I have been unable to touch my fiction for several days. It would be best to write a little every day, but if I keep the last section well in mind, even returning now and then can still produce a rich continuation. I have always kept some distance from the idea of pushing forward by willpower and accomplishing something, and I think that has become one of my styles in writing. I never exercise for more than thirty minutes a day, but after more than ten years of doing so my body has become fairly solid. People training for summer often ask me what I eat and what protein I choose, but I tell them not to struggle for information and to pay attention only to what their bodies want. If they do not grow impatient and simply increase the amount of time spent with exercise, they can become healthy without overdoing it. Writing is the same. It took me a long time to decide that I would write something visible to others.
The desire to be recognized through writing may be in everyone, but I first had to sufficiently accept that I might not be recognized. Even so, I kept writing alone, the way I exercise alone. When I exercise even a little every day, I can tell by soreness or an itch of feeling where something is lacking and where I need to pay attention. Writing is similar. As I write, I come to know what must be written and what tones I should be careful not to let appear. Writing while paying attention to those things can make the work more enjoyable. This is something different from the concept of development. Development has small goals and proceeds by achieving them. I rarely set such goals. I move slowly, as if drizzle is gradually soaking the hem of clothing, but I do not stop. People working beside me for the first time sometimes find this frustrating. But I do not stop.
After only two months or so, people who proceed efficiently by setting goals and managing time, as self-help books advise, often need to catch their breath just before burnout. At that moment, I am still piling up work. That is when my graph of progress overtakes theirs.
Strangely, a person’s style does not seem to be determined by one or two things. For a long time, self-help books and people around me told me to ask questions while learning, that seniors do not mind being asked, that the faster a junior takes over the work, the more secure the senior’s promotion becomes. In the end, my answer was this. First, if you ask and only hear the answer, asking has been useless. If someone asks, “What happens when A is added to B?” one must be able to answer, “A plus B becomes C.” If one says, “So-and-so said A plus B becomes C,” then that is not one’s own work. The point is to do the work while receiving advice, not to satisfy curiosity and memorize the answer. Second, when people ask me, I do find it annoying.
I teach what must be taught, but questions annoy me. There is a reason. Curiosity is natural, but when something becomes necessary, a senior will explain it then. I am not there to fill someone’s curiosity. I have work too. So when I receive a question, I ask in return why they are asking. Most answer that they saw a menu item. My reply is always the same.
“If I tell you what it is, are you going to touch it?”
If it is not needed right now, do not ask. If you do not know, do not touch it carelessly. If you are not going to touch it anyway, do not make me explain just for the sake of explanation. Far too many people ask useless questions just to seem eager.
For some people, such questions may not be useless. But among those who asked me, and among those I saw asking as a new employee, not one out of a hundred remembered it later. I, who had not even asked the question, remembered. That means they asked while already knowing they had no need for the answer.
I do not say this to boast, but when I asked something, there was a reason. If someone snapped, “That is not for this stage. Why are you asking?” I could explain why I needed it. Writing is similar. I do not want to stack up unnecessary explanations, but I do need to keep touching the work little by little. That is how a style forms - not by forcing it, but by not stopping.
Korean original: 조금씩 조금씩