Great Novelist

The sound of the writing was high-pitched and there was a slight snoring.

“That's too much. So you're saying the readers are reading a lie? I'm hurt. I'm lonely. ”

I did not like the look of comradeship.

He looked behind his head for a moment and told the person who claimed to be a wounded reader. It's good to listen to people.

“Don't be so disappointed. because there's truth in books. ”

“Please explain in more detail. ”

The west asked without stopping acting. I just held up my head. His eyes sparkled with interest.

“An artisan makes a pottery. ”

He said slowly. Let's say an artisan makes a pottery.

“It doesn't matter whether it's a vessel or a lumen. People don't think it's fiction when they see it. ”

I won't even doubt it.

So is the artisan who made the pottery. I don't fall for the feeling of skepticism because I lied because I made it up as a fiction.

But writers are different.

“A writer wrote a novel. It's a novel about pottery artisans. He makes ceramics. It doesn't matter whether it's a vessel or a lumen. ”

“They're both ceramics. ”

Sunset mutters. He nods.

“Yes, they're both man-made. However, the treatment is different. One is fictional and the other is real. ”

You hear a meowing, weak cry. The black cat narrows its eyes and stares at this place.

“That's what it looks like outside. ”

Outside, "he said.

“Truth and falsehood. They're all out there. We try to exclude emotions and cultivate objectivity when we distinguish between lies. I try to look at it calmly. because they're out there. ”

“Yes. The distinction requires criteria. You have to be out there to measure things. ”

“Yes. The novel must be false from the outside, too. It's a fairy tale. ”

Novels are lies.

Then, the writer who writes lies is a liar.

There were times when I couldn't answer that question.

Your writing doesn't come true. No matter how many dragons you use, the essence of stories doesn't disappear. I felt sorry. I thought I was no different from a fraud. I couldn't like the novel anymore. My mind was complicated and confused. The calm water shook and turned gray.

There was nothing I could do at that time.

“Then what's inside? ”

But as time goes by, if he's still alive,

“The truth.”

The dust sinks.

“The truth.”

The West once again said.

There was truth in it.

Unlike the truth, it blooms inside. It doesn't show itself easily, but it's definitely there.

“The truth comes from emotions. It grows in my mind. No matter how hard I push the truth and the falsehood from the outside, I can't reach it. ”

Facts and truths resemble each other terribly. So I was mistaken. Now I know. I can speak plainly. I was able to answer without hesitation.

“I'm not writing because I want to deceive someone. ”

He lowers his head slightly.

There are moments in life when you know. The moment comes suddenly, as if lightning had fallen without any foresight, without any forewarning. After that, there was time.

It took him many years to learn the difference between truth and truth. It is such a long time that the impurities that come up and obstruct vision sink. It was a long time, but in retrospect, it was also no big deal.

At the end of his gaze, he had a white mug containing coffee.

“The writer uses a pottery master, not a pottery master. People are bigger and more complicated than ceramics. Facts and lies certainly don't tell us everything. There's some left over. If you look at a novel and think it's a lie, you feel bad about it. That's the proof.”

“Excellent.”

Mate, mate, mate.

You hear a slow clap. You clap your hands together in a straight line.

“What a coincidence. It's a big difference from this fool. ”

The writer called Fool smiles bitterly.

“That's too much, but admit it. You caught me wandering around for five years and you figured it out fast. ”

Not at all. I couldn't find it at all quickly.

He thought, swallowing a horse he couldn't get out of. Five years. It was time for him to pay for the piece.

Maybe that's why.

“That's what it was about. ”

As if answering his thoughts, he said. He takes a quick sip of cool coffee and wipes the moisture off his mouth with his sleeve.

“I'm writing like I used to, but my insides are throbbing. I was sweating like I was eating rotten food. I couldn't get a pen after that. ”

He knows how it feels.

“I couldn't answer a single question about myself. His brain stopped. I didn't want to leave the house. ”

I didn't usually enjoy going out. And he added.

“It was a good year. Let's just think of it as a break. You'll be fine in a minute. That's what I thought, but a year went by and another year didn't change. I started to get nervous.”

He examined the west. I saw comfortable outfits and hair floating around. This person is nervous because of the writing. Even one who looks so free.

“No matter what I say, it didn't work. It was a problem we couldn't find on our own. ”

Comrade said quietly. He nods. It blooms inside. You can't not find it in yourself.

“After three years, my health deteriorated. Headaches and dizziness never tried, and in the fourth year, I found myself shy. I started to slow down and reckless. There's been a lot of time in the warp. I was getting smaller. ”

The west remembered that time. Five years without writing.

This is a time you cannot endure without hating yourself. I can feel myself becoming helpless. The brain does not distinguish between the same day and day. They are all perceived as the same day. This will dull the time sensation. Time flows incredibly fast.

“Time travel can't be so scary. ”

The West said, "He asked quietly.

“How did you get out of there? ”

That is, he opened his mouth, laughing nonsense.

“My landlord's grandmother said, We're gonna plant a big tree in the back of the house. So it can be a little loud. It was nowhere to be seen through my window, so I was more like that and I was sleeping at home almost as usual. ”

The tree and the owner's grandmother.

It was a sudden story. I wonder how he got out.

“It's been noisy for months. The sound of moving materials was confusing. But I stayed home. But one day the house was strangely quiet. It was really quiet, so I opened the window and there was a faint sound of new crying. And I thought, oh, the trees are back here. ”

He imagined a tree. It was a large, sturdy tree that would be out of his sight.

“It was cool. The boat was fresher than usual. It's been a while since I've been conscious. ”

Since then, he said it's become routine to open windows and smell the air.

“That day, I was sitting by the window, breathing the wind, and my grandmother was downstairs. I looked him in the eye and said hello. We talked, but you know what? ”

He smiled and said.

“There are no trees. He quit because he was bothering to get into work. I've been feeling really good since that tree came along. ”

The identity of the noisy sound was the sound of construction nearby. Well, it was strange how many months it took to plant a tree.

Even if I thought about it, I would have noticed it if I just came out and looked around. However, his blunted brain accepted it as a tree.

“That day, I held the boat and laughed. The tree was gone, but it was still fresh. ”

We finally met, "he said.

“The moment I believed it to be true, the tree appeared. All I have to do is solve it as a case. ”

His eyes glow in the shade. An untrue face was smiling brightly at the blue reasoning.

There will surely come a day of anxiety again. When things get confused and confused, they always come. Every time I think and act, I go out to find the truth. Write.

“I'm excited about this book. ”

“Yes, look forward to it. Probably the most unlikely text of all. You're gonna say a lot of things. ”

“Really? How do you feel? ”

“An image of a descent. ”

Descending. It was definitely the opposite image of him who used to write an educational novel. Most of what he wrote appeared as a growing figure. Experience, grow and suffer. And learn.

The man standing in front of me said he'd give me a little warning. You're the only one who listens to me.

“The protagonist is a company man. ”

“That's already part of the plot. ”

“Then buy and read. ”

The companion was the face that he did not expect.

Suddenly, the cat wasn't in the yard. I didn't even hear the kitten cry. They must have gone somewhere looking for a new place.

He asked Comrade Joo, who was looking at the yard where no one was.

“By the way, I think you gave your answer right away. ”

Comrade Gil folded his arms and said decisively.

“You don't have to answer and you don't have to. The stories I write are real. They're real in my experience. ”

“The simplest thing that looks like this is actually this one. ”

“What's this look like? Is my face bothered? ”

“I've lived for a few years, and I've had three complaints. ”

“I don't like your tone from before. ”

It's really comforting.

I felt that each writer was different. They write with their own minds. There is a personality, a body, and a story.

He looked at the clock in the library. It's been a while since I had a conversation.

“I'm hungry. ”

The squeeze that I got was quite tasty, as I guarantee you from the West.

He clears his bowl and leaves his house, standing in front of the gate and asks,

“When do you think you'll be able to use the next one? ”

I asked lightly, but there were bones in it.

I felt the same way as I left the door first. He quietly walked out the door and said.

“I'm already using it. ”

“Stop moving. ”

That day, he had to be held back by two writers in front of the courtyard for a long time.