December begins. One step closer to the new year. Getting closer to 30.
With an extremely urgent heart. Boundless, fearless.
Recently, nothing major has happened. But it seems to have experienced all the right and wrong.
I want to have a big shell and wrap myself tightly in it.
Writing a novel is a long process.
I'm writing (Ching Ming Festival). It is planned to reach 200,000 words. Have you run out of inspiration? I only wrote 6,000 words in four days.
There was a moment. I want to crush myself.
Want to join the studio. Writing for them requires writing 6,000 words a day and cannot be updated continuously. Poor 1000 words are only worth 10 yuan.
Winter is coming quietly.
In sleepless nights. Tossing and turning.
Many times, I asked myself so hard, what exactly do I want to get?
(Water Margin) is about to see the end.
Work began to enter the formal. Slowly adapt to loneliness, the pain of growing up, and the gap that cannot be understood by others.
The street, the crowd.
The light of the sun.
Misty illusion of light. (Remember the site URL: www.hlnovel.com