I'm not a savage
This time, I didn't care about my results. I only cared about my heart. This time, I just wanted to write a good book. This time, I wanted to write about hope. I wanted to write about the deepest dream in my heart. I really wanted to seriously transmigrate once and truly live in my dream once.
" I was originally ordinary and mediocre, but my dreams were not mediocre at all. Every day before I fell asleep, I would enter the space of my dreams. I would live in that space bit by bit, walking inch by inch. Starting from being naked, I would create a dream space that belonged to me and everyone else.
It's just that this space is more realistic and more manipulable than any of the spaces in my novels.
This wasn't originally the introduction to the book. The introduction that he had prepared was much more awesome than this. It was just that he didn't know which drunkard was singing " Wrangler City " outside the study room. He didn't know how many wives he had run away from and how heart-wrenching his singing was.
I don't know why, but it actually made me, a heartless fatty who was nearly fifty years old, cry. People, the older they get, the more useless they become.
Then, the introduction became like this. You can make do with it. If the book is not good, just scold me in the book review section. I'm still in the same habit. I'm all ears.
Also, if you like hot-blooded teenagers, please go and read " Brick of Tang "," Wisdom of the Great Song "," Silver Fox "," Han Xiang ", and " Tomorrow Afternoon ". The books with the least number of readers are all at least 25,000. The quality is still guaranteed. This time, please allow me to transmigrate slowly, blissfully transmigrate, and transmigrate with style.
Your old friend Jie and 2
“In American icon John Grisham’s new novel, Camino Winds, an odd assortment of mystery and crime authors, some of them felons themselves, discover one of their colleagues has been murdered during the fury of a massive hurricane—the perfect crime scene. Since officials are preoccupied with the aftermath of the storm, the authors set out to solve the mystery themselves, in the type of wild but smart caper that Grisham’s readers love.” —Delia Owens, author of Where the Crawdads Sing