Chapter 9： More done, hate myself.

I really admire myself, I can write nine more, really spit out blood, and is in a cold state, and overdrafted badly.

I hate myself.

There are two types of writing books. One is talented. Wen Ruquan does not need to conceive too much. Writing in one's own hands often attracts people's hearts and makes people want to stop.

One is talented, no matter how conceived and delicate, it is written in warm water. It can't move people and can only intoxicate itself.

I belong to no talent, low understanding, so many years of writing, the level is still average, struggling, if not like to write, with the support of everyone, really can not persist, life is too difficult.

Since the writing is ordinary, if you want to get it, you have to put more effort into it, so you have to fight for it.

Every time I watched another great God write contentedly, soaring, he hated his incompetence more and more.

But no matter how you hate yourself, the reality is so unchangeable, you can only write desperately, who makes yourself incompetent and incompetent, there is no clever way.

Seeing that it looks like a snail, and feels like you, and crawls too slowly, then you can't stop, you have to work harder.

The new book list is too critical for a book to come. It is an opportunity to show yourself. You can't make it into the top ten. Everyone has no idea that you have a new book on the shelves and will not come to see it. The top ten is displayed on the list.

So I tried my best to write nine more, otherwise it would be worse and worse, and my results would be terrible. I really want to drink the northwest wind.

I earnestly need everyone's support and encouragement. Please vote for me. This vote is too crucial. For me, it is about the fate of this book and the standard of living for the next year or two.