Chapter 1: Unemployed Shut-In. Becomes a Writer? (1)
Name: Kim Si-woo. Age: 28. Currently unemployed.
He was someone with an IQ of 145, excelling academically, scouted by sports clubs every year for his athletic prowess, and blessed with decent looks.
But now, after graduating from a four-year regional university, he was just a jobless bum, mooching off his parents in his room.
Surely… when he was younger, he believed he could do anything, that success was within reach.
So where did it all go wrong?
Was it the arrogance in middle school, trusting his brain and quitting cram school?
Abandoning studies and sports just to goof off?
His lack of perseverance?
Avoiding things he didn’t want to do?
Failing to find something he truly wanted to pursue?
Graduating from a regional university without any notable activities?
Or perhaps… all of the above?
“Sigh…”
Regretting the past and thinking, ‘I should’ve done things differently’, changed nothing, but the lingering sense of regret remained.
His social connections had long since frayed.
He never had a wide circle to begin with, and the combination of a pandemic and depression had shattered what little he had.
He was down to five or six friends he still contacted, and even then, he’d only met one or two in person in the past year.
Conversations with them were limited to, “Let’s grab a meal sometime,” or “Let’s make it big.”
That was it.
The thing he spent the most time with was his computer.
Wake up in the morning, eat, turn on the computer, play a few games, browse the web, shower, read web novels, watch movies, dramas, or anime.
Then eat again and sleep.
That had been his routine for a full year.
Meanwhile, those around him were finding jobs, stepping into society one by one.
He knew he needed to get a job too, but reality wasn’t so kind.
Three days of determination? No, more like six hours.
After sleeping, he’d wake up, turn on the computer as if nothing had happened, and dive back into the internet.
Then one day, a video snapped him out of it.
It featured an online lecturer, and the message was this:
- When choosing a career, pick something where you think, “I could do this,” or “I could do it better.”
The thought that came to him after watching that video was ‘writer’.
Since middle school, he’d read countless web novels and watched endless dramas and movies—so many he couldn’t even recall them all.
Excluding the masterpieces, he often thought, ‘I could do better than this.’
So, sitting at his computer to write, he fell into deep thought.
“Web novel? Drama? Movie?”
He had to choose one, but it wasn’t easy.
Web novels had a low barrier to entry but fierce competition and fickle readers. Plus, the harsh comments came fast and direct.
Dramas and movies, on the other hand, had high barriers—his writing could easily be ignored or discarded.
On top of that, he was just a regional university grad, not even a relevant major.
Still, he felt confident in both.
Maybe it was the naivety of a beginner, but an inexplicable confidence surged within him.
“Let’s start with a movie.”
***
His confidence in choosing a movie as his first project crumbled within an hour.
The reason? Format.
Kim Si-woo, clueless about how to write one, hurriedly searched online for synopsis and script formats for dramas and movies.
“Hmm… I’ll just try writing something similar.”
One reason he felt confident as a writer was his talent for imitation.
In other words, copying.
Whether it was drawing, singing, sports, or writing, Kim Si-woo had a knack for making others’ work his own.
He could steal storylines, borrow emotional arcs, and blend in other ideas, all backed by his exceptional ability to imitate and a vivid imagination.
It wasn’t fast, but he steadily wrote his piece.
After a full day, he’d produced just 10 pages.
Assuming a movie script needed at least 100 pages, that meant 10 days minimum.
With revisions, maybe 15 days.
If he hit a creative block, it could stretch indefinitely.
Yet, Kim Si-woo was enjoying himself.
“When was the last time I was so focused I lost track of time?”
Rubbing his dry eyes and stretching, he heard a voice calling from outside his room.
“Son! Dinner’s ready!”
His mother’s voice, fresh from work, prompted him to get up and head to the living room, where his parents were setting the table, waiting for him.
“How’s the job search going?”
“Uh… it’s fine.”
His parents didn’t press too hard, but they occasionally asked about his progress, and each time, he couldn’t help but feel guilt and self-loathing.
After all, he was a jobless bum.
But today, it felt like he’d finally found something he’d been searching for over his 28 years.
With that thought, he forced his reluctant lips to move and spoke up.
“Um… actually…”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to try writing.”
“Writing? Like a book?”
“Maybe… or a drama… or a movie.”
“Can you do that?”
His mother’s response carried a hint of worry.
Creative work didn’t exactly scream stable income.
“I’m confident I can.”
“Really? Then give it your all.”
While his mother offered encouragement, his father’s reaction was cold.
“Just get a job. What’s with this new scheme? How many things have you quit already?”
“…”
He couldn’t argue with his father.
It was true—he’d never stuck with anything for long.
His vague talents only made him feel more pathetic.
If he’d had even a shred of perseverance, he might’ve become an expert in something, but all he chased was fun and interest.
“Just… two years. No, one year. I’ll show you results by then.”
“Fine. But starting today, no more allowance.”
“Alright.”
After negotiating with his father, Kim Si-woo returned to his room and promptly collapsed onto his bed.
“I’ll start writing seriously again tomorrow.”
With that firm resolution, Kim Si-woo fell asleep, but the next morning, he woke up feeling utterly exhausted.
“Ugh… why does writing feel so tedious?”
The terrifying power of habit. He instinctively turned on the computer, launched a game, and started browsing the web, shuddering at his own automatic behavior.
“No way!”
Snapping himself out of it, Kim Si-woo recalled a tip from a writing community he’d seen online:
‘Build your writing muscle.’
Write every day, aiming for at least 5,000 characters, until it becomes second nature.
That was the key.
Sure, it was advice meant for web novel writers, but the essence was the same.
A movie script was still writing, wasn’t it?
Rallying his focus, he picked up where he left off on his 10 pages from the day before.
The movie he was working on was titled ‘Revenger’.
The story revolved around a protagonist whose father, outwardly a diligent and upright police officer, was a different man at home—frequently drinking and abusing his wife and son, utterly indifferent to their well-being.
His sole focus was on performance metrics and promotions.
Amid this neglect, the protagonist’s mother succumbs to an incurable illness and passes away.
Years later, the protagonist, now grown, seeks revenge against his father, who has risen to the rank of police commissioner.
“Sigh… I need a supporting character here.”
Kim Si-woo’s writing process was unique.
He imagined the characters in his mind, placed them in the situation, and wrote as the scenes unfolded in his head.
“Alright, the female lead will be a rookie female cop, same age as the protagonist.”
As he wrote, he imagined his favorite actor being cast in the role, and it instantly lifted his mood.
A month and a half passed.
His goal was 10 pages a day.
At first, it took a grueling 12 hours to scrape together those 10 pages, but after a month, he could feel it taking less than 8 hours.
‘My writing muscle must be growing a bit.’
Of course, having the beginning and end planned out made it easier, but the middle—descriptions and plot development—took far longer than expected, dragging out the process.
The next step was finding a production company.
He jumped online, searched for production companies, and printed out the addresses of 50 film and drama studios.
After binding about 100 pages of his script, he stuffed them into his bag and headed to Seoul, buzzing with excitement.
‘Sometimes, just showing up in person can make a big impact’, he thought.
But reality always had a way of crushing ideals.
“Hello, I’m here to submit a script.”
“Oh… Do you have an appointment?”
“Uh, what?”
The receptionist’s words froze him in place.
“No… I didn’t make an appointment.”
“Then you can leave it here, and we’ll pass it along.”
“Oh, okay. Thank you.”
Kim Si-woo bowed politely and left the building.
“That was nerve-wracking. Should I have called ahead? It’s not the ‘80s, after all.”
Regret washed over him for rushing in so impulsively.
‘I got too carried away…’
‘Guess I’ll start making calls from now on.’
He pulled out his smartphone and began calling production companies as he moved from one to the next.
“Hello, this is Kim Si-woo. I called earlier.”
“Yes, please hand over the script. We’ll get back to you in two to four weeks.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Of the 50 companies, 28 accepted his script at the front desk. The remaining 22 either didn’t handle films or outright refused unsolicited submissions.
“This is a total flop, isn’t it? Sigh…”
All that was left was to return home and wait.
Of course, he could write something else in the meantime.
Exhausted from running around all day, Kim Si-woo got home, showered, and collapsed onto his bed without eating.
“I need to exercise… How am I this tired from just one day of walking around?”
With a new resolution in mind, he drifted off to sleep.
***
The next morning, Kim Si-woo checked his phone immediately, but there was no way a response would come in just one day.
“Haha… talk about getting ahead of myself.”
While waiting for replies, he decided to try writing a web novel. He revisited a web novel he’d enjoyed, but this time, he read it analytically, focusing on its structure rather than just enjoying the story.
“Phew… this feels daunting too.”
It felt completely different from writing a movie script.
“Whatever! It’ll work out somehow.”
His head was overflowing with ideas anyway.
He opened a text document and started writing, oblivious to the changes that awaited him.
A week later, his phone buzzed.
Zzzzzt.
“Huh?”
It was an unknown number, but seeing the Seoul area code, Kim Si-woo’s hands trembled as he pressed the answer button.
“Hello?”
- Hi, is this Writer Kim Si-woo?
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