Chapter 2 - Episode 1: The Regressed 10th-Circle Swordmaster of a Chaebol Family (2)
◈ How to Become a Star Writer ◈
Episode 1: The Regressed 10th-Circle Swordmaster of a Chaebol Family (2)
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Maybe that was when we first met.
I still remember that moment clearly. Ji Eun-yu came to my studio apartment, her hair tied up in a fresh-looking ponytail.
“Author, let’s get back to writing.”
My editor said it with a bright smile.
Watching her tear my novel to shreds right in front of me, I couldn't stop those memories from coming back.
What was the first question Ji Eun-yu asked me?
Right. She definitely asked:
“Author, what do you think a novel is?”
What was a novel, all of a sudden?
Maybe it was because I was conscious of her gaze. I suddenly started spouting nonsense.
“Um, well. There are several theories. For instance, from Ian Watt's perspective, novels are realism, while from a postmodernist perspective, novels are... ah, and existentialism...”
About five minutes passed. By the time I stopped, having talked myself out, Ji Eun-yu spoke.
“I see. So that's what a novel is?”
Somehow, I felt like she was making fun of me.
“Author, let me put it this way. If that's a ‘novel,’ then a ‘web novel’ is everything other than what you just described.”
“...Pardon?”
“It seems you don't even know what web novels are. You didn't attend the orientation either, did you?”
Ji Eun-yu tapped the table as she continued.
“Postmodernism, realism, all of that is fine. I understand that those things are meaningful, and that they have value.”
“...”
“But, Author, readers don't care about that. What readers want is a story, not a philosophy textbook. Web novels fundamentally require consideration for the reader.”
Consideration for the reader.
“When you wrote literary fiction, you could write whatever you wanted. The more complex the web of meaning, the more the critics probably liked it. But it isn't like that here. Readers won't read it if you do that.”
“Readers.”
“Yes. Readers.”
I thought I shouldn't react.
But my mouth opened on its own.
“How can you make literature while thinking about readers?”
Damn mouth. Damn pride.
Ji Eun-yu silently looked into my eyes. Her gaze seemed to ask:
“Literature?”
Ashamed that I had used the word literature with my own mouth, I lowered my head.
“Author.”
“Yes.”
And I couldn't forget what Ji Eun-yu said next for a long time.
“You aren't making literature.”
It felt like I'd been struck hard on the crown of the head with a hammer.
I knew. At least, I knew web novels couldn't be literature. After all, no matter what you wrote as a web novel, prominent critics wouldn't write lofty prose about it.
But no one had ever told me so bluntly.
“Then web novels are...”
Then what should I call the things I wrote from now on?
No, what could I write now?
“Author.”
“...Yes.”
“Why do web novels have to be literature?”
“Pardon?”
“Is not making literature something to be ashamed of?”
“...”
“Are all other writers who don't make literature their profession living shameful lives?”
For a moment, I couldn't say anything.
Looking back, perhaps I was saved once, back then.
Not through some plausible philosopher's aphorism, but through a question posed by an editor, I happened upon salvation.
“Literature isn't the only thing that saves people.”
* * *
Literature isn't the only thing that saves people. That one sentence from Ji Eun-yu carried me through those grueling months.
“Author, I told you to keep your sentences short. Read this. How many characters is this, anyway?”
One month over sentence problems.
“Author, you can't structure a plot like this. Did you forget? The pacing is too slow. Readers will fall asleep while reading.”
One month over plot problems.
“Author, readers have to want to know what happens in the next chapter. Go watch some morning dramas.”
One month over endings.
“Author, if you write like this, people will call you an exposition addict. You're not writing an encyclopedia, are you?”
Another month over setting problems.
Month after month piled up, and before I knew it, half a year had passed.
“Sometimes, I think about something you said back then.”
“Pardon? What...?”
“That literature isn't the only thing that saves people.”
Ji Eun-yu, who had been going over my manuscript for some time, opened her eyes wide.
“Ah... I did say that.”
The look in her eyes as she watched me was complicated. I felt like I shouldn't have brought it up.
Just as the atmosphere was about to turn awkward, Ji Eun-yu spoke first.
“That's right. What saves people is...”
What saves people?
“A Swordmaster. Not literature.”
“...Pardon?”
“So if you want to save people too, put a Swordmaster in your story.”
I let out a small laugh as I watched Ji Eun-yu say it in such a serious voice.
Maybe that was how she protected me.
“Actually, I've already put one in.”
“Pardon?”
I took a USB drive from my pocket. It held the manuscript I'd been writing until that morning. Ji Eun-yu opened the file, and the title immediately appeared.
『The Regressed 10th-Circle Swordmaster of a Chaebol Family』
“...That's quite a title.”
“...It is.”
It was a novel I'd written while practically giving up on myself.
You could call it the culmination of the past ten months.
A novel that excluded me entirely and targeted nothing but readers' needs.
“I'd better brace myself before reading it.”
“I'd appreciate that.”
Perhaps it was the result of all my hard work, but Ji Eun-yu spent quite a long time looking over the manuscript.
In the meantime, I went to the bathroom a couple of times, drank coffee from the office corner, and chatted with the other male employees.
“Author Lee, you've been coming by often lately.”
“Ah, yes.”
It was a man whose name I couldn't remember. I thought Ji Eun-yu had called him Manager Seo.
“Haha, people like you are rare, Author Lee. Writers from the literary scene all write a little, then leave this business out of pride when things don't work out.”
“Uh...”
“You've got real skill, so you'll do well. Fighting!”
“Yeah. Fighting...”
I'd already heard that more times than I could count.
Yeah, I'd like to do well too.
When I returned to my seat, Ji Eun-yu was waiting for me.
I asked impatiently.
“How is it? Is it interesting?”
“...”
Damn it. After doing this for nearly half a year, I could tell what an editor was about to say just from her expression.
“Author, um... I'm not sure how to put this...”
“Just say it.”
“Something's missing. Something truly crucial is missing...”
I already knew something was missing.
“What is it this time?”
Ji Eun-yu seemed to spend a long time choosing her words.
“Well... maybe soul?”
“There is Soul. As you can see, this novel uses a setting called Soul instead of mana...”
“No, no, that's not what I mean.”
Ji Eun-yu waved her hands with an apologetic look.
I knew what she meant.
And because I knew, it irritated me even more.
The toil of the last six months swept through my mind like a storm.
What on earth was wrong?
“It has everything.”
“Pardon?”
“I said it has everything.”
They told me to think about readers instead of myself, so I truly thought only about readers.
I put in another world. I put in a Demon King.
I put in a Swordmaster. I put in a chaebol.
I put in a regressor. I put in a system.
I put everything in. And there was still something missing? What could possibly be missing?
“Author, did you enjoy writing this?”
“Pardon?”
“How should I put it? It feels too much like something manufactured. I can tell the person who wrote it wasn't enjoying themselves...”
My breath stopped for a moment. I thought I understood what she meant.
“Do I... lack talent?”
“No, Author! This isn't a matter of talent. It's just...”
“Honestly, I thought that if this one didn't work out either, I should quit. The project support period is almost over too...”
“Pardon? No, Author...!”
“Do you think that's a rash decision?”
Our gazes met in midair. Some things could be conveyed without words.
Ji Eun-yu didn't say anything. That was understandable. After all, she understood my last six months, those months of struggle, better than anyone.
After some time, Ji Eun-yu sighed.
“Yes, I think it's rash.”
“There isn't another way.”
“Then we can change the method.”
Change the method?
“Learn through another work.”
“I already read other works.”
“That's not what I mean...”
Ji Eun-yu searched through files on the office computer, then muttered with a sigh.
“I didn't want to use this method until the very end...”
Soon, the printer produced a document several dozen pages long. Judging by the format, it seemed to be a novel someone had written.
Ji Eun-yu returned with the stack of printouts and spoke.
“Author. Listen to me without taking this the wrong way.”
I listened silently.
At first, I doubted my ears, wondering whether I'd heard wrong. Then I realized I hadn't, and despaired.
“So...”
And at the end of that despair, I became unbearably angry.
“You're telling me to ghostwrite another author's novel?”
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