The Miserable Author

In the ward.

The patient Mr. Pascowitz, lay there, his eyes vacant.

His wife sat down and started knitting a sweater.

"Mr. Pascowitz, the X-ray is in. There is a large mass of foreign matter in your intestines, which cannot be expelled even with urinary tract infusion."

Adam held up the X-ray and explained the patient's condition.

"Oh, that's great."

The patient's wife, while knitting, complained, "Doctor, can you just stick your finger up his butt and pull it out?"

"Baby, please!"

The patient immediately protested.

"No."

Adam's lips twitched, maintaining a professional smile, "Such a large clump of foreign matter, blocking the way, requires surgery to remove. Now, Mr. Pascowitz, can you tell me what you ate?"

"Garbage, absolutely garbage!"

The patient glanced at Adam and mumbled something.

Could you explain it more clearly?

Adam glanced at the patient's wife. "We need to understand the situation beforehand so we can prepare better."

"Tell him what you ate, Mole."

Seeing that her husband was still unwilling to speak, the patient's wife suppressed a laugh and said, "Doctor, just so you know, he's a writer, and he's suffering terribly because of his work."

"Cavon?"

Adam nodded. "That was indeed very difficult."

"So you know what Calvin tastes like?"

The patient looked doubtful.

"Certainly."

Adam laughed and said, "That kind of despair where you can't write a single word, the more you write, the slower you get, your brain is like a bubbling porridge, all muddled and confused, every time you write a sentence your temples throb and the back of your head goes blank, you can't muster any strength, you want to cry but can't, and there's nowhere to escape when disaster strikes."

"Hey!"

The patient slapped the bed and exclaimed, "That's exactly how it feels! You really understand! You described it perfectly!"

This feeling of being stuck, although not written by Adam.

But when Adam first started writing Webnovel and fell asleep to the sound of "My Own Swordsman" at night, he heard Lü Xiucai say these words again and felt that they were exactly what Adam wanted to hear.

Adam was never cut out for writing essays; he just loved reading novels. But after reading so many novels, he found it hard to find books that suited his taste.

That's when the idea of writing it myself came to mind.

At first, they were very excited.

It's obvious that I am that one in a million unparalleled master.

Like ordinary people, becoming a god through a single book is not a dream.

But when I sat down at the computer and couldn't type a single word, I was instantly slapped hard.

Obviously, I am not.

The first attempt has come to an end.

Then it's a cycle of rekindling the idea, giving up, and then rekindling the idea again.

It took several years before I finally managed to get the hang of it.

I've officially started writing.

During this period, Calvin was a frequent occurrence.

Lü Xiucai's words were the screenwriter's true feelings, which is why they not only resonated with Adam ancients but also impressed foreigners.

Nothing more!

It's just too real and cruel.

This perfectly captures the misery of a struggling author.

"Of course our Dr. Duncan understands."

Standing behind Adam, Carter couldn't help but say, "He's not only a doctor, but also a well-known author."

"The writer, Duncan..."

The patient paused, looked at Adam, and then exclaimed in realization, "You are Adam Duncan, the author of Lord of the Mysteries!"

"Right."

Adam smiled and nodded, "Now can you tell me what you ate?"

"He ate his novel."

The patient's wife, who was knitting a sweater, finally couldn't help but speak out.

"What?"

Carter was dumbfounded.

"I ate the entire novel I wrote, every single page of that pile of garbage!"

The patient exclaimed.

"I've seen all the drafts, and they're not as bad as you think."

The patient's wife complained, "If you hadn't eaten it all, maybe you could have shown it to this excellent fellow doctor, and perhaps the outcome wouldn't have been so embarrassing."

"..."

The patient paused.

He had clearly thought of this problem as well.

If an established writer takes a liking to him and recommends him, he might actually become famous overnight.

Unfortunately, it's all too late now.

"That's utterly rotten!"

The patient shouted angrily.

"It's been three years."

The patient's wife scoffed, "I'm listening to your anger and complaints just to see you eat it in the end?"

Three years?

Adam exclaimed in surprise, "Write a book? Mr. Pascowitz, have you considered changing jobs and writing while working? Perhaps you'd find more inspiration that way?"

"I am a writer!"

The patient exclaimed emotionally, "I don't need a backup plan!"

"All right."

Adam shrugged and didn't try to persuade him further.

He spent three years writing a book, but in the end, not only was it never published, he also ate it all and had to undergo expensive surgery in the hospital.

This input-output ratio is definitely a case of working for love.

Emmm.

Adam was also somewhat indignant for a moment.

This kind of person even has a wife...

Think of all those part-time writers in my past life who wrote out of love for their work. After a long day of heavy work, they would stay up late writing, risking sudden death, just to earn a little money for their hard work.

Many people are doing this out of love, even when they have nothing.

Even some full-time online writers who make money face discrimination in the dating market.

Unlike Mr. Pascowitz, who couldn't write a single book in three years, yet still had his wife by his side through thick and thin.

What a difference!

As expected, being a web novelist in my past life was the most miserable!

Comparing yourself to others will only make you miserable!

"Mr. Pascowitz, we have reserved Operating Room for you, in one hour..."

Adam was explaining the surgical arrangements when his eyes suddenly narrowed.

"What's wrong, doctor?"

The patient's wife still loved her husband, and immediately became nervous upon seeing this.

He was sweating.

Adam's mind raced through countless possible causes of his illness, and he asked, "How much paper did you actually eat?"

"So many!"

"That's what the patient's wife said."

"Carter, draw blood from Mr. Pascowitz and send it to the toxicology lab for testing."

Adam gave the order.

"Yes, doctor."

Carter quickly stepped forward to draw blood and take a sample.

"Doctor, what exactly happened?"

The patient's wife said worriedly.

"I suspect Mr. Pascowitz has been poisoned."

Adam explained, "When paper is printed, it contains harmful substances, such as heavy metals like lead and mercury. If these accumulate in the human body in excess, they can cause heavy metal poisoning. Mr. Pascowitz swallowed a large amount of paper, so the possibility of him being poisoned is greatly increased."

"Did you hear that?!"

The patient's wife was both distressed and resentful. "Damn it! Even if it was all garbage, couldn't you have just burned it? Why did you have to eat it all? Do you want to be a garbage dump?"

"I want to completely forget about it and start a new book!"

The patient, pale and sweating profusely, cried out, "Swallowing it is the necessary ritual!"

Adam could only shake his head at this.

Carter arrived quickly with the test results.

"It's mercury poisoning."

"Give him an injection of anti-leukocytes."

Adam gave instructions to the nurse.

This is the standard treatment for mercury poisoning, which involves absorbing the mercury from the patient's body.

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