after my mother died, in the midst of almost crippling grief, i decided to write a novel for her. big breasts and wide hips is that novel. once my plan took shape, i was burning with such emotion that i completed a draft of half a million words in only eighty-three days. in big breasts and wide hips i shamelessly used material associated with my mother's actual experience, but the fictional mother's emotional state is either a total fabrication or a composite of many of northeast gaomi township's mothers. though i wrote "to the spirit of my mother" on the dedication page, the novel was really written for all mothers everywhere, evidence, perhaps, of my overweening ambition, in much the same way as i hope to make tiny northeast gaomi township a microcosm of china, even of the whole world.
the process of creation is unique to every writer. each of my novels differs from the others in terms of plot and guiding inspiration. some, such as "the transparent carrot," were born in dreams, while others, like the garlic ballads have their origin in actual events. whether the source of a work is a dream or real life, only if it is integrated with individual experience can it be imbued with individuality, be populated with typical characters molded by lively detail, employ richly evocative language, and boast a well crafted structure. here i must point out that in the garlic ballads i introduced a real-life storyteller and singer in one of the novel's most important roles. i wish i hadn't