into the trash. "And so your head falls on the table, there's no more strength to invent or compose anything."

Chapter 9
Truth. What is it like? What is characteristic of it? What needs to be thought out. When you write, then you will feel it. Laws of writing. The main laws. And what about side effects. "Why put a spoke in your wheel? This is your car and your life as a writer."

Chapter 10
A lot of coffee has been drunk. What about cigarettes?
- I don't smoke, but I drink coffee. I can't live without it.
-Hello, - said the reflection in the mirror. You're still writing.
- Finished on page twenty.
It turned out that coffee spilled on the mirror and it went silent.

Chapter 11
I didn't bother to wipe it off because I was starting the sequel to the novel. My email squeaked.
-You have a letter from N.
“How untimely this all is,” I said.
The answer to the letter can wait.

Chapter 12
The rain drummed on the window. Feelings stirred. Autumn time, the charm of the eyes. How can you write it differently. "Autumn time, calls you and beckons, and the rain does not hold you back, and the umbrella is open over your head and you walk along the pavement."

Chapter 13
It's dark. Night. And you're still sitting at your masterpieces. You can't see the stars in the window. The lines on the computer are running and the cursor is blinking in the pauses. Words, commas, more words and periods between sentences.

Chapter 14
At night, nothing distracts you, but the cat waits for you until you go to bed. He will jump on your table and you will stroke his head. And he will say:
-Go to bed. The morning is wiser than the evening.
You will understand it and put off all writing.

Chapter 15
Morning. You yawn and go to the fridge. You take out a loaf of bread and jam. "My brain needs sugar."

Chapter 16
Jam was running down his hands. Half of the loaf was covered with it. Hot tea was burning his lips. So delicious. He poured himself another cup of tea and began to finish the loaf. He was no longer thinking about the letter. He would drop everything and go for a walk in the park.

Chapter 17
Leaves swirled before him as he walked along the park alleys. Autumn rain drizzled. The sky was grey. Suddenly the lines of a new novel began to come. And thoughts, like soldiers, lined up. "Step, two left, step, two right." Running home, he was obsessed and impetuous. His run was fast. He reached home in half an hour and turned on the computer, and here he was tapping the keys of the keyboard. "The weather was clear, he wrote, the sun was shining at its zenith."

Chapter 18
Thirty pages had already been written when the Internet disappeared. He took a sheet of paper and continued writing a new novel. He wrote like this all day long, without stopping for anything. Only by evening did he finish the twentieth chapter of the novel.

Chapter 19
It is difficult to be a genius. Constantly searching. Always improving and comparing something. Making sure that nothing is repeated anywhere. Writing simple, but complex philosophical texts. Crossing out something and writing it again. Controlling the creative process.

Chapter 20
“Let’s go to bed,” said the cat.
- I'll sit and write a little longer.
-You are not sleeping and I am not sleeping.
-It doesn’t seem to me like the cat is talking.
His smile is charming. And mine is too.

Chapter 21
The alarm clock rang. I turned it off with my eyes closed. The cat meowed, asking for food. It was time to get up.

Chapter 22
Taking a cold shower invigorates. Open all the windows and do exercises. And then another shower, but this time a hot one. And drink a cup of coffee with condensed milk. Eat a piece of cake. And you're already fine, and you're already full of energy.

Chapter 23
A mosaic of words has formed. And then you move sentences, build a chain of chapters. Look how the train has started. But it needs stops. And your soul needs nourishment. Knock. Knock. Knock. It was a bird knocking on the window.

Chapter 24
Here comes winter. The cold season has come. Snow always flies in the yard at your back, it's the children playing. Today I sent the manuscript of a new novel to the editors. I will wait for the decision and corrections.

Epilogue
Write while you can write. Love while you can love. Read and learn a lot. Only in this way will there be development, only in this way will life be fulfilled.