I can't write anymore.

I felt as if I had lost my ability to express myself.

The picture in my mind is completely impossible to describe in words.

For anyone who makes a living off codewords, this is a fatal blow.

I don't want to lie, in fact, I am a professional writer, and if the state is normal, I should code 10,000 words a day.

From chapter 37 onwards in this book, I had a premonition of the difficulties ahead.

But under the pressure of survival, and not wanting to live up to the trust placed in me by the kangaroos in charge of weaving, I gritted my teeth and wrote until now.

In fact, a week before the book was put on the shelves, I had told the editor in charge that I would be a eunuch, but Brother Kangaroo hoped that I would persist in saving up a little character.

Counting this one, this is already the fourth book that I have lost as a eunuch in a year and a half.

I seem to have fallen into a vicious circle.

In fact, I was short of money, and rationally I should continue to cheat readers out of their money by flooding. But I really can't do it, I can't even write a single punctuation mark.

As an emotional writer, if you lose your passion, you lose your motivation to create. Maybe that's not the right fit for me.

That's the end of the book.

I think that's the biggest responsibility for both me and the readers.

I'll change my vest and make one last attempt. If you fail again, find a construction site to move bricks.

This time it's true.

I'm sorry, this book is a eunuch. (To be continued.) )

"Into A Chinese Ghost Story" I'm sorry, this book is a eunuch It's in the middle of the hand, please wait a moment,

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