So apparently, this novel isn't too amusing.
The pace is too slow; whether you write one page or a hundred of these types of books, they all read the same in the end. But the fact of the matter is, I've known it all along. I got worked up, thinking that perhaps one sincere thing would come out of my talkative, mediocre style. I still long to find that one thing I'm good at... In doing so, my body started to stiffen up. Perhaps it is because I'm tired. Ah! One cannot write a novel without being ecstatic. If you find that a word or a phrase equivocates within your heart in ten different ways, you're better off breaking and throwing your pen away. There's no point iu being so pretentious all the time. Be sentimental and spontaneous without thought.