Surviving as a Writer in the British Empire

cliffhanger(1)

outcast.

East of the medieval walls of the City of London, northeast of the River Thames, Eastend of London.

It was a name that was always followed in the slums, including Whitechapel.

Abandoned by the country, abandoned by God, the streets of immorality, poverty, gloom and sin.

Even if Jack the killer, Aaron Kozminsky, was executed, nothing changed. It’s just that one hair salon with no customers was closed.

Even if it wasn’t murder, prostitutes were killed. It’s just that the killer isn’t Jack.

The culprit was sometimes illness, sometimes hunger, and sometimes drugs.

Unlike Jack, he was more brutal and more routine as he had no substance.

Being a janitor was no different. As a worker, it was no different.

Even old and young were not covered, but the death of the elderly was rare. because he had already died before that.

A rough estimate alone is about 1 million. 20% of London’s 5 million people lived that way. It was an idyllic society in solitude.

However, in that solitude, a completely different wind was blowing in just a few years.

Walter, who runs a general store on Old Street, at the eastern end of Whitechapel, clearly sensed it.

With my daughter-

Walter lowered the newspaper at the familiar voice that had eaten away the bells hung on the door.

There, a man covered in a dirty, scruffy dark coat, with his hat pressed down, was approaching.

“Walter, did ‘that’ come in?”

“Have you come again? Dick.”

Under the dim lighting, a thick layer of cigarette smoke covered their faces, but they didn’t care.

Anyway, it was the middle-aged face that we always see each other.

“If you want, come in. Fortunately, there is only one left.”

“oh!”

Dick held out his hand as if to show it to him. Walter puffed out the cigarette and immediately took out what he wanted from under the counter.

The latest issue of ＜Temple Bar＞.

In Whitechapel, it was no different from a hard-to-find gem.

The reason was simple. The East End’s poor, young and old, were too poor, busy, and above all ignorant to enjoy high-end cultural life such as books.

There is no demand, so there is no supply, and there are no bookstores, so you cannot get books. It was a feat of the ‘invisible hand’ that the greatest economists would applaud.

At least Old Street was a college district close to East London College, so Walter, who owned a general store, also dealt in books and magazines.

This is because it is a place where old books are bought and sold for students without money.

But recently, I’ve been buying magazines myself. It’s all thanks to Peter Perry.

Look at Dick who has come to you right now, aren’t you looking at it with eyes that seem to fall in love? No, I’m already into it.

Walter looked at it and smiled softly. It wasn’t just laughter as a merch for selling books.

If he had been Dick in the past, he wouldn’t have paid much attention to this mass of typeface.

Lately, though, he’d been spending more money on this block of type than on the pretty red-haired Selina or the lukewarm beer he’d been pickling every day.

No, the word “spent” could be a bit excessive. It’s only 1 shilling (approximately 10,000 won) anyway.

Anyway, he was concentrating on cutting other waste and buying and reading a book once a month.

Thanks to that, money will be accumulated, and life will become more and more stable.

As a neighbor and friend, Walter said with a natural smile.

“I didn’t expect a drunkard like you to be so absorbed in books.”

“I also had a dream. Walter.”

Dick said in a bitter voice. Walter nodded.

In this city of solitary fog where even the sky is not allowed, there is no one who does not yearn for the rare blue sky seen.

Day or night, it didn’t matter. If it’s daytime, it’s enough to just throw away a piece of your heart that you thought was worn out in the endless blue expanse, or in the sea of bright yellow stars at night.

And… ＜Peter Perry＞ was such a novel, like the sky.

It was so easy and simple to read that even an illiterate person like Dick, who didn’t even know about snail shells, could somehow read it. Still, the more I read, the clearer my head becomes.

In the scene where two children, Peter and Porter, play with pure and bright fairies, I feel like I am regaining my lost innocence.

When the fairies’ paradise is attacked by dark fairies, fiends, the memory of the house being overturned by debt collectors and gangsters comes back.

And seeing the scene where Peter confronts it and finally saves the fairy and the school… how nice it would have been if they had had this opportunity as well.

It was vain and painful, but at least at that moment I could feel a warm and full heart.

It is a much healthier pleasure than opium or alcohol or prostitution.

It had been quite a while since Walter hadn’t smelled alcohol or opium from Dick’s body.

That’s why Walter cheered for Dick.

“Come to think of it… Walter, have you read this new book?”

“me? I didn’t see it. If I leave it for myself, my daughter always comes first and takes it.”

“Oops.”

Watching Dick’s pity, Walter felt a strange sensation. Could that friend have made that face? That b*tch Dick.

And at Dick’s words that followed, Walter couldn’t help but be really surprised.

“Then, would you like to read with me?”

“Can I do that?”

“Shouldn’t I repay you for deducting my share?”

“Huh.”

You’ve really become a man

Walter realized that the drunken, rambunctious Dick who almost killed people was no more.

‘As expected, people can rewrite it.’

Thinking so, Walter moved to Dick’s side. Apart from Dick’s rehabilitation, he was also an avid reader of ＜Peter Perry＞, so there was no reason to refuse the favor.

Just like that, the two middle-aged men in the corner of the East End, at the bottom, opened a book close to each other.

Under the yellow sky we always see, drawing a blue sky that wets their hearts.

and.

“Uh huh?”

“What is this?!”

A meteorite fell from the sky.

***

Peter caught his breath.

It was a tough fight. I lost all strength from my whole body.

Beast King Baguette.

The third king of the dark fairies was strong. He… no, the alter ego of ‘them’, the Black Dog.

but it will be fine now ’cause I knocked it all down Thanks to that, I lost all my strength, but it won’t matter.

From noble mtl dot com

I knocked it down without leaving a single one.

The moment I thought so.

Poo-wook.

─Oh, why?

Peter’s eyes, tinged with astonishment, turned to his back.

I will do it.

A fairy friend whom he met for the first time. She was thrusting a knife into Peter’s chest.

-I’m sorry.

─·······.

-I’m sorry. Peter.

Peter couldn’t answer her words.

He who has a stopped heart cannot speak.

***

For a moment, turn the history back about 100 years, not backward, but forward, and Korea on the other side of the globe.

At the beginning of the 21st century, the country’s novel world was strictly divided into two classes.

Pure literature, represented by paragraphs, and genre literature, which has become the 4th generation since its birth in PC communications, including Hello Phone in the 1990s. The so-called web novel market is one of them.

Of course, there is a science fiction market that is caught in the middle and its presence converges to zero—there is a market for science fiction, but this one is in a more gloomy state than pure literature, which is dying out by paying taxes on a subject without honor or money, so let’s move on… …

Among them, there was only one way to survive in the genre literature market since Necromancer.

fun.

For that reason, it can be stimulating as much as you like. Anything unconventional is fine.

Under the auspices of the Book Fair Act and the publishing cartel, pure literature writers are rotting as plants in the greenhouse. Web novel writers polished one topic, fun, by tapping on keyboards in the midst of endless competition like endless hell.

In order to attract even one more reader, to control the emotions of the readers, he studied writing techniques that were branded as forbidden in pure literature without hesitation.

Thus, numerous festivals were born in the world of genre literature.

Even if you hear a cheesy sound, the impact is the ‘Pungdun Agarisul’ that produces clear lines.

Breaking the unspoken rule of 1 episode per day, uploading 2-3 episodes, or even 5 episodes at most, is the “Yeoncham Shin-gong (連斬神功)”.

‘Cider Pass’ boldly omits dull and boring developments and unfolds fast and powerful developments.

‘Morning Star on the Fireplace’, where you hit the back of the head with a mace in a warm atmosphere.

All of them try to poison readers by stimulating only the peripheral nerves, so it is impossible not to call them magic arts.

Most of these things were taken from foreign novels or cartoons that could be said to be closely related, but that was not all. There was also a magician who developed a technique handed down from ancient times…

Cliff Hanger, a world-class black magic invented by Charles Dickens and established by Thomas Hardy.

It is a magic technique called ‘Cutting Demonic Art’ that developed it.

This is a magic trick that exquisitely cuts off the climax part that makes your hands sweat, and tempts readers who have fallen for it once into paying 100 won without hesitation. made it impossible

Therefore, it was also a tax-free magician that must be mastered in order to become a well-paid master writer.

So Hanslo Jin, Jin Han-sol, who was a web novel writer, was able to use the magical arts of this era as naturally as breathing, and his internal skills were profound.

If the black magician Charles Dickens, who died 20 years ago due to the coin intoxication, came back to life and learned, he would have admired the deep history of his younger students.

however.

Only demons who have mastered the same magic can be admired by the magic arts.

There are many reasons why magic arts are called magic arts, but the reason why cutting magic arts has been black magic since its birth is simple.

It’s because it’s interracial magic that brings out deep sins in people’s hearts!

And anger was one of the seven emotions that Christianity had long designated as mortal sins.

That is, what are you talking about.

“Hey, these doggies!!”

“This is the situation to do now!!”

“You filthy sons of the devil!!”

Clink!!

The glass window, which was made as narrow as possible to avoid the window tax, was broken in vain. And following a fist-sized rock, burning smoke came into the room.

Why is such an excellent pitcher not playing cricket and doing this here?

Before answering that question, the editors at Bentley Press eagerly extinguished the fire on the floor and blocked the door.

“Uh, what?!”

“Once the manuscript! Protect the manuscript first!”

“I was supposed to come from the print shop today!!”

“Stop!! Absolutely end here! You must never let them go to the print shop!!”

they thought where the hell is this Is it Charing Cross Road in London or the middle of a battlefield in Crimea?

No, a battlefield would be better. Soldiers can at least hold up their trusty Martini-Henry against the enemy, but what will editors hold up against their readers? Fountain pen?

With no way to stop it, the situation spirals out of control into chaos. Hellfire itself.

Among them, Vice President of Bentley Publishing and dedicated editor of Hanslo Jean. And Richard Bentley Jr., who is practically the third president, proudly shouted.

“Cheer up, everyone! You must protect the manuscript no matter what!”

“Vice President, are we serious? Is the manuscript heavy?!”

“Yeah, of course it’s the manuscript!!”

At that moment, Bentley thought strangely.

Obviously the building is burning, but why is it so cold all of a sudden?