notification
I’m preparing for my senior year. I’ve been writing for almost a month and still haven’t reached a thousand orders. My grades are not good enough and I can’t continue. I have to write a book with good grades as soon as possible so that I can work full-time with peace of mind.

The problem with writing this book, apart from a small wave of toxic points before it was put on the shelves, which dampened the momentum of what could have been a fine product, was that I didn’t understand clearly what I was good at. I was obviously not good at writing about history or political intrigues, but I was good at female characters, ambiguity, and daily life, but I chose the wrong subject matter.

I’m sorry, brothers. I don’t know whether I will write on this account when I start a new book next Monday. I deeply apologize to the readers who have always supported me. I’m sorry.

(End of this chapter)