pjbooks Chapter 1: The Night Writer, One Word Reveals the Secret
Chapter 1: The Night Writer, One Word Reveals the Secret
Two o'clock in the morning.
The city had long since fallen silent.
A dim table lamp was still lit in the rented room.
The cold light from the computer screen reflected on my slightly tired face.
On the screen is my new book, which I've been writing for three whole months.
My fingertips hovered over the keyboard for a long time.
But I couldn't type a single word.
It's not Calvin.
It's true, it was written with a sense of despair.
I raised my hand and gently tapped on the author's backend.
Lines of cold data lay quietly on the page.
Total collections: 163.
3 new cases added today.
The number of chapter clicks is even more pitifully small.
The comment section was refreshed again and again.
The latest one was posted just a few hours ago.
Only two words: light and airy.
"good."
I sighed softly.
Leaning back in the chair, I closed my eyes.
This is the fourth book I've started.
From the very beginning, I was full of enthusiasm.
I believe that as long as I persevere, I will definitely be able to make a name for myself.
Now, all that's left is numbness and self-doubt.
Three years.
I've written fantasy, urban, and historical fiction.
I put my all into every single one.
Each one was sold out quietly.
Among the authors who started out in the industry with me, some have left, and others have scattered.
Some people couldn't persevere and gave up writing altogether.
Some people found a way in and gradually became popular.
Some people simply change careers to make a living.
Only I am still going around in circles.
The editor was already quite tactful when he spoke to me last time.
"Raise the pace a bit more, make the conflicts more obvious, otherwise it will be hard to get a recommendation."
The words weren't explicitly stated, but the meaning couldn't be clearer.
If this continues, this book will most likely be cut short again.
For an author, cutting off a book is like strangling their own child.
I rubbed my throbbing temples, my mind a complete mess.
Give up?
Not reconciled.
Should I continue writing?
There is no hope in sight.
Frustrated, I opened a writing forum.
It's full of authors like me, struggling at the bottom of society.
They routinely tease and encourage each other.
I hesitated for a few seconds.
I casually pasted the link to my latest chapter.
A line of text was added:
"I'm such a loser, the more I write, the more confused I get. I beg some experts to give me a good scolding and wake me up so I can die knowing why."
After posting it, I laughed at myself.
There are dozens or even hundreds of these kinds of posts on the forum every day.
Most of them disappeared without a trace.
Occasionally someone would reply, but it would only be a few words of perfunctory comfort.
"Keep going!" "Persistence pays off!" "Take it slow!"
The more I hear it, the more powerless I feel.
I had no expectations.
I tossed the page aside and stared blankly at the document again.
The room was so quiet that only the faint sound of the fan turning could be heard.
Time passes little by little.
About a few minutes later.
In the bottom right corner, the forum message notification suddenly jumped slightly.
I paused for a moment, then clicked on it casually.
A new reply lies quietly below the post.
From an unfamiliar ID.
The profile picture is very simple, black background with white lines, and so clean it doesn't look like an ordinary person's.
There were no unnecessary formalities, no words of comfort.
There is only one extremely straightforward statement:
[Arctic Sweet Shrimp]: You're not writing a novel, you're just keeping a diary. The protagonist has no desires, the plot has no conflict, and you don't even have the most basic cinematic feel. Why would readers follow your book?
When I saw that sentence, I was taken aback.
Immediately afterwards, a surge of anger rushed to the top of his head.
I've been writing for three years, and even though I've flopped, I'm still considered a semi-insider.
When did it become the turn of a complete stranger to so easily dismiss all my efforts?
I immediately placed my fingers on the keyboard, ready to type a retort.
I even thought of the tone; it wasn't exactly an insult, but it was sharp enough to be offensive.
But before I could send it, a second message came.
[Arctic Sweet Shrimp]: The first chapter has more than two thousand words of setup, with a lot of daily life described, but the real motivational event is only shown at the end of the third chapter.
Online articles are not prose; readers don't have the patience to wait for you to slowly get into the story.
If the first three chapters don't hold the reader's attention, no matter how well the later chapters are written, no one will see them.
What you're writing isn't a story, it's your own journey through life.
I abruptly stopped typing halfway through.
As I stared at those lines of text, the anger in my heart gradually cooled down.
The replacement was a shock that defies description.
Having worked in the industry for three years, I've heard countless writing experiences.
Some say it needs to be exciting, some say it needs to be fast-paced, and some say it needs to be a certain number of words per day.
But no one has ever said these things to me.
Incentive events.
A sense of camera presence.
The protagonist's desires.
Structural logic.
These words sound like jargon from another industry.
But unfortunately, every single word hit the Achilles' heel of my book.
I suddenly realized.
This person is definitely not simple.
They are definitely not ordinary readers who just browse forums.
I took a deep breath to calm the turmoil in my heart.
My fingers trembled slightly as I carefully typed out each word of a line:
[Charcoal-grilled Tomato]: Senior, do you... know anything about screenwriting?
This time, the other party replied almost instantly.
It consists of only three words, yet it is written with a light touch, carrying an unfathomable calmness.
【Arctic sweet shrimp】: I know a little about it.
Upon seeing the reply, I sat in front of the computer, speechless for a long time.
The night outside the window was deep, and the lights inside the room were dim.
The cold light from the screen shone on my face, but my eyes gradually brightened.
I suddenly had an unusually clear intuition.
This happened late at night, and this unexpected online friend appeared.
It is very likely that this will completely change my writing career from now on.
[End of Chapter]