（2019年11月6日）
影子被日光拉得长长的。人生也被回忆拽得长长的。
要是写下来，一切又更悠长了。
为何要烧财费时地编辑出版此书？这份想法，早在脑海盘旋，只是生性疏懒,迟未行动。直至2018年11月28日, 新加坡一位30几岁的作家谢世，成了最后一根稻草，把这个点子压在案上，敦促我非做不可。于是，一周后的2018年 12月5日，开始广邀千字稿（当然最终收到的有长有短），借此了解20位（曾）定居新加坡的作家，以及12位海外作家（或他们自谦的写作爱好者），在这个大环境下仍无利可图地写作的理由，茕茕伏案的身影。
尤其，写作是一种越写越寂寞，不写也寂寞的左右双墙，撞了这边，又撞那边。
尽管该位早逝作家生前所写并非吾菜，也不相识，却能深感其对写作对文学的虔诚，常有文章见报，而且还是长长的那种。
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10月，从“2019台北诗歌节”返回新加坡，再也没有“老师”前“老师”后了，“国际诗人”梦做完了，继续当一块被现实拍扁的印度煎饼。《道德经》谓“祸兮，福之所倚；福兮，祸之所伏”，那天读木心，也见到“暴得大名,不祥”句，果不其然，不久就遇事。我静立原地，灵魂仿佛飘起，俯视一切,只觉可笑。友人赞叹修养至此，如何成就？定非天生，该是日复一日阅读写作的修行果实。
拭掉脸上的唾沫，又是全新的人。
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今天天清气朗，云丝欲断未断。继续在思念的悬崖蹒跚徘徊，尺度要拿捏好,耽溺就会跌落谷底了。
“车轮在辙道上哐啷的牵响”(萧红《生死场》), 都什么时候了,我还在写作,写了好多好多的诗。这些诗一点用都没有，可是不写出来，我会更没用，连表达自我的能力都没有。台湾已故作家李维菁抱着重疾也要写完小说《人鱼纪》，是什么样的力量，足以支撑残破的肉身？
人心微凉，钻笔取暖，超逸绝尘，吾道不孤。感谢愿意相信我，乐意供稿与读者分享写作理由的32位作家：谢清、刘培芳、吴伟才、郭淑云、何华、梁文福、蔡宝龙、梁凤霞、贺尔、李青松、林有懿、叶欢玲、仇莉莲、梁海彬、李振宏、阿嗅、随庭、张嘉嘉、林艺君、李梅银、露凡、向阳、杨小滨、鸿鸿、毛尖、陈佳君、马尼尼为、林蔚昀、林雪虹、黄丽丽、管伟森、牛小流。
希望这本以近三年制作的书也能成为最后一根稻草，稳住一颗颗任何想写作,或因为写作而颠沛受挫的心。
特别感谢新加坡刻章家白丝木，暂时放下刻刀，立地成本书的英译者,让更多读者读见本书作者群的心语，让本书顺利于2021年出版。而且，还亲刻书名章相赠！一些我极其欣赏的作家因各种缘由无法供稿，没关系的，他们就如星星般，会继续被我和其他读者仰望，赏读。
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拼死拼活，世界（终究）或许无法长成我们喜欢的样子，还好有文字摇橹,领我们到乌托邦，诗意栖居，伴以长影。
Foreword: Elongated Shadows, Reasons for Writing
Quek See Ling
(Translated by Baisimu)
6 November 2019
Our shadows appear elongated under the sunlight. Similarly, our lives are stretched long by memories.
If we write them down, it all becomes even longer.
Why do I devote time and money to compile and publish this book? This project was at the back of my mind for a long time, but I was lazy and procrastinated. On 28 November 2018, a Singaporean writer in her thirties passed on. This was the last straw, and I concluded I could delay no more. So, a week later on 5 December 2018, I began to send out invitations to 20 writers in (or had been in) Singapore as well as 12 overseas writers (or writing enthusiasts, as they humbly claim). I invited them to write in a thousand words (not a hard and fast rule, of course) the reasons they write, especially in this age and environment, when one could hardly profit from it. Especially when one is stuck on the lonely path of writing, and the alternative of not writing is not any better.
Although the works of the writer who died young were different from what I usually read, nor did I know her on a personal level, I could feel her devotion towards writing. Her articles were often published on the papers, and they were always long pieces.
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In October, I returned to Singapore after giving talks at the 2019 Taipei Poetry Festival. No one kept calling me “teacher” anymore, and the title of “international poet” finally ended as reality beckoned. It is written in the Tao Te Ching that “In misfortunes, there are blessings; and in blessings, there are misfortunes.” One day, I was reading Mu Xin and he wrote, “You have made a name for yourself; it spells disaster.” Sure enough, misfortune struck shortly after. I stood and watched the drama unfold as if I were a bystander. Everything was ludicrous and almost laughable. My friend was amazed by my calmness. How did I do it? I was certainly not born this way. It must have been the accumulation of reading and writing, day after day.
Wiping off the spit on face, I am a new person once again.
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The sky is clear today, and the clouds appear to be loosely joined. I indulge myself in some wistful reminiscing, sensibly of course, for otherwise, I would descend into darkness.
“The wheels rumble on the tracks,” (from The Field of Life and Death by Xiao Hong) so much time has passed, yet I am still writing. In fact, I have written countless poems. These poems may be utterly useless, but had I not written them, I would feel more useless for the lack of ability to express myself. The late Taiwanese writer Li Wei-ching insisted on completing her novel The Modern Tale of the Mermaid despite being gravely ill. How much strength is needed to keep an ailing body going? Where does this strength come from?
Feeling slightly disheartened, I turn to my pen for comfort and remind myself I am not alone. I am immensely grateful to the 32 writers who believed in me and generously shared with us a piece of themselves and the reasons they write. They are Chia Kwek Fah, Low Pooi Fong, Ng Wai Choy, Gouk Sok Eng, He Hua, Liang Wern Fook, Chua Poh Leng, Charmaine Leung, He Er, Li Qingsong, Lin Youyi, Yap Huan Lin, Kiew Li Lian, Li Meiyin, Neo Hai Bin, Daryl Li, Ah Xiu, Sui Ting, Teo Jia Jia, Lin Yi-jun, Lu Fan, Xiang Yang, Yang Xiaobin, Hung Hung, Mao Jian, Chen Chia-Jiun, Maniniwei, Wei-Yun Lin-Górecka, Lim Suat Hong, Wong Lih Lih, Kwan Wei Shen, Niu Xiaoliu.
After a three-year effort, may this book be the well-needed last straw for the heart that wishes to write, or the heart that struggles against dejection along this journey of writing.
Special thanks to Singaporean carver Baisimu for putting away her carving knives and taking up the role of a translator, allowing the book to be published in time for more readers to peek into the thoughts of these writers. And she even carved a seal for this book! Several writers whom I greatly admire were unable to weigh in due to various reasons. That’s all right. They are like the stars in the sky, and we will continue to look up to them and admire their works.
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Despite our constant struggle, the world may very well turn out different from what we want it to be. Fortunately, we could find respite in writing. We could create a utopia with words, where we live poetically in the company of our elongated shadows.
