Viewership Above All
Adaptation was essential! When creating works of art, what do people truly prioritize, setting aside popularity or other factors? Isn't it how artistically profound it is? Artworks are presented to the public, but experts are the ones who scrutinize them most closely. Perhaps that's why the perspectives of the masses and the experts often diverged. What experts raved about could feel boring and dull to everyday viewers. The reverse happened plenty of times too. What experts dismissed as trash could captivate the public, who thought nothing better existed.
Yes. While experts and the public sometimes aligned, it wasn't always the case. In that sense, drama writers had no choice but to chase the latter. Dramas might draw critics, but the top priority was always ratings. And ratings reflected public interest. In other words, drama writers had to prioritize mass appeal over artistry or anything else.
A drama lacking mass appeal but brimming with artistry and hidden meanings from the writer? One where the thematic message shines through? Yeah, trash. But a mindless time-killer with zero artistry pulling 40-50% ratings that the masses adore? Broadcasters would love that. What drama writers had to prove was simple: ratings. Public attention. And high ratings meant higher ad rates. It was the unavoidable reality of capitalism.
To chase those ratings and mass appeal, one had to track the era's trends. Right now, historical dramas were a solid pick. Previous ones had been massive hits, and considering all factors, Song of the Sword had strong potential for popularity. Of course, I knew that already. Historical dramas would fade in the 2010s and beyond. After that, they'd lose steam, with fewer productions. Broadcasters would scramble, birthing fusion historicals—ones mixing English, modern elements, total mishmashes if you didn't know the history. Anyway, that was later. I knew historicals were hot now, and turning Song of the Sword into a drama felt like a perfect fit. It was bound to succeed. Why? A similar drama had aired in my previous world. Thankfully, even across worlds, people's tastes seemed alike. If they weren't, no one would've proposed adapting Song of the Sword in the first place.
But drama writer Kim Min-gyu was gauging my reaction. The way he awkwardly brought up adaptation suggested he had his own ideas.
"Ah... Adaptation is fine. I was expecting it anyway."
Song of the Sword was a single-volume short novel. Sticking to it faithfully would make for a drama way too short. The prior Yi Sun-sin epic was phenomenal, and viewers would have obvious questions, but jumping straight to exile in white garb? It wouldn't land well. Highlights mattered, but building narrative buildup was crucial too. Tension builds, then the highlight explodes—that's catharsis. Start with a bang, and viewers would question it before feeling satisfied. No context.
"Really? If Sora says so, that's a relief."
Well, it was my work—sort of. Not really. I had no business dictating changes. I'd just transcribed it from memory; I couldn't explain the original author's intentions. I might be the first in history like this. Writers refine their thoughts; I just copied from my head. No advice to give. Just prayers. Meta as hell. Hoping Kim Min-gyu nailed it. He had experience, including prior historicals, so he'd probably do fine.
"Think of Sora's novel as starting midway through General Yi Sun-sin's story. That means skipping the early parts, leaving viewers confused."
Kim Min-gyu took a breath and continued.
"So, for the beginning, I'll create it myself or reference other works..."
I nodded at his words. Song of the Sword opened with Won Gyun's fleet disaster, a wretched state. Not bad for an intro, but still too short.
"And we're planning a one-year run. Your novel's length won't even fill half."
A year was insanely long. The era's Yi Sun-sin drama was an epic over 100 episodes, airing twice weekly and still taking nearly a year. Modern dramas topped out at 24 episodes, averaging 12. To stretch Song of the Sword to a year at two episodes a week, Kim Min-gyu had to massively expand the story. No avoiding early Yi Sun-sin scenes. Starting from exile using the novel as reference? 30-40 episodes tops.
"Glad Sora approves. Seeing your book ignited this huge urge to write."
"Haha..."
"And I'll need Sora's help too."
I just nodded, but it made me look like someone making a monumental decision. Adapting a novel into drama worried me a bit. In my old world, webnovel adaptations bombed spectacularly. Truck-smashing heir stories mangled beyond recognition... or all-knowing narrator films that flopped hard... Scary stuff. But all I could do was nod and let them handle it. No place for me to meddle deeply.
Thus, our drama adaptation meeting wrapped successfully. As discussed: Kim Min-gyu would reference other works or create the early parts, lightly adapt my Song of the Sword for the middle and end. Production starts immediately, so results soon.
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Whiiiiiing—!
"Ughhh!"
I shivered under the blankets. Had they set the boiler too low? It wasn't off entirely—without it, the house wasn't a cozy nest anymore. Just a freezer. But Mom and Dad barely ran it to save money. Not even when I got home from school. Only when the whole family was asleep together. And the temp? Criminally low. Normal homes set it warm enough to relax; ours was just "not freezing." Others at over 20°C; ours mid-teens maybe.
"Mom! Dad! I can't take it anymore—!"
I let out a cute but thunderous yell. They startled at my voice.
"S-Sora, we have to save..."
"Or..."
"No! I'm not living here anymore. We're moving!"
With the latest royalties, I'd planned a move. Not buying—renting monthly. Buying or jeonse was ideal, but monthly suited us better.