Great Novelist

He asked himself:

It's unsettling.

It was only written when I fell into the river and came back. Before that, it was a threshold of failure, and he now stands before it for the second time.

“I can't feel it. ”

I took my feelings out of my mouth. Literally. I can't feel anything. I felt no anxiety, restlessness, expectations at all.

My right hand is a little numb.

He looked up at the sky. It was all that darkness. The darkness had swallowed everything up and had a rich face.

Quiet.

Since he shut his mouth, there was nothing to hear. Even my breath was pale.

The next one is a story written in this space. In fact, writing at night is not a good thing. Darkness clouds the eyes. It makes me feel better if I don't see anything. The story I wrote because I thought it was great reveals its ugly nature in the morning after the morning year. I often felt distressed and frustrated.

Nevertheless, he wrote at night.

The reason I had to go to school during the day was not all. He wanted to borrow the temper of the night.

Darkness that hides everything. I pushed the traces from the past into the darkness.

The darkness was a little awkward when nothing was written.

He lay in bed. I see the ceiling. The sound of the distance slowly approaches. The prisoners come out one by one. You hear someone's popularity as the needle goes by.

I close my eyes. I hear it more clearly. Everything was making a sound.

Caw. Caw.

He opened his eyes to the raven's cry. My eyes are wide open. I frown slightly.

The light from the window was illuminating the room.

“Oops.”

I stayed up all night.

“Congratulations."

“Congratulations, Writer. ”

“Thank you."

He received a book handed to him by Nam-Kyung in celebration of the editors. An empty chair with a grey background. And a bird. The book in your hand radiates a heavy presence. Looking back, there was an excerpt from the testimonial and the contents of Dongway.

The phrase on the band was written in bold letters like this.

A book that brings regret. Would you still like to read it?

It felt like a warning phrase for cigarettes. Not bad.

The editor explained in detail the upcoming advertisement, event, etc. He listened to him and did not forget the weight of the book in his hand. Moderately heavy and moderately thick.

He continued to remember the weight of the publisher on his way home. The weight in both hands put pressure on my wrist. But I didn't let go.

The bus shifts. You give it more strength.

There was no one at home. He went into the room. I was keeping the confusion I saw when I came out. No one but himself has entered.

I looked at the same landscape quietly.

You're back.

I was living again at the point where I was a threshold for failure.

I opened the book with it. It was hard and soft. I buried my face in its arms. You breathe. You smell of ink.

Now I feel real.

I wrote a book. I published the book that I dropped myself into, this time with a different content.

My heart was beating.

It was the middle of the day, when everything was what it was.

Now I feel real. The feelings that were hiding in the darkness began to awaken one by one.

This is the book. This is the text. The sentence you wrote with your pen is in it, after you drowned in the river.

He swept through the book. This was definitely there. I paid for it anyway. I've made my next move. That's all I can breathe now.

A smile came out.

I trimmed, carved, and held in my hands the chunk of that uncertainty a dozen times, a hundred times. And it was done.

I spent days and nights trying to complete this story. How many people, how many memories, and how many emotions I had to convey to complete this article.

It was overwhelming.

It's called Crying. It's a gray cover. An empty chair and a bird. I've never seen anything like it. It's a new thing. It's a new story.

This was evidence.

Failure is not the same as failure. It was not repeating the same situation as before.

I put the book on my desk.

The sweaty cover grabbed my hand. When I put it down, the cool air fills in.

I took a step back.

A room full of manuscripts and letters, pens and books. A new book placed there.

It was the completion of the landscape I had never seen before.

He laughed for a long time. I wiped my physiological tears with my hands. I felt good. I felt really good. The elegance of completing it covered my whole body.

While I was drunk on it, I didn't think of anything.

He leaned against the backrest chair. I looked at a book on my desk for a long time.

I raised my face as if I were lying on a book. The cover felt on my cheeks. The cooler temperatures disappeared. The face mentioned above turned cold on the contrary.

It's time to take the assessment. It was time to hear what the readers thought when they saw their hard work and how the critics interpreted it.

I stuttered and turned on the computer in slow motion. The sound of the machine running instantly ignites the body. That's the sound of unconsciousness.

A splash of light sank from the screen above his head, lying facedown. I was blinded.

He felt a slight pain in the light and moved his mouse. When I went online, I saw the ranking of search terms.

First place coincidence.

I pressed it. No columns or reviews have been posted yet. This is a full length novel with 800 manuscripts, so it will take time to read.

My heart was beating.

I completed it, but it's not the end.

Kaaaah.

I hear crying.

“Let me help you with your calculations. ”

Bookstores were selling books.

There are many books in the bookstore, and people stop by the bookstore to buy them. Choose the books you need based on plots, covers, publications, testimonials, copies, publishers and authors' names.

The bookstore was full of such guests.

He came to the bookstore.

When I came to the bookstore, I could pick a book and pay a price and go home as one of those customers.

However, he did not choose a book. He didn't come here to buy books.

“What book is this? ”

“Oh, I hear that's interesting. ”

“Nice cover. ”

“We need to see the content. ”

I heard people. He was in a corner. I kept my ears open as I stroked the books on my back as I pretended to look at them.

There was the most crowded place in the bookstore.

The one closest to the register. As soon as you enter the bookstore's entrance, you'll see it there. There was an accidental writer's next cry.

A woman picks up the book. The sound of crying shakes in her hands. Another woman beside her said.

“You're a coincidence writer, right? ”

“Yeah, that was fast, right? ”

“That's why you listen to genius. ”

She picks up the book and looks around. You look at the cover, look at the bands, turn the front page, close it again, and flip it back. I read the excerpt from the content and turned my eyes to the testimonial on the way below.

“Sounds like fun. I think it's about your mother. ”

“Mother? I think it's a bit obvious. It's about maternal love. ”

“Well, it could be. Check this out."

She showed the cover to her friend.

“You'll regret it. I don't think it's just maternal love. ”

“Gosh, if you don't regret it, are you going to take responsibility? ”

Even though he said that, his friend also held the book along with her. Take a look at the contents and put them in your arms.

“Read it and if you don't regret it, I'll call the publisher. ”

“Say something. ”

“I didn't regret it. Be responsible and reveal the face of an accidental writer. ”

“That's ridiculous, but I'm curious. I wonder what he's doing. ”

The two of them went straight to the cash register. He silently raises his mouth, listening to every word she says about them.

This is a face like this.

I felt a moment of urge to go out and say that. When I finished the calculation, I saw the back of two people leaving the bookstore, and I tried to imagine running away to reveal who they were.

It didn't seem to lead to a good end.

“So this is it. It's been a crazy book lately. ”

This time, a middle-aged man and his wife heard the sound of crying.

He went a little further to hear their voices. I stood there trying to move naturally.

“Honey, you know this, right? ”

My wife told me.

“Oh, what a coincidence. It's what your daughter likes. He was so handsome, he didn't even know his face. ”

I felt unwelcome. Unlike such a husband, his wife was single.

“That's what all the kids at the nightclub do. Leave your eyes to your emotions. Then you'll see what you can't see. ”

“The big sound. I've read the bird trail myself, but I don't think it's a virtue. Run like a coward. When you're in trouble, you have to face it. That way you won't make my daughter suffer. ”

“What a coincidence for a writer to hear that. I don't even think of anyone to fuck with. ”

In fact, he smiled as he listened to the conversation of the two people.

He seemed to have established that kite, the protagonist of the bird trail, was his personality. It was crazy, but he's probably not the only reader who thinks that way. When I read the article, I sometimes find myself unconsciously trying to find the character of the author in it.

The couple took two books together and went to the register. I looked at the couple in line for a moment and thought,

Who do you think you are when you read the sound of crying?

Is she a destructive twisted person who resembles her, or a lonely person who resembles her son? Or is he just passive, imitating other people like clowns?

I did not want to be thought of as a less obsolete writer who wrote such terrible writings.

He glanced at the book in front of his eyes for a moment. It was a book that I was pet earlier. Even Im Hyun, who had not completed his desperation to date, was also a book called the Mirror of the Writer.

The End of the View

lim Han-baek