A short story to be added to an essay to be published in Japan.
I wrote it all at once.
I have no intention of writing something that only resonates with Korean readers or only with Japanese readers.
My story will resonate with humanity itself.
Three days later,
In the office of the Humanities College's Academic Affairs Team.
I finally completed
The first reader of my story, Ji-hoon.
I handed Ji-hoon the printed copy of
Ji-hoon looked at
“You wrote this… in three days?”
“Yeah. That's how it happened.”
“You’re insane, seriously, hyung….”
Ji-hoon looked at
With a serious face, he chewed on his nails.
“How is it? What does a critic think?”
“…What do you mean?”
Ji-hoon laughed incredulously.
“It’s perfect. It’s a very smooth story. It feels like it’s been beautifully crafted and glazed to shine.”
“Maybe. None of the characters' personal information is revealed, and it’s all dialogue.”
“But at the same time, through this dialogue, readers can recall historical perspectives and life experiences.”
Ji-hoon handed me back the printed copy.
“You can send it to Domak Publishing. The Japanese are lucky to see such a story first.”
If we think about it that way, isn’t Ji-hoon the luckiest?
I almost said that but held back.
Having a reliable first reader is a stroke of luck for a writer.
Critic Song Ji-hoon is just as useful as manager Song Ji-hoon.
After buying a talisman at the Goma Shrine to become a jack-of-all-trades,
I’m now reaping the benefits of that wish.
Now, what remains is…
Translating
And sending it to Domak Publishing.
“Hey, Hye-kyung. You’ve got a package, right?”
As Geum-hong was sorting through the deliveries, he handed me something.
A thick envelope.
“For me?”
I took the envelope.
The sender's name was ‘Kim Mi-so.’
Could it be…?
I quickly tore open the envelope.
The smell of a freshly printed book.
I love this smell, whether in a past life or now.
And what emerged was,
As expected, a magazine.
The inaugural issue of the labor literature quarterly she mentioned creating.
The name was
I glanced through the table of contents and the articles with delight.
The history of Korean labor literature and its generational significance.
The meaning of doing labor literature today.
Photographs capturing labor scenes.
…And so on.
“Here it is.”
Kim Mi-so's story,
I read that story in one go.
A 60-year-old man who is a manual laborer and mentally unstable.
During the day, he sorts junk at a recycling center, and at night, he searches for food in a landfill.
And the strangely overlapping two actions.
The ‘eating’ through labor and the ‘goblin-like’ behavior of a mentally unstable person.
A story that precariously straddles that boundary.
…As expected, it’s wonderful.
Kim Mi-so.
This writer must shine someday.
I was standing in front of the headquarters of Silla Literature in Hapjeong-dong.
After publicly refusing commissions from the Korean literary scene,
I hadn’t formed any relationships with publishers.
I never thought I would come to a major publishing house like Silla Literature.
I quietly looked at the envelope I was holding.
Inside was Professor Jo In-chang's final manuscript.
I had already called editor Lee Joon-hwan.
When I told him I would personally bring the manuscript, he was very pleased.
I walked through the revolving door into the building.
In one corner of the lobby was a café operated by Silla Literature, and in the center was a wide staircase.
The Silla Literature office was on the second floor.
When I went up to the second floor and opened the frosted glass door,
“Excuse me—.”
At that moment.
Everyone in the office turned to look at me simultaneously.
…An enormous silence.
Eyes wide open.
Expressions mixed with tension and curiosity.
…Are they meerkats?
“…I came to deliver the manuscript. Is editor Lee Joon-hwan here?”
“P, please come this way. The editor is waiting for you.”
One staff member quickly guided me.
As I walked down the corridor,
Everyone’s gaze followed me.
“Why is everyone looking at me like that?”
“Isn’t that Lee Sang, the writer?”
The staff member grinned.
He led me into the office at the end of the corridor.
Editor Lee Joon-hwan and a man who looked to be around the same age were seated across from each other.
“Welcome, Teacher Lee Sang.”
“Good to see you again, Editor.”
We shook hands.
He pointed to the man and introduced him.
“This is editor Park Jo-woon. He is one of the founding members of Silla Literature along with me.”
The two seemed quite comfortable.
The editor and the editorial member were just titles.
They must have been colleagues who led this publishing house for a long time.
“…Park Jo-woon.”
“I’m Lee Sang.”
He had a prominent impression.
Short in stature with a stocky build.
A face that seemed to say ‘stubborn.’
I turned back to editor Lee Joon-hwan.
“Editor, as I mentioned, I’m here to deliver Professor Jo In-chang's manuscript.”
“Oh, thank you, Teacher Lee Sang.”
“I completed the last sentence according to the late professor's wishes. I’ve marked that part separately, so I hope Silla Literature records it well.”
“I understand perfectly. It’s a precious manuscript.”
He carefully placed the envelope in his drawer.
“Well, I’ve delivered the manuscript, so…”
“Oh, Teacher Lee Sang. Since you’re here, why don’t you have a cup of coffee before you leave?”
“Sure. There are some urgent matters I’d like to discuss as well.”
Editor Park Jo-woon also held me back.
Urgent matters?
Silla Literature wants to talk to me?