Great Novelist

How to make a living.

Every student is concerned about their career. The Lord was no different. Middle school student in a period of storm rage. I don't want to do anything without studying. He is an ordinary student who has no dreams or hope, but wants to live for a living.

How to make a living. Will I be able to take responsibility for myself when I grow up in the future, become the father of a child, and grow old? He thought he was wrong. If the future and the past start from the present, the answer has already come from the present, which is to sleep at night and fear the future.

The first in my class was also the first in this test. A rebel in a tight uniform secretly does part-time work in school. Everyone was doing something. They all looked great.

I pray like this every night before I go to bed. Please don't let tomorrow's sun rise. And I wake up and I think, When will this Earth perish? I sighed because I knew a vague life like this would repeat itself today.

Looks like he escaped from his daily life.

“Oh, my God, that's amazing! ”

Weekend morning like honey. I got a loud phone call and heard a man's voice.

“What are you talking about? ”

“Your book is selling like crazy! You're out of your fucking life! ”

“Yes?”

“Your winning piece is amazing! I knew this would happen. ”

The sparrow cries outside the window, the sleeping scalp gets itchy, but it's amazing beyond the phone. What's going on here?

“Hold on, I'm calling from the print shop now. I'll call you back! ”

Took hold of my phone even after the call was disconnected, and slowly lay back on the bed.

“It's a dream.”

It was real when I woke up.

He is an ordinary Korean student. An ordinary student who doesn't want to study and wants to have money. He was a foolish Korean student who postponed and enjoyed the present until tomorrow, knowing he had work to do. Until a few months ago.

After realizing that the dog was a reality, the season changed and I became a high school student.

The manuscript that was submitted to the contest in July is made into a book in front of you. Moreover, he is witnessing the scene of the fire being sold.

I walked into a large bookstore, and among many books, my own book was the first to be noticed. It is not because of the special affection he has in the book. It was because I placed the book in the first visible place in the bookstore.

It was the best-selling corner.

He had a habit of holding a pen when he was upset from childhood. Habits piled up and piled up to make up stories. A full-length novel was completed.

I sent it to the contest without thinking. I didn't send it to become a novelist. I wasn't romantic enough to choose a job where I didn't make any money. It was impulsive and maybe fear.

It was like a fury, like a fury. Unlike the protagonists in dramas and films, he is neither punitive nor intelligent, he has a moderately satisfied face but a frustrated youth in his modesty that is nothing compared to celebrities.

"I was excited when the publisher called."

I took a bite of kimchi soup for a while, but soon I woke up. It means that the frustrated youth of ordinary students will be sold. There are only a few people who are mercilessly twisted or perverted by other people's anger and resentment.

So he decided. Let's find another career path with the prize money in hand. I'm going to do something that makes money easier.

But is it okay to do this? Dramatic decision. Movie decision. Translation export confirmed in 7 countries.

It's selling like crazy. It was a huge sale, which meant it was making a lot of money. Life really seemed to be a long way off. I can't believe the writings written by ordinary, everyday youth like yourself are so popular.

I saw a lot of people buying books lined up in front of the register. It was an unbelievably lovely sight. I feel fat.

Wing. The phone in your pocket rings.

“Hello."

“Australia, I'm calling about the interview. ”

It was from an editor. He was also the protagonist of the voice who was shouting in a loud voice.

“Again?"

Since his face was known, he has been suffering from reporters like celebrities. I was excited to become a star at first, but I was also tired of dealing with dozens of journalists a day.

“The youngest paragraph debut is popular in many ways. What do you want to do? You can say no if it's hard. I've been doing interviews lately. ”

It was a voice of concern. He asked a few moments later.

“What should I do?”

“I don't know. I like to paddle when it comes in, and I like to pull it out when I can. ”

“It's not helping. Editor.”

“No one knows the consequences of choice. Suit yourself."

That's right. Who would have thought his sudden actions would be so golden as to return? Only the Almighty God knows where he is or isn't.

When I was thinking about it, I decided to look at those who didn't recognize me and pass by. Becoming a star writer by publicly identifying your face will also make you more money. He's not someone else's book. He's trying to sell his book, but he can't help it.

I see books piled up in front of me. People who buy books. I feel overwhelmed.

“I'll do it.”

“Yeah? You gonna be okay? ”

“Yes.”

He replied that he was okay to ask again, and stepped out of the bookstore. And then, a few times, I turned around and I tripped.

And as time went on, he was 47 years old. Forty-six years old. Thirty years later, it hasn't happened. I leaned against the ledge with a soju bottle in my hand. Beyond the ledge is a river.

I liked it then. I took the Soju bottle to my mouth. I had a reflexive hiccup. It was pathetic to have a layer of pierced clothing wrapped around it.

“People. I don't read books. I read all the other books, but I don't read my own. ”

His speed is as dark as the night sky. I shouldn't have interviewed him. I was 17 at the time. I was 16 years old. I was just like a flower. I'm too old to cry just because the leaves are so sensitive.

I interviewed a lot. There were so many people who wanted to say something that they spent half a day interviewing. It was hard and I didn't want to do it. I was used to forcing what I didn't want to do. So I continued.

It had its own benefits. People began to recognize it on the road. There is a request to appear on the broadcast and become a celebrity at school. Good popularity, not bad for everyone Feeling recognized as a talented human being.

“The problem was the next one. ”

The next one was a test, where people divided their opinions at the peak of novel popularity. He's a genius. He's a fake. The word "bubble" came out. Rumors spread throughout the day. They loved their work, but they could not trust a young writer.

At that time, I didn't care much. I felt a bit upset, but I was able to endure it. Because it was written by me. I thought I'd prove it to everyone the next time. I thought it was simple and easy for a genius. I didn't like what I wrote, but it was also my debut. The editor said no, but he didn't listen. I eventually rejected the editor's request and moved it to the publisher and published the book.

With a different assessment, I realized what I had betrayed.

“Hey, God. You knew, didn't you? That choice sucked. ”

The almighty god who never shines a single face did not have an answer. He saw the river flowing in a gloomy mood. I want to be born as a river in my next life. A river that flows wherever you lose your strength, and is not tied to any destination or origin.

“I want to be a river. ”

The faces of novelists who had finished their lives passed through his mind. They will not be named to honor them. An artist who jumped into the river without overcoming the urge for self-destruction. Excellent novelists. Their works were still selling well without mourning my master's death. Unlike yourself.

You waste your life, you touch stock and your business, you fail. And then he lost again. Writing and failing. Now I am a homeless person who has nothing but to relive the glorious days of the past. The homeless self was neither a genius nor a novelist.

I reached out for the running water. I used the power of alcohol to imitate a novelist. As if you were going to jump in right now. An immortal novelist. A great novelist. Let's throw ourselves down there, regretting our mediocre past, lusting after money and fame. * Splash, splash, splash *

“Sir, it's dangerous there. ”

“Yes, yes. Don't worry, I'm not gonna kill you. ”

A young man passing by the bridge paid attention to the precarious posture of Australia. He waved his hand roughly and replied.

“I was trying to write a good article. ”

He's getting in the way. Someone's gonna die.

I stood up straight on the ledge. I melted my frozen hands in the night breeze and pulled out a pen and paper from my pocket.

I will write a story about my life. A failed genius. A fallen genius. It was a material that people would laugh about once. The last thing that stuck to him who lost his home, family, and friends was the paper and pen.

It's not gonna end this way.

I grabbed a pen.

My hands tremble with the alcohol piled up on my body. I feel sleepy even in this cold as I get drunk.

"Ha."

He closed his eyes for a moment. I couldn't feel my face after a long exposure to the cold wind. So were his hands and feet.

“Look out!"

This is an urgent shout.Was it that young man? I had such a peaceful thought in the voice of someone coming from afar in my sleep. At that moment, his body was already off the rails. The screams of someone. The cold wind. I realized that it was falling into the cool feeling of the scalp.

Is this how it's going to go? When I opened my eyes, the black sky caught my attention. If there were no stars, I would have been confused with the world hidden in my eyelids. Yeah, not bad. It's not bad being a novelist like this.

In the next life.

And what you can see is the ceiling.

“Huh."

He wakes up. I remember falling into the river. First of all, he's alive. Then why is he here? It was a private room, not a hospital. If they were rescued in the water, we'd have to move them to a hospital.

Is he dead? I pinched my cheek. It hurts. If it hurts, it'll be alive. You can feel pain even if you die. I don't know. The pinch sweeps down his cheek and realizes. No beard. Skin is also strangely supple. He hurriedly examines his body. There is a callus in the second joint on the right stop. There is stiff flesh on the stop finger that has been cleared since he became an adult and never picked up the pen.

I got up and looked at the mirror against the wall. Inside, there was a face that was nothing compared to a celebrity, but was personally satisfied. Atned face. Then I realized whose room this individual was in. It was his room.

Wing.

I looked at the sounding desk in surprise. I have a cell phone. It was on the way. You answer the phone as if you were tempted because it was the only mission left to you who were not aware of the situation.

“Hey, hello? ”

“Oh, my God, that's amazing! ”

Familiar. Too familiar. This voice is familiar to me.

“Editor.”

“What an editor. Sir, no, call me brother! You're better than that! You're out of your fucking life! ”

“Is my winning piece selling like crazy? ”

“Oh! A lot! Like crazy!”

Out the window, the sparrow cries, and the sleepy hair itches to death, but it goes back in time. Right after the big one.

“Hold on, I'm calling from the print shop now. I'll call you back! ”

Sir, no, my brother hung up on me excited. I stared at the hot phone for a moment and shouted.

“Awesome!”

It was back then.