It was nearly noon when a text message arrived for Jo Myeong-ju.
"Author, your 'Classic Anthology' is going into a second printing! Please let us know if you have any revisions!"
"A — a second printing? Me?"
Jo jolted upright in bed, startled.
Ten years earlier, at 31, she had placed in a small writing competition and taken her first steps as a novelist. Since then she had published three full-length novels and four anthologies — yet not a single one had ever gone back to press. For a book that had been out more than six months to suddenly earn a second printing was extraordinary. She fired off a quick thank-you reply and headed to the kitchen. She mixed herself an instant coffee, sipped it slowly, and opened a portal site on her phone to search her own name.
The ego-search turned up little. The results were dominated by other people named Jo Myeong-ju. Searching "Classic Anthology" and "One Lucky Day" fared no better — only the handful of reviews written during a book-launch event six months earlier kept cycling back. Social media was the same story, so Jo tried YouTube as a last resort.
Searching "author Jo Myeong-ju" on YouTube normally brings up a debut interview at the top of the results. The view count on that video climbs by one each day — Jo herself clicks it every morning. She expected to see it again today. Instead, something else appeared first.
Full reading of Jo Myeong-ju's novel "One Lucky Day."
The previous year, Jo had contributed to a classic anthology — a project in which 10 writers each chose a Korean classic short story and reimagined it. Jo had selected Hyun Jin-geon's "A Lucky Day" as her source. Stunned to find her retelling on YouTube, she clicked the video. Over AI-generated visuals, a narrator introduced himself as a professional voice actor. He said he had been deeply moved by Jo's story and had recorded a full reading, adding that he had produced the content with the copyright holder's permission. The video already had more than 10,000 views.
"Could this be why the book went back to press? But more than that — why didn't anyone contact me about making this video?"
A vague unease flickered through her, but it faded quickly. The reprint news and the voice actor's praise had left her feeling rather pleased with herself. That day, Jo played the video in the background like a soundtrack, returning to it whenever she had a free moment.
The next morning, Jo opened YouTube before the portal site — something she never normally did. "One Lucky Day" had already racked up more than 30,000 views.
"That's far more than the total number of copies I've ever sold!"
Jo did the math on what 30,000 copies sold would bring in, then settled in to wait for the publisher to call. Perhaps they would ring again with news of another reprint — and maybe even raise the question of YouTube revenue.
A day passed, then two. The publisher said nothing. Meanwhile the view count climbed consistently before suddenly spiking to 340,000.
Jo searched "YouTube revenue at 340,000 views" in a rush of excitement. She could not find a figure for exactly 340,000, but she came across a post suggesting roughly 300,000 won (about $196) per 100,000 views. Disappointed by how little that was, she told herself it was still something — and immediately emailed the publisher with the YouTube link, asking how revenue would be divided.
An hour later, a reply arrived.
"We do not authorize full recordings outside of the dedicated audiobook platform with which we have a formal secondary rights agreement. After reviewing the channel you mentioned, it appears the full text was recorded and uploaded without the publisher's permission. We will file a report on this video immediately."
In other words, the video had gone up without anyone's consent. Jo felt a surge of frustration, but it did not seem like something to take up with the publisher — after all, this was the publisher that had given her the first reprint of her career. She sent a brief acknowledgment and pulled up the YouTube video again. In the time it had taken to exchange emails, the view count had climbed past 500,000.
"It went up again? If this gets taken down, what happens to the money?"
She searched "YouTube revenue when video is deleted" and an AI answer appeared: revenue can still be collected even after a video is removed. There was also a note that in the worst case, a report might result only in a warning, leaving the video up.
"Wait. If this video hits a million views and then gets deleted, does that voice actor pocket all of it himself?"
Jo was furious. She wanted to stop the situation before the count climbed any higher, so she went straight to the video and left a comment.
"Hello, I'm the author who wrote this story. I never gave permission for this video. I would appreciate it if you took it down immediately."
She waited, but nothing happened. Jo tracked down the channel's email address and sent the same message. A read receipt came back within 10 minutes. She watched the channel, certain the video would disappear at any moment — but nothing changed. Exasperated, she left another comment.
"Have you no conscience at all? Why haven't you taken this down? Please remove it now. — Author Jo Myeong-ju"
She expected that to get a reaction. Instead, strange replies appeared.
"Lol some troll pretending to be the author"
"Wow, channel blows up and suddenly all kinds of people crawl out lol. This channel gets all its permissions sorted before posting."
"Stay strong, voice actor! Don't let the weird comments get to you!"
"I am the author!"
Jo shouted at the screen in sheer frustration, but it had no effect on the view count. The video had passed one million and was now racing toward two million.
The next morning, the publisher called.
"Author, we've gone back to press again! Congratulations!"
Jo felt no joy. The YouTube situation was gnawing at her. When she brought it up, the editor let out a hollow laugh.
"Do you really think the video is what's selling the books … ?"
"Still, taking it down would be the right thing to do … wouldn't it?"
"I suppose so … "
Neither said what they were both thinking.
After she hung up, Jo refreshed the YouTube page one more time. She watched the view count tick steadily upward and sat with her thoughts.
If I leave it alone, that YouTube channel will keep making money. But if this video is what's selling the book — shouldn't I just let it be?
No matter how long she turned it over, she could not reach a conclusion. Instead, the final line of Hyun Jin-geon's original "A Lucky Day" drifted into her mind.
"I had a feeling something lucky was coming … and yet even with the books selling, I can't feel happy about it."
carrier@heraldcorp.com
