Great Novelist

“You called.”

I met recently, but I'm a teacher of Junsu, and I write many masterpieces.

He was embarrassed. I met unexpected people in unexpected places. Why is she here?

She answered before she even asked.

“My house is around here. I went for a walk when I heard the pertussis were open. ”

“With the manuscript? ”

“I can't wait for my subordinates to write. ”

She smiles like a girl. The wrinkles of the eyes did not conceal such a dazzling smile.

“I'm not going to submit it to a pertussis, so it doesn't matter what paper it is. ”

“· · · I got caught. ”

“It's so fierce, you can't see it and get exhausted. ”

The brochure swirled around in a single hand.

“Come on, you have to write. ”

He slowly approached her. I took the manuscript and sat back down. As she sat down, she tidied up the corners of her skirt and sat down on the side of the road. Yangban goes home.

He wrote. I felt that the pen touching felt a little softer. Does the paper resemble its owner? I feel a little relaxed. You move your hands calmly.

There was a broadcast in the park. It was that the time had come to end. The children got up from their seats one by one and headed to the headquarters to submit.

Among such children, he did not even listen. It was the same while watching him.

I wonder how long it's been since the student left the park and stopped his hand.

A satisfactory smile came to my mouth.

“I guess you're done. ”

“Yes.”

The park is quiet. In it, he completes. I wrote the next one, and it was done. Something comes up late from the inside. I felt like screaming. I also felt like I wanted to run like my heart was about to burst. I kept smiling.

“Haha.”

He leaned back, smiling happily. I lay there on the lawn. I see the sky. The sky is wide and high. Tranquil clouds flow. It looked very beautiful.

It's quiet. No one will know the joys of boiling inside. This joy is entirely your own.

I felt the vitality of life in the soil.

I was staring at the sky dazed in the deep emotions, and I heard a voice above my head.

“You're a coincidence. ”

The speaker said she had her manuscript. It was her writing on her piece of paper, to be exact.

“Yes.”

He replied confidently. You will know when you read it. It's still a copy and there are many places to trim, but it still has a unique character in it.

If I am a writer, I recognize it at a glance.

“I'd like to read more, but I'll return it. ”

She smiles and drops the manuscript next to his face. He slowly raises his torso and encounters her.

“You can read it. ”

“No.”

She said decisively.

“I want to savor it slowly when it comes out of the book. ”

It was a compliment, and I was glad to hear it. The next one. An ominous word that always follows the smell of failure. Her words cover it. It made me feel successful. None of that was anywhere.

So he opened his mouth.

“Can I be a writer? ”

“You're already a writer. ”

“No, that's not it. ”

No, what he wanted was not what he really wanted to be.

He smiled and said, trying to hide the beating heart.

“I want to be a great writer. ”

“How magnificent. ”

A great novelist. A writer who gets the modifier "Great." Even the white book writer who represented an era in front of us, his friend, the writer, Lim Hyun, was a big but honorable word that he did not get.

He wanted it. Heavy, eternal. It was different from a light word that would disappear in a moment.

I wanted to be remembered that way. I wanted to reach that which many people failed and challenged.

“I'm hungry. That word.”

Her eyes glow. You see yourself with a slightly cloudy gaze. He looked at her.

The book slowly opened its mouth.

“When you're hungry, you should have it. It's not a creature called a writer. ”

A creature called a writer.

“I believe in seeing it with my own eyes, hearing it and touching it. If you want to use it, you have to use it, and you give up everything for it. I've seen a few of those authors. ”

She folds her umbrella. In the sun, she said.

“But I've never seen a young friend like this before. ”

She smiled and said.

“Come over to my house. I like it now, but you're gonna want to finish it as soon as possible. Don't you think?”

“That's right.”

“Then finish it and come play. I'll make you something delicious. What do you like?”

He thought for a moment and said.

“There is no food to cover. ”

After that day, he sometimes changed his writing by dropping out of school. Seeing the manuscript piled up in the room, my mother gave me permission at once. The Gatekeeper recognized that he was a weakling, but left him to think what he wanted.

He was sitting in front of the computer. I was fixing it with the right tone of voice. Adapt the language to fit your situation and personality I rewrote the page several times I disliked it. It wasn't that hard physically. Once without a computer, it would have been hard because it was written by hand, but now it could be easily erased and fixed with my fingers.

So I have to be that difficult. I wanted more perfection because I could fix more.

Every time I press the keyboard, a letter is engraved.

“Phew.”

However, it was quite difficult when it was taken into consideration.

Repeating something is painful. Tired, bored, and exhausted. Moreover, the manuscript in front of him was his own writings. There is a hidden meaning of denial in fixing things. Deny the existing and change the vocabulary. There is no certainty about which of the two is better.

The text is connected, so if you fix one, the overall impression is subtly twisted. There is no end to fixing just one place. Even if it is small, once you start touching it there is no end. It is possible to be fixed forever.

But in reality, there was a time limit.

I want the perfect sentence. But there was no perfect sentence. The writer was a career in human life, and there was no such thing as a perfect life.

He read his writings. Have a cigarette with the child. No one stopped her.

He was not perfect.

I took a deep breath. I calmed down a bit and read.

Last scene. She throws herself off the roof. It was her will. The only son left to see it.

You two have the last conversation. Finally, make eye contact, and finally listen to each other breathe.

You're gonna regret this.

The son said.

Of course you are.

She said.

The wind blows and a deep abdomen is revealed. The ugly stretched belly skin sags.

The Lord wanted it. They regret it.

Her face or voice was not as clear as before. She hides herself in a sentence. Thanks to that, he was able to imagine. Her last time I ever saw her. This was not a barren cliff.

The roof is where she threw herself, and her body will lie on the ground. Hanging onto the ledge, you can see her end as much as you want.

He painted it as fiercely as he could. Curved joints, bleeding out. She no longer makes a sound. There is no beauty in a corpse.

Ugly and foolish. Everyone blames her, and the blame can only be heard by survivors. The son who is left alone brings out cigarettes for all sorts of screams and malice coming up to the roof.

I took the dot.

He slowly got up from his chair. Very slowly.

A bird cries out the window. Blood rushes to the back of your hand.

*

The nettewood publisher is currently experiencing a quiet typhoon. The coincidence of joining the popular writers as the debut of the talk was that they surpassed everyone's expectations without any notice and brought about a kick-off earlier than expected.

I was sitting in the conference room talking with a serious face. In their hands were machine coffee. Fatigue is thick on the face.

It was the same for South Korea.

“Then your next manuscript is coincidence. ”

“Yes.”

Nam-Kyung answered the editor's question.

“Have you all read it? ”

“I read it even when I'm busy. ”

“Honestly, I couldn't bear it. I was curious. ”

“I didn't expect to see the next one so soon. ”

“The title is Mother. Is this real? ”

The editor who heard from the other editors asked. Title Mother. It was still a fake title.

Youngest paragraph debut. Genius writer. I've been writing about it for less than a year now because such coincidences leave traces of birds being sold hot.

“Yes. Whatever it takes. ”

Nam-Kyung asked, it was a question to gain consent. So what do you agree with?

“It was good.”

Of course, I agreed to a positive impression.

Nam-Kyung read it, too, because he was the first one to receive Australia's manuscript. It was 800 notes in the manuscript.

I read it at a glance.

I postponed my work that day and read it. On the way home from work, I read it at the subway station. It was unintentional, because I had a feeling that if I didn't read it at once, I would ruin the day by the intriguing emotions conveyed in the paper. I wanted you to quickly resolve this feeling with a beautiful ending.

Unfortunately, after reading them all, Nam-Kyung had to be depressed for a week.

A life of destruction written in colorful and pure coincidence was like a swamp.

Slowly, sink to your weight.

“It was really good. ”

The editor emphasized. I knew it. I loved myself. Sad content. Wet atmosphere. But it was pure and glamorous. Contrary properties emphasize each other's form.

The reader's eyes were taken from him.

“However."

However.

“It's a little dark. ”

“That's right.”

The content is dark. An ordinary writer wouldn't be a problem at all. However, it is different for accidental writers.

“What happened to the writer by any chance? ”

The editor said, Nam-Kyung shakes his head. The last time I saw his face was Tae-yeon himself.

Last Meeting (2) Ends

lim Han-baek