I'd like to ask everyone for a few days off.
Don't wait for today's update.
Nothing happened, and it isn't anyone's fault.
All the plot is within my grasp, progressing in an orderly fashion.
My editor and chief editor have both been highly responsible and very kind to me.
The novel's results have been getting better and better too. Its average subscriptions have already reached twenty-two thousand. After more than five million words, with a baseline daily update of only four thousand words, it can still maintain an increase of over a thousand average subscriptions per month. It could be called one of a kind. I have nothing to be dissatisfied with.
The support readers could give me, the honors they could help me fight for—they have given me all of it.
My stocks have also been soaring red every day lately. Whatever I buy earns money.
Even my mood hasn't been bad.
It seems like everything has been going smoothly.
The royalties from the past few months, excluding copyright income, have been the highest I've had since writing Red Heart... By all rights, I should be writing several thousand more words a day, and my ranking results could be even better...
It's my own problem.
The outline is right there, the plotlines have all been laid out, and the characters have already been fully shaped, waiting only for a clash where winds and clouds converge. Usually, at a time like this, I'd be brimming with fighting spirit, marshaling all my brainpower and energy, pushing ahead in one burst to gather all those countless tangled threads together, kneading them into the brilliant image I had imagined.
But I tried rallying myself for ages and couldn't summon up a damn thing. It was like two armies charging—at your command, there were