Prolific Output, Let's Go!
The sun was setting. In Lee Yeon-ji's research lab, only the desk lamp's glow remained, the fluorescent lights long turned off. Papers cluttered the desk, disrupting the space around her. She started watching a variety show.
The subtitle caught her eye first.
She snorted. Since when had the word "genius" become so casually thrown around? It was usually slapped on by promotion before any real talent showed. Adjusting her reading glasses—the ones she used only for small print—she looked back at the screen.
The kid was sitting on a chair, legs dangling. Small stature, narrow shoulders. Her body looked far too fragile to handle writing. Yet the child's hands danced across the keyboard with dazzling speed. And then the text appeared on screen. The host chatted with her, progressing the show.
Lee Yeon-ji's eyes widened as she stared blankly at the broadcast. It didn't make sense. Not even an upper-grade elementary student— a first-grader writing novels like that? But it was real. No cheap fake-out. She was actually typing it live. And not from Songi Media's offices, but from her home on the way back— that was even more shocking. A house on the verge of collapse.
Then came Sora's interview. No childish speech patterns at all. That intellectual poise in the interview sealed it for her. This kid really wrote it. Shame it was genre fiction. But no matter. She was just a child, veering off the straight path. With some gentle guidance, couldn't she be steered toward pure literature like herself?
Korea's literary world was like a sinking ship right now, regrettably. But if a genius like this emerged? It could revive. One genius could save an industry—it happened all the time. Look at figure skating in Sora's era. One overwhelming queen crushed the competition, skyrocketing interest. Sure, after her retirement, it faded back to obscurity. But still.
Her eyes reflected Sora's image from Can You Believe It? Action-oriented as ever, she moved immediately.
I hadn't expected this much attention. The response exploded after appearing on Can You Believe It?
Getting snapped on the street was cute. Sure, with phone cameras under 5 megapixels, my face came out blurry. Compared to the smartphones from my future—hundreds of megapixels—it was like shooting without focus.
At school, the whole class swarmed me. No bullying, thankfully, but for someone like me, quietly slinking through days like a dead mouse, it was a massive ripple, like a boulder dropped in a pond's center. Even the teacher looked shocked when she saw me.
"Oh my! Sora, I... I saw you on the broadcast..."
She didn't outright mention our tough family situation. Still, that's why I was exhausted for days. I kept imagining everyone recognizing me, talking to me. They call it celebrity syndrome for a reason—turns out it's real when people actually approach you!
The only one I could vent to was Yoo Min-ah at Songi Media. No close friends at school for heart-to-hearts, and home? Forget it.
"Editor unnie, this is so tough..."
"What's up, Sora?"
I was the center of attention for every Korean alive—or at least buzzing online and among people.
Yoo Min-ah gave me advice.
"Don't worry, Sora."
"Huh?"
"It won't last even a week."
I tilted my head, not getting it. She kindly explained.
"The world's full of fun, juicy stuff. In a week, everyone will forget your story too?"
Pan-lid mentality, I guess. The public heats up fast and hot, then cools just as quick. She said it applied to me too. I was skeptical—being the star made it feel unlikely. Plus, reporters at school gates... okay, just one or two.
I didn't hate people recognizing me, acting familiar. Did I have some unknown celebrity syndrome? But it was annoying. Couldn't even take subway or bus without being spotted.
Yet time passed, and her words started making sense. People who once gawked now ignored me! My news story got buried under fresh headlines. Like she said, the world overflowed with stimulating, entertaining things. So the tale of the shining kid novelist dimmed, shrinking back to the corner.
"Just wear a mask, and no one notices."
"Right? But why do you walk around bare-faced and still go unrecognized, unnie...?"
I almost said it's the thick makeup but held back. Brutal facts can kill.
Today, too, I hammered away at the novel. Sunlight Painter had fully caught fire via word-of-mouth. And that author's words from my old world were true—real takeoff around volume 6 or 7. Mine boosted by the show, but volume 7 reactions were stellar.
Still, needed to pace serialization. One volume a month, or every two. Cranking them out back-to-back for a quick finish? I'd get half—maybe less—of that world's popularity. Novels work like that. Interest drops sharp post-finale. Needs ongoing buzz to build fame; ending kills the talk.
Conclusion: Stretch Sunlight Painter a few more years, slow the pace. But twiddle thumbs in between? Nah. Writers are weird creatures who can churn out others.
Few serialize two at once. Most struggle with one; multi-taskers like octopuses—under 1% of authors. Writing drains mental stamina viciously. Squeeze your brain daily till finale. Insane stress.
But not for me. I wasn't wringing my brain—I was transcribing from memory. People think I'm creating.
This new one: pure literature. Two genres at once felt too conspicuous. Pure lit? High value— one book done. Genres drag tens of volumes; pure wraps in one.
"But Sora, another book already?"
"Yes. Sunlight Painter's in a stable phase now, so trying something else."
"Still... wouldn't focusing on Sunlight Painter be better?"
Yoo Min-ah eyed me. Fair point. For a normal writer, yes—stick to one. Multi-tasking risks ruining the main. But not me, so I replied.
"Not genre this time—pure literature."
"Huh? Already wrote it?"
"Yeah. Whipped up one volume mid-Sunlight Painter."
"Whoa...!"
A familiar slang slipped from Yoo Min-ah's mouth. How long since I heard "whoa"?