Chapter 83 – A Black Beak (2) ###
Translated by: ShawnSuh
Edited by: SootyOwl
Before Juho knew, the crow was standing on the desk. Though it had been sad up to a moment ago, it stood confidently.
"I can do it."
"Not like this."
"There's still time."
"Time has nothing to do with it."
"I said I can do it."
"Caw! Caw!"
It was impossible to communicate with it. At the sound of its stubborn cawing, Juho couldn't do anything other than laugh.
"Don't. Laugh."
"Haha!"
The crow scratched its claws on the surface of the book underneath them, leaving long, thin claw marks on the gray cover.
"Hey, you can't do that. You don't even have money."
Ignoring Juho, the crow shredded away at the book. The sound of ripping pages filled the room. It was somewhat horrifying, yet, Juho didn't do anything to stop it.
The crow kept ripping the book apart angrily until there was nothing left. As it shook its body, another feather fell from it.
"What is it that you want to accomplish?" Juho asked. The crow didn't give him an answer.
Instead, it gave a seemingly irrelevant response, "You want to be recognized."
"For what?"
"The way you wrote it, according to your intention. You want people to accept your thoughts as they are."
"Do I?"
"The readers interpret things however they want. They won't try to understand you."
"That's natural."
"You're a know-it-all. It's annoying."
"I'm happy."
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"That's a lie."
"You don't believe me?" asked Juho, smiling. "A book exists to be read. A book isn't just made of paper and letters. Without the readers, my story can never be completed. I'm so grateful for them and the fact that my writing becomes a turning point for some while it becomes entertainment for others. That's the joy of being an author. That's the happiness that can only be earned by authors. Can you hate happiness?"
The crow looked at Juho with its dark eyes.
"Lies!"
Though it didn't believe him until the end, Juho understood the crow. He had been the same way in the past. The mistrust went both ways.
"I can't stand it. People who blabber their thoughts like it's their birthright, people who doubt me, people who criticize me, people who think they know me, who judge me, tell me I'm wrong, I hate them all. I hate that these people are waiting for the next book in such a light-hearted manner. Nobody thinks of me. Nobody will know how much blood, sweat and tears went into this book, and the suffering I had to go through in the future. They only see results. They only see a small part," the crow said with a slightly cracking voice.
"Caw!" it cried piercingly.
"I write because I love it."
"As long as you show it to others, you can't be free of their opinions."
"A book is freedom."
"The weak can't endure that freedom."
"I'm not weak."
"Humans are weak. All of them."
"Are all crows strong?"
"I am."
The confrontation was getting drawn out. Juho started breaking out into cold sweats and was feeling dizzy. He couldn't tell who was saying what anymore. The monitor kept blasting out light. Within it, the crow maintained its menacing color. It was bottomlessly dark. 'What would happen if I were to touch it? What would happen to my hand?' he thought.
"Everyone. Has. To. Praise. Me." The crow parted its black beak.
'That's not what I want. I won't let it get to me. I won't let it hold me back,' thought Juho, laughing at the crow's foolish hope.
"I want to write freely."
The room grew silent. Juho stood up slowly and opened the window. There was no breeze coming in. Nothing came in, and nothing went out. Air, his breath, it was all in its place. Juho and the crow were the only moving things.
"Between you and me, this will go on for a while."
The moment his eyes met with the crow's, Juho realized that there was no escaping it since he had recognized its existence. He put his hands on his forehead. Arguing with that nameless bird was rather demanding. Both parties were fighting desperately, and Juho started to feel confused. 'Wait, who would be the winner? The one who gives in first, or the last standing? What would happen the moment that bird wins?'
"We're way too different," said the crow with a caw. The two very different beings were conversing within the same space.
"Yes, too different," Juho said, smiling at the crow. The crow hated Juho's smiles and laughter.
Infuriated, the crow spread its wings, blowing off the shredded bits of the book.
There was a gust of wind, strong enough to make Juho stagger. Another breeze blew into the room through the window. 'It's moving,' thought Juho, closing his eyes. 'There's not going to be anything left after the wind. The crow, the debris, the book on the floor, nothing.'
"Juho, have some fruit."
Juho opened his eyes. He was sitting on his chair, and his mother was standing by the door. He stared at her in a daze.
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"Why's your room so dark? It's not good for the eyes. Don't be looking at the monitor for too long. Look away and stretch from time to time. Would you like me to bring you anything else?"
"No, it's fine. I'll be out soon."
With his answer, his mother walked away from the room, leaving the door open. Alone in the room, he looked around. There was no crow, and 'The Trace of a Bird' was still on the bookshelf. However, he felt something in his palm.
He had probably been clenching his hand into a fist for some time. There were scratch marks and shredded bits of the book on his palm. He turned his eyes to the desk and saw that the corner of the book cover had been ripped out.
A breeze blew into the room. That piece of the book fell onto the floor, but Juho didn't reach for it.
—
"Yawn."
Juho covered his mouth as it opened against his will.
"Tired?" Bom asked as she looked at his direction.
"A litte."
"What the? I thought you were sleeping better. Did you stay up again?" Seo Kwang interfered, with 'The Sound of Wailing' in his hand. He must have been reading it over and over.
"I did go to bed late."
That night, he had to spend a significant amount of time writing. He wanted to organize the thoughts that had been clamoring in his head. The black ink had slowly filled the white page in the same color as the crow.
"What did you do at night?" Sun Hwa asked.
"I played with a crow," said Juho.
"A crow?" She gave him a puzzled look and said, "OK, enough with the riddles."
"Harsh."
She paid him no attention. There was something that was of greater concern in her mind.
"What do you think we're going to be doing today?"
"Write," said Seo Kwang being a killjoy.
"Duh. I mean, it's a new semester, so I'm wondering if we're going to be doing something special."
"Special? How's that any different from what we've been doing?"
The memories of their past training played through in Juho's mind. Things had been far from ordinary.
Sun Hwa agreed, "I guess so. But I think it's more... unique, than special. I wonder if he'll keep the same format..." there was slight disappointment in her tone.
"You never know," said Baron.
Her eyes sparkled, and she asked, "What do you mean? Is there something you know?"
"I'm not entirely sure, but it looked like Mr. Moon was preparing something."
"What could that be?"
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"Who knows? When I saw him in the staffroom, he had this weird smile on his face, which it's odd because the Literature Club is the only place in the school where he smiles.
It was true. The existence of the Literature Club had been sustaining him in his teaching career.
"What do you think it is?"
"Don't know."
"I hope it's nothing weird. Wait, we're not running around the neighborhood this time, are we?"
"In this weather? That's cruel."
'Drag.'
With the sound of the door opening, Mr. Moon walked out of the science room. Before anybody had the time to ask, he said, "Let's write a novel. It's the beginning of a new semester. You've been working on your basic foundations for the last six months, so I'm confident that we can actually start writing. This will be fun."
Sun Hwa raised her hand, confused, "A novel? Didn't we already do that?"
In her bag was everything she had written thus far.
"No, no, none of that short stuff. I'm talking about a single composition where you pour the rest of the year into."
There was silence. A single composition written for six months. Mr. Moon was asking the club members to write an actual novel, unlike the shorter pieces in the past.
Of course, Sun Hwa was the first one to exclaim with excitement, "Whoa!"
"Really??"
"A novel?"
Seo Kwang and Bom said in order. Baron also looked surprised while Juho was caught off guard by the sudden news. 'A novel huh. Six months' worth of writing, at that.'
"That sounds fun."
He wouldn't have to worry about his workflow getting disrupted or struggle to work with keywords that were absurd and incoherent. He'd be able to write freely. It made sense that Mr. Moon had come out looking that excited.
Looking around with a satisfied look on his face, Mr. Moon told Baron, "The cover will be designed by our very own artist."
"A cover?"
"That's right. You'll be drawing the face of whatever these adorable freshmen write."
"I have no experience with book covers..."
"None of these guys have experience writing a novel either."
The rest of the club members shouted excitedly, "Yes Baron! It's our first time too! Please make mine as nice as possible!"
They were asking for cover designs before they had even started writing. Mr. Moon added as he calmed everyone down, "Now, before we start writing our very own novel, I'll teach you the proper posture for writing."
"You can count on me, Mr. Moon." said Seo Kwang as he sat straight.
"Not exactly wrong, but not exactly what I'm looking for either," said Mr.Moon.
A posture for writing. Of course, it would be best to write with a proper posture as Seo Kwang had demonstrated, but Mr. Moon was talking about the emotional aspect of it. Juho listened to him quietly.
"What do you guys think of your own writing?"
"It's not good enough. It's embarrassing to read when I'm revising," said Bom. She felt that her sentences were awkward and loose.
"All right. So, does that mean you guys won't be able to write any better unless you work on those awkward sentences?"
Nobody answered. As much as they wanted to answer with a resounding "No!," the club members couldn't muster the confidence amid the reality of having to write a novel. They looked at each other, wondering if they had what it took.
At that moment, Juho suddenly said, "Sure we can."Chapter 84 – Agrippa (1) ###
Translated by: ShawnSuh
Edited by: SootyOwl
'Of course we can,' thought Juho. Mr. Moon looked straight into his eyes.
"Juho Woo."
"Yes," Juho answered.
"What do you think makes for a good story?"
It was a rather difficult question. What made for a good story? In the end, what the person believed would be the answer.
Juho thought about the stories that moved him from deep within.
'Suspenseful stories, persistent spirits, skillful writings, characters with personality. Those novels might have left a deep impression, but could that be all? If an author had all of those characteristics, would they be able to write a good book?' Juho thought of the opposite case. 'There were times when I was touched by a story written in loose and awkward sentences. Those stories tended to be sincere.' He believed that those compositions had been just as good. The desires for perfection and sincerity had always coexisted. They were both right. So, in the end, Juho's answer was:
"What I think is good."
Mr. Moon nodded his head.
"That's right. I'm sure everyone has their own answers. Perfect sentences, easy to read, tight storyline, they're all right answers. If you think a story is good, than it becomes a good story. Here's what I think. A good story is one that shakes its readers. No matter how polished it is, if it doesn't move me, I'll just stop reading," he said, looking at the club members. "If you have have differing opinions from mine, then all you have to do is go after what's "good" in your mind. I'm not trying to convert anybody here."
Everyone listened quietly.
"Everyone here is capable of writing a good book," said Mr. Moon.
Having been listening quietly, Bom raised her hand and asked, "So, how do we write sincerely?"
"That's your guys' job."
"Huh?"
"There's no equation to it. It's colorless and odorless. It has no shape, so you won't be able to touch it either. You can't just pull it out and show it. Find your own way."
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Sun Hwa's face twisted into a scowl. Looking in her direction, "If I were to give you a tip," he added as he spread his index finger, "try not to be greedy."
It wasn't anything new. He had said the same in the past. Greed had been one of the biggest things to avoid in writing. Excitement, fear, desires, it all had to be left behind. Only then, writing something became possible.
The fact that Mr. Moon had said the same thing several times proved its importance.
"Greed leads to pretense. You won't find sincerity in a pretentious story. Avoid being greedy at all times. Understand where you're. You're still beginners. You're babies, incapable of feeding themselves."
"Babies..." Bom echoed his analogy. Unfortunately, he was being accurate. After all, it would be their first time writing a novel.
"A baby shouldn't be left in charge of grilling a steak when they can't even feed themselves. They'll just leave a mess, or worse, burn themselves. Experiencing pain before the joy of creation will instantly kill your drive."
"But aren't we all animals born of greed? It's natural that we want to write well," complained Seo Kwang. Mr. Moon gave him an exaggerated nod.
"That's right. Listen, you animals of greed. I'm not telling you to get rid of your greed. I'm not trying to make you all into deities. I'm simply asking you all to be discerning of when to be and when not to be greedy. As greedy as you are, you can also be just as rational. You have to know how to control your desires."
"That's true..." she said timidly.
"So... what if it comes out bad?"
Fear. It was a natural emotion, especially for beginners.
Mr. Moon said without hesitation, "None of you will be able to write well."
Everyone's expressions grew darker, and Juho chuckled quietly, covering his mouth.
"Egh..."
"That's..."
"That's hurtful Mr. Moon."
"Yeah, that's harsh," added Juho.
"You guys are unskilled and still learning. That's what it means to be a beginner. It's natural that you can't write well. So, prepare yourselves so that you don't fall into depression from reading your own writing," Mr. Moon explained.
Beginners. That was what Mr. Moon had called the club members. Greedy, rational, and now, beginners. There was a variety of names.
"There's an expiration date to the word 'beginner.' You're given little time to be confident of your lack of experience as beginners. You'll have to, at least, pretend to know how to write in front of the incoming freshmen, right?" Mr. Moon said as he placed his hand on top of the pile of papers. "So, while you can, write to your heart's content."
Juho nodded quietly. A beginner had the right to be confident about their inexperience. After all, they were beginners for a reason. It would take time to learn.
The club members were about to write their first novel. It was natural for them to be unskilled and inexperienced. Nobody in the room would criticize Mr. Moon for what he had said. Even the club members wouldn't do that to themselves.
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"Freshmen... That sounds like it's far into the future."
"You'd be surprised," said Mr. Moon. He seemed to have understood Bom. The anxiety on her face slowly faded into a smile.
"Enjoy it. Embrace being a beginner. It doesn't matter what anybody says. It's your story, so write it however the hell you want. Writing is freedom. Since there is no right answer, there is no wrong answer either. Write away."
"Yes, Mr. Moon."
"So, now that we're have a proper posture, let's learn to write, shall we?" he said to the excited club members. "But first, theories."
"Can't we just get right to it?"
"Can't wait for that steak, can we?"
"Steaks are delicious!"
"Know yourselves. You guys don't even have the teeth to chew it with. Now, focus."
Despite Sun Hwa's grumbling, Mr. Moon picked up a piece of chalk. Though it was apparent that she had much to complain about, her eyes sparkled as soon as Mr. Moon started his lesson. She wasn't an exemplary student for no reason.
Juho, too, took the time to brush up on the theories his body had learned up to that point.
It was quite fun.
Toward the end of the lesson, Mr. Moon brought something to the room that he had never before.
"Creation means something new," he said.
With his desk pushed against the wall, Juho quietly watched the club members standing in the middle of the room. Baron, too, was watching from his seat as usual, but his eyes were on neither Mr. Moon nor the club members, but on the floor.
"But, creation comes from imitation," said Mr. Moon. New things tended to come from something that already existed. Juho looked at the object between himself and Mr. Moon. His eyes were fixated on it even as Mr. Moon kept talking.
At that moment, Mr. Moon's voice sounded from above his head, "Today, we're going to spend some time developing our senses when creating. We'll learn the kinds of senses we're going to need when creating."
"Why are these plaster figures here?" Juho asked as he raised his hand.
There were four busts made of plaster that matched the number of the club members standing in the middle of the room. Juho looked in Baron's direction. They seemed like something that would suit an artist more.
Mr. Moon smiled as if he had been expecting the question, "Four plaster figures. They all have the same face. I bought them myself."
"That explains the size," muttered Seo Kwang.
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"Who dares to interrupt the teacher?"
Juho had been thinking the same thing, but it was something to be grateful for, considering that Mr. Moon had spent his own money.
"You will each take this Agrippa figure with you. Again, we're going to learn how to develop your senses for creating. Creation is new. New comes from what already exists. In order to capture that, there's a need to observe."
Observe. Juho looked at the plaster figures before his eyes. There were four of the same. Every bust of Agrippa in the country would be wearing the same face.
"Observe it until you get something unique of your own. Make your own 'Agrippa.'"
"So, now would be the time to be greedy."
Mr. Moon nodded with a satisfied smile.
"But how do we observe?" Bom asked, raising her hand.
"We've already gone over that."
"Huh?"
"Juho Woo," Mr. Moon called for him suddenly.
"Yes."
Instead of an answer, Mr. Moon nodded. Chuckling, Juho understood the meaning of that nod.
"We listen, read, and think."
It was one of the things Mr. Moon taught at the very beginning. 'Damoon-dadok-dasangryang.' It meant that that one had to listen a lot, read a lot, and think a lot in order to be a better writer.
"That's right. You won't get much from just sitting there and looking around. Talk to it. Pull what's inside of it out. Try salting it or cooking it over fire. Then, whatever flavor you end up with, you'll see something that you haven't seen in that pale, lifeless figure."
They had to make the plaster figure spill all its secrets. Whether it meant feeding it with sugar or salt, they had to make it happy or miserable. After asking it questions and sharing their stories with it, they would gain something they could write about. That was the essence of creation.
"All right then. Everyone take a bust, and go."
With those words, Mr. Moon left the room. Confusion fell over everyone's faces as they approached the figures.
After examining one in her hands, Sun Hwa grumbled, frowning, "I don't get it."
"He's telling us to 'create.'"
"Without pen or paper?"
"Your hands are probably better suited for it," said Juho.
She turned her eyes in the figure's direction, finally realizing that it wasn't about writing. Mr. Moon was teaching them what had to happen before they started writing – their subjects, what they were going to write about.
Juho picked up one of the Agrippa busts. It was quite hefty. He looked around it for characteristics. 'Hard. Plaster figure. Inanimate. Bust sculpture. Thick nose. Hollow eyes. Ivory skin. Commonly found in art studios. Always standing.'
"Hm."
He started to get a feel for it.