It was a painfully obvious truth. Living as a full-time poet was nearly impossible in this country, at least. I can’t speak for the circumstances in other countries, but they probably weren’t much different.
So, all poets have side jobs. They don’t earn money by writing poetry; they have to earn money to write poetry.
In the end, I couldn’t help but express my doubts about that incomprehensible story.
“After I debuted, I dropped out of college…”
“Why did you do that? It’s common sense that you can’t make a living just with poetry.”
“I’m a bit lacking in common sense…”
That certainly seemed to be the case. By the way, she had definitely told me to drop the formalities, yet she was back to using polite speech.
“I’m telling you, you can just speak informally.”
“Ah, well, I still feel a bit uncomfortable, so I’ll just keep it this way…”
… Well, if that’s how she feels.
“I didn’t drop out without a plan. Since I debuted, I felt a bit overconfident, I suppose. I thought I could make it with a novel as well.”
“And then?”
“I completely flopped.”
… Right, based on what I just searched, it seemed that Han-bom had only published two poetry collections. Both were published early in her career, so she hadn’t released any books for almost several years.
“Ah… I didn’t only write pure literature, though. I also wrote web novels.”
“Web novels?”
“I like romance novels, and I thought I could write well, but I got comments saying the writing is too hard, that I couldn’t understand the characters’ thought processes at all, that the plot was disjointed. I tried to monetize it several times, but the revenue didn’t even cover living expenses.”
Now that I think about it, this person was from the web novel management side of Jikang Culture. It was rare to see someone who normally writes poetry show an interest in genre literature; she was definitely not an ordinary person. I assumed she had delved into literary circles.
“So I gave up and took the college entrance exam again.”
“Really?”
“Then I entered the same university again… graduated, and got a job here. When I re-enrolled, the professor rubbed his eyes when he saw me. His expression was something else.”
… Is she a lunatic?
“But I haven’t stopped writing. I still write poetry and fairy tales. I haven’t published them, though.”
“I see.”
“I like poetry. It’s beautiful and succinct. Since the content is short, the information provided is limited, and we have to find and excavate meaning from it, branching from there. That’s why I like your short stories.”
“… What does my short story have to do with poetry?”
As mentioned, I wasn’t good at writing poetry, nor did I like it. My sentences did have a lot of pretentious expressions, but that didn’t mean I thought they were poetic. It was more like a kind of pretentiousness. Writing, in the end, was about how well one could package oneself.
However, that was merely the author’s intention. I wouldn’t deny that it could come across to the reader in an entirely different way.
Just because an author has created a piece of writing doesn’t mean that creation necessarily aligns with their intentions. Writing is a living organism.
Just as children are not the property of their parents, writing is not the property of the author.
Thus, writing is completed only when both the author’s and the reader’s thoughts merge.
For this reason, any writing that is shown to no one holds no meaning, regardless of the meaning it contains.
“I found your short stories to be poetic. You don’t like poetry, do you?”
“That’s about right.”
“I felt the scent of poetry while reading. It’s not just beautiful words and sentences or intense metaphors that are poetic. The deep thoughts living inside your heart and contained within your stories were evident. So I realized something. The person who wrote this doesn’t like poetry. But they want to like poetry. That’s the feeling I got.”
“… That’s nonsense.”
“Maybe so. I’m not denying your thoughts and intentions. I just felt that way. And since some time has passed since you published your short story collection, your thoughts might have changed.”
My mind became complicated. Memories I wanted to forget surfaced. That letter which mentioned my mother reading poetry to me as a child, that insane parenting method of introducing Baudelaire to a young child.
… That’s why I hated poetry. I shouldn’t have liked it. I couldn’t afford to even think that I wanted to.
There was a vast difference between liking poetry and wanting to like it.
The fact that I evoked such sentiments in my short stories meant that I still couldn’t let go of that time.
Perhaps Han-bom’s words might have contained some truth. The motifs of those stories were things I had collected since childhood. Back then, I held a hope that maybe my mother would come pick me up tomorrow, and until that hope was brutally shattered, I retained a certain purity.
At least I could pretend to, somewhat.
“Let’s stop talking about this.”
“Ah, um, did I make you uncomfortable…?”
She had spoken fluently when discussing poetry, but as soon as the related conversation ended, Han-bom started to stutter again. It was a bit annoying, but I felt that getting irritated over such things would be pitiful, so I kept my mouth shut.
“No, it’s fine. I just want to talk about what I originally intended.”
“Ah, yes! You have a piece you want to show me.”
“It’s nothing great. It’s not a novel I wrote to submit for publication… I just wanted to hear others’ opinions. I feel like the plot has hit a bit of a wall.”
“I’m curious.”
“Honestly, it’s not something I really planned out. I don’t have a specific plot set in stone. I wrote it very much on a whim, so don’t expect too much.”
I naturally exchanged phone numbers with Han-bom, and she sent me the file containing the novel.
Han-bom immediately began reading the novel. She read through it much faster than Editor Kang Jin-soo. The editor took just under 30 minutes to read it, but Han-bom finished in less than 20 minutes. After she finished reading, her expression seemed somewhat flushed, which made me a bit anxious.
And unfortunately,
“I’m done reading.”
“What did you think?”
“This is….”
“What is it?”
“This is a romance fantasy!”
My anxious premonitions never missed their mark.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Didn’t you write it with that in mind? It’s a bit hard to grasp the precise worldview because the explanation is lacking, but I think most readers will recall a typical medieval setting — and by medieval, I mean not really the actual historical medieval period but rather a somewhat different background that’s settled in genre literature. Anyway, it seems to evoke that kind of setting. And the encounter between the orphan girl and the son of a noble family! The girl who stole the name of the boy’s sister and the boy reflecting his deceased sister onto her. It’s a combination that couldn’t be more perfect.”
Listening to her, she wasn’t entirely wrong, but was this really what romance fantasy was about? The novels of that genre I had skimmed through before didn’t have such a feel at all.
“Is this really what romance fantasy is like?”
“Why not?”
“Usually… the people around the female protagonist are all over her, and she’s wondering why she’s attracting their attention when she’s not even interested in them? Isn’t it more like a… no, it’s a vicarious satisfaction type of novel.”
I certainly couldn’t utter the phrase ‘self-gratification’ in front of a woman. Thankfully, I managed to find a less blunt way to phrase it.
“I see, there are indeed many such romance fantasies, and they are quite popular. Here, we call them ‘Nadenade,’ which basically means ‘to pet’ in Japanese. Usually, the plot where the protagonist is adored, complimented, loved, and cherished by others gets that label.”
… Most of them did have that vibe; genre novels had that tendency.
“However, there are also significant genres within this category. There are works known as ‘pichai’ novels, focusing on plots where the protagonist suffers from pain and distress.”
“Why would people read that kind of thing in something like a snack culture web novel?”
“Actually, most readers tend to be a bit twisted.”
“….”
“Think about it. The deeper the pain, the bigger the rebound when you eventually find happiness. The contrast with your unhappiness makes that happiness shine even brighter, allowing you to feel it more intensely. Additionally, you can enjoy watching characters around the protagonist deeply regret their actions. This aspect is a significant part of the genre. You can even see the protagonist engaging in emotional revenge due to past experiences, though usually, those intentions are not present — it’s the surrounding characters acting on their own, but that’s also important. It evokes a kind of exile feeling.”
“… What is exile literature?”
“Oh, exile literature is about a protagonist who plays a crucial but unrecognized role in a party getting unfairly expelled by the others. After the protagonist disappears, the party’s situation falls apart, and the others regret expelling them; that’s the genre.”
“Is that even a genre?”
“These days, it’s incredibly popular. In works aimed at women, the protagonist often ends up as a villainess, falsely accused of being a bad guy by someone and expelled by the story’s main heroine and her fiancé. After that, similar to the heroine’s disappearance causing a nation’s ruin, the male counterpart worsens the situation and brutally regrets expelling her, while the heroine finds a better ride — no, finds better relationships and happiness.”
Is this world strange? Or am I strange? Although we were definitely speaking the same language, it felt utterly incomprehensible. Does such a thing have a lot of fans?
I wasn’t someone who entirely avoided genre literature. I didn’t read much, but I did follow a few web novels, and I had read numerous so-called masterpieces during my school and college days.
Of course, I didn’t know much about the recent trends in genre literature, but I never imagined things like this.
“You know, I canceled my contract with the publishing company. If you publish a book and it becomes a hit, they’ll regret it, right? Honestly, doesn’t that feel satisfying?”
That… kind of makes sense.
Is that the feeling?
“People generally love revenge. They want to see an object of their disdain fall and regret. It’s a tradition that goes way back to ‘The Count of Monte Cristo.’ However, what’s important here isn’t direct revenge but rather indirect revenge, making people realize their worth because of the protagonist’s absence. That itself becomes a form of emotional revenge.”
“… Let’s stop the genre talk for now.”
“Um, should we?”
If I listened any longer, I might feel strange. In the first place, it wasn’t a conversation with much relevance to my story. However, I felt I could understand a bit more about this woman named Han-bom.
Crazy girl, fool.
And add a pervert to that list.
After ending the conversation about genres, Han-bom began discussing her impressions of my novel and the points to revise as well as the plot. I was listening, but somehow it didn’t register well.
Se-ne, the girl who stole the name.
It certainly seemed plausible that it could be read as a romance fantasy having heard her out. But was that the direction I wanted my writing to take?
Did I desire a love story between a girl and a boy?
There’s a saying that love is the greatest magic, perhaps from one of the most famous fantasy novels in the world. And I didn’t believe it.
Because, just like in that novel, I didn’t have a mother who sacrificed herself in my stead.
I simply wanted to open the path for Se-ne, this girl, to choose her own fate.
“I believe that would certainly make a wonderful story. Many people long for tales of exploration and choice. I’m not suggesting that you should suppress your thoughts and intentions. However, love can coexist with those themes. Every story contains love and humor, reason and emotion, fear and hatred. When we write, those are always the choices we make.”
….
“So, I believe what this story needs is freedom. The freedom of choice. The freedom to choose a path where one can be happy. What kind of choices do you think Se-ne will make?”
“… The girl was nothing. That’s why she stole a name, and her fate was taken. In the end….”
What did I ultimately want?
“I just want to be loved. That’s what this story is about.”
The reason a person acts out this life. The purpose of living, the reason behind everything — a desire that is so simple and straightforward, yet incredibly difficult and painful.
Love me.
Can someone who has never received love, write about love?
“In the end, Se-ne must be loved. That is the right narrative. The crucial point is Se-ne’s choice. The Se-ne who has received love can now choose how to handle that love. She can keep it or let it go. That’s real choice.”
Yeah, that would be the story of a good choice.
If only I too had a love I could throw away like trash.
