#why learn copywriting

[awaketake]

What is copywriting and why should you learn it?

Copywriting will allow you to make more sales with the same budget.

Or boost your service fee and salary. By increasing conversion rates, you are bringing more sales.

And getting more sales for businesses is one of the most valuable skills in the world!

We will start by defining what copywriting is, what it is not and what you can use it for.

Then you will see an example of a sales funnel. It will put everything into perspective and show you what can happen when you write great copy.

Once you understand why learning copywriting is so important… You can start using the AIA framework to write copy that converts.

None of these matters if you don't put it in practice. So, you might want to put it into work by creating some campaigns to learn what works best.

We will close with some great books and tools to help you improve your skills and write faster.

[hiyyihrts]

resume writing is dumb what do you mean I have to have hard and soft skills to appeal to employers the only soft thing about me is my heart and the only hard thing about me is my di- [GUNSHOTS]

[kfedup]

Regretsy no more

Hey, y'all. It's the lurker here.

I've been in the funkiest of funkless funks for the past few months and over the past few weeks, I've been unpacking why. Seeing how much I'm isolating because of a constellation of health-related issues and generalized depression. Have been considering trying meds. But one thing keeps coming to the surface and I finally decided it's time to deal with it.

The one thing is the only thing in my life that I regret. That thing is never having finished my bachelor's degree.

I'm twice divorced, have lost several important friendships, and moved more times than I can count to places I didn't really want to live to maintain relationships I should have never entered in the first place, but I wouldn't trade any of those things. I don't feel regret about them. Why would I? I discovered who I am and who I am not because I experienced those things. Each of them allowed me to learn how to repair what's possible and how to let go of that which is complete.

I'm very good at this marketing copywriting work but I'm bored senseless. I want to challenge myself and taking online workshops is fine but it's just more interacting through a screen and lord love a duck, my spirit needs more. Plus, I am not using my gifts of communication, empathy, mirroring, and holding space for others in the way I know I am meant to use them. For two years I've felt like I'm wasting what's left of my life.

I am so afraid I will die full of this regret.

The cost has kept me from pulling the trigger on this dream for several years. I wish I started sooner, but clearly, I wasn't miserable enough yet. I'm well and truly stuck in the muck at the bottom of the lake about it now. There's nothing left to do but swim to the surface, so here I go.

Today I applied as a transfer student to the Psychology program at Kent State University to start classes this summer. It will probably take me 3 years to finish the 2 years I have left because I'm a single-income household and will have to work. I'm terrified I won't be able to manage both, but I hope I can rally.

I'm not sure if I'll continue on to get the Psych MA at KSU or go elsewhere to get an MA in Art Therapy after I finish the BA. I also want to get certified in Internal Family Systems therapy, so I'll be 63ish or older starting a new career as a therapist and I feel excited about my future for the first time in... well... I don't even know. A very long time.

I want a career that feels meaningful to me, helps people instead of businesses, and lets me use my gifts. One I can do until I'm dead because I'mma need to work until they're spreading my ashes.

I plan to take a class this summer to dip my toes in.

Holy shit, y'all. Lila will be a senior and I will be a junior on the same campus. She's so supportive and I've been crying happy-scared-overwhelmed-curious-excited tears all day.

Kelly's going back to college. Holy shit.

[femmefatalevibe]

any tips for getting into copywriting?

Learn the basics of copywriting & writing fundamentals/ marketing skills

Study the different types of copywriting (web/banners, email, social, ads, direct mail, sales letters, etc.)

Decide on your niche(s). Study everything you can about the industry, trends, latest news, customer demographics/psychographics, customer behavior, types of lifestyles/preferences they have, how they speak, where they spend the most time (IRL or digitally)

Craft an inspiration folder full of compelling copywriting examples you find when browsing on the web, going through your email, scrolling on social media, billboards, magazines, direct mail, etc.

Practice rewriting these examples with your own flair. Evaluate it, and keep practicing until you're proud of your copy.

Be as concise, clever, and convincing as possible. Keep your tone conversational (write like how you would speak), catchy, simple, and witty. Take out any extraneous or fluff words. Pepper in cultural references, puns, and relatable anecdotes understood by your target audience when relevant to your messaging/CTA

Create a portfolio with these mock-ups or projects done for family/friends (state they're spec work, not client-commissioned samples) or clips from an internship, school work, etc.

Craft a USP for yourself (including your niche, copywriting specialties, and the specific expertise you offer within your broader niche/service offerings that makes you unique)

Create an Upwork profile and share your services on LinkedIn (optimize both of these profiles)

Research local clients and small businesses within your niche. Also, take time to create a list of dream clients. Study their copy, brand voice, and keep tabs on updates regarding these companies' happenings

Learn the art of a cold email/LinkedIn pitch/Upwork proposal. Introduce yourself and your services to your prospect and share with them how you can fulfill a specific need they're seeking out (For local and smaller companies, feel free to offer suggestions. With more established companies, connect the dots as to why your experience/expertise is a great fit for their brand/target audience), and attach your work/link to your LinkedIn profile, website, and any other relevant hub for your professional services & content

Ask for referrals from friends/family to get started. If they're not a relative, get a testimonial to include in your portfolio

Follow up once if you haven't heard back from a prospective client after an initial pitch after a few days

Search for potential gigs on sites like Upwork/ProBlogger/People Per Hour

Once you land a gig, execute to the best of your ability and hand in your work by the deadline (strategies surrounding best business practices is a whole other post, lol)

Gather testimonials from all clients of successful projects. Confirm with clients whether you can use their work in your portfolio if you're unsure

Continue studying copywriting from books, courses, and everyday reading & living

Stay knowledgeable about advancements/updates in your field, keep updated on current events, and culture/social trends, and read a lot in general. Have interesting, multi-faceted conversations with others. Observe what makes people tick & remain engaged in a verbal dialogue or content

[goodluckclove]

I'm having a lot of fun talking with people about why they struggle in their writing, and I figure I'd share a little bit about what would keep me from writing. It's especially relevant given how soon Blind Trust is coming out - and, like I said, if you're willing to be real to me I'll be real right back.

I'll put it under a read more, as I've had the amount of alcohol that it takes me to be extra loose - meaning half of one canned cocktail. And I don't want to freak anyone out who doesn't want to see me feel a little more angsty than I tend to be online. But as I said before, I want to be honest about the craft as much as I urge others to be.

Here we goooo. Say goodbye to proper capitalization babies, Dad's getting funky.

so i started writing when i was twelve years old. i wrote carnation, a 10k word zombie novella about thinly-veiled representations of me and my two best friends at the time fighting zombies. it wasn't very good. i never wrote anything before. i enjoyed it though, so i proceeded to keep writing, near-constantly for the next fifteen years.

here's the thing, though, and it's something i don't see a lot of elder writers talk about. probably because it's not a super pleasant thing to hear, but i'm pretty sure i could pull it off.

uh, my name is clove gardener. i'm twenty-seven years old now. and i do not think i'm that good of a writer.

i don't think i'm bad. i mean, i've been published. i've worked as a copywriter and a ghostwriter. i've written for work for a few years now, so - like - objectively it must be passable. i don't hate my writing. i think it's accessible, which is cool. but if you were to ask me hey do you think you're a good writer? i would skirt around the question without answering directly until i could figure out a way to change the subject.

at this point i don't think that's going to go away. the improvement, though, has been that i barely think about that anymore. it's like there's a little dipshit in the back of my head, and occasionally he will hiss-whisper this is shit what are you doing until I find a way to shut him up.

i kind of feel like that's just the thing that happens when you're a writer. it's the camp i'd rather be in, at least. because the alternative is that i'm a really good writer who might consider themselves capable to claim authority and tell you how to do things i actually know nothing about. i'd rather have doubt. maybe less than what i have now, but still.

writers, i think, overlap with theater kids in the sense of being dramatic little piss babies. i am proud to say that i am significantly less of a piss baby than i potentially could be, especially considering that i'm in writing and theater. but you're bound to be a little dramatic at some point.

i think in the six-ish months since i've started blind trust, i've had maybe two creative existential crises. that's pretty good. that's reasonable. and they were not too unproductive either. i've learned that you can feel whiny and pitying and scared and self-loathing, and still do the thing.

i don't think you should publish your book. cool, ryan (i named my inner dipshit ryan). i'm doing it anyway.

nobody actually wants to pay money for it. yeah, ryan. maybe.

you're a terrible writer. i like it, though. i want to see how it ends. so let's keep going.

if you're wanting to publish/self-publish, and you think you don't have a chance because you aren't a beacon of self-assurance and confidence - guess what, buddy, i don't think many of the greats were. it's almost a stereotype i've seen of famous writers also being angsty weirdos who crumble into despair because the apple they ate was slightly too mealy (this is based on nothing but i can see it happening to kafka). if you think you can't be a writer because you aren't like me - friend, colleague, son, daughter, child, we are both angsty weirdos and that's okay.

last week i sobbed because riley showed me a video where a kiwi bird was sad and we had to spend the rest of the night watching videos of kiwi birds before donating to a kiwi bird charity. i make one phone call to the doctor and i have to lie down for the rest of the day. i am kind, i am fun, i am funny, and i am also like three bad dice rolls away from a breakdown. you can be both of those things. i have nuance.

i'm fine, by the way. it's been a good day. i'm just stressed about publishing because the thought of asking people to pay Human Currency for my work makes me deeply uncomfortable. but we're going to fucking deal with that, aren't we, ryan?

i don't know if this is unprofessional to reveal, but if it convinces one person to pursue a life in writing even though they sometimes take a trip to the Panic Zone, fuck it. i'm fine, you're fine, we're all going to be fine.

we should name our inner dipshits. drop your dipshit names below. ryan is your classic little goblin, but he's dressed like an e-boy. i think he vapes. i hate him.

[darkurgetrash]

Get to Know Me Tag ~

Hiya! I got tagged in a few different 'get to know me' tags so I thought I'd just combine them here, hehe. Thank you so so much to @dutifullylazybread @weaveandwood @orangekittyenergy and @blackstaff-blast — I really love these tags, both answering and reading others'. What can I say? I'm a gemini.

No pressure tags! ~ @lemonsrosesandlavender @savriea @graysparrowao3 @heytheresunflower

Do you make your bed?: Yes! I'm not a neat-freak, but I consider myself quite neat

Favourite number: When I was a young child someone asked me this and I didn't know what to say so I pretended it was '86'. Since then, that's always just been what I've said… couldn't tell you why lol

What's your job?: Between roles atm, but usually a copywriter

If you could go back to school, would you?: For sure. I was really let down as a kid by the system, if I could go back but with the wisdom I have now, I would love to. As for further education, I loved my undergrad but I can't see myself realistically studying more on account of chronic illnesses

Can you parallel park / Can you drive a manual car?: Nope. I was good at parking and driving back when I was first learning over 10 years ago but never took my test because I got a lot of anxiety driving. I live in London now, so there's no urgent need to learn, but I will have to some day.

Do you think aliens are real?: Yes. Ain't no way we're the only life forms to exist in the whole universe, pleaseee

What's your guilty pleasure?: I love Britney Spears 💁‍♀️

Tattoos?: A small one, on my ankle. Two hands in a reference to Twin Peaks. I also just love the design — even if my tattoo artist did a slightly shoddy job and told me they did the exact same reference on tonnes of people ayyy lmao

Favourite type of music?: Easy answer is indie, though even that is a huuuuge umbrella. Some of my fave musicians are Mitski, Bright Eyes, AURORA, Radiohead, EELS, and Thumpasaurus. Also, a long-time MCR fan.

Do you like puzzles?: I'm wayyy too ADHD for them tbh but I don't mind some types of puzzles, like in video games. But even then, they can't go on for too long, lol

Any phobias?: Crowds are def my biggest one. I’m scared of pretty normal things I’d say, like hornets. I do have a lot of sensory issues though that give a similar feeling, the most unusual being cardboard. Do NOT touch it near me, I WILL scream. And slight trypophobia… 🤢

Favourite childhood sport: Always hated sports and exercise, even as a kid

Do you talk to yourself: I sing to myself (and in general) a lot and have big echolalia, but I don't really talk to myself in the traditional sense. Now my partner on the other hand… he does not stop yapping for even a second in the day.

What movie(s) do you adore?: The immediate go-to's in my brain are The Lord of the Rings trilogy, Pride and Prejudice (2005), Your Name, and… Shrek. Non-ironically.

Coffee or tea: Earl grey tea with oat milk, please! If not an option, I'll go for an oat milk mocha.

First thing you wanted to be growing up?: I… okay. I don't even know if I should admit this, but it's kinda funny… but remember, I was a CHILD. like, FIVE. My sister wanted to move to Africa and be a mango farmer (???) and I wanted to go with her so I said I wanted to sell shoes there because I saw a gap in the market. 😭😭

Last song I listened to: No You Girls - Franz Ferdinand

Favourite colour: Lavender

Favourite flavour: Depends on what it is, but most likely either chocolate or strawberry

Current obsession: BG3, if y'all couldn't guess. 😂

Last thing I googled: 'Sacrum'. Girly doesn’t know what body parts are called.

Favourite season: Late autumn

Skill I'd like to learn: I'd looove to be able to sew and make clothes but I am the most cack-handed person you will ever meet. I literally got kicked out of textiles class when I was in school because I was so bad they thought I was messing about on purpose 😬…

Best advice: Be cringe, be free. People will either not care or think you're cool for your authenticity.

Currently watching: I don't really watch TV! Still getting through Dungeon Meshi, lol

Currently reading: I've been trying to read 'Interview with a Vampire' since the start of the year, but my brain only has room for BG3 fanfic it would seem… SO, here's a list of my current bookmarks hehe. Special shout-outs to @lemonsrosesandlavender @crystal-overdrive @ghostcouncil @weaveandwood @sinelaborenihilsr2 @dutifullylazybread @notlikeparis

Relationship status: Been in a relationship since 2016! Also, taken by Gale Dekarios in my head. 💜

Sweet/savoury/spicy: Big, BIG sweet tooth.

[metamatar]

Hello di. I was wondering if you could help me. I am planning to pursue English lit as a stream of studies. I am from the science stream but I really don't have an interest in it. I am from a very modest background and I am aware of the realities that are there in Indian job market. Since you are a professional ( though in STEM) and are very practical, I am asking for some advise from you. I do definitely want to pursue English lit but I also have to keep the economy in mind. So what industries, job openings should I be looking into and what else should I be doing if I am to get a job with a English degree.

Hello, you're very brave and practical! So you definitely want to get into the best college you can rn, the selection effects are harsher when their are fewer jobs. Literature grads who aren't going into academia tend to work in publishing, journalism or marketing. You definitely want to intern early and try to get into prestigious fellowships where you can network with people. Talk to people who are doing the same thing. Stalk a professional who graduated with the same degree you have on LinkedIn. Stalk a professional online who has a job you want already and look at their career progressions. Cold email them and talk. Hearing about jobs that are hiring is half the battle. Knowing someone in the org who might vouch for you or recommend you, even better. And then people wonder why Indian white collar jobs are so caste stratified. Learn to copywrite, edit, maybe even some social media promotion. Have an online portfolio, a blog or a website or some kind of online presence. Submit to literature magazines or journals so you can point to public acceptance of your writing.

The best paid jobs for people who have writing skills are technical documentation roles tho. If you're willing to work with programmers/engineers, how frameworks for generating documentation work, the principles of that, a decent overview of how software is written and a little bit of scripting you're probably likely to have a less precarious career than many other writers. The issue is you'd be competing with writers who often have a technical background and you won't really learn any of these skills in college. You'll need to find a first opportunity to take a chance om you honestly. There's courses online you can bridge the gap with.

Maybe I'm very off base though so hopefully @wherestoriescomefrom who is a real literature grad in india who can weigh in.

edit: look at the replies also!

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires- Part 7

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Summary: Twenty minutes before he would have met Guinevere Beck, Joe meets you instead. You intruige him, but it will soon become clear that there is something off about you.

Words: 1193

Masterlist

If we were near your apartment, we'd probably end up at Starbucks.

Luckily we're on my turf. I'm not going to take you to that overpriced coffeeshop for hipsters and people without taste; I'm taking you to get real coffee, at my favorite café just down the road from Mooney's.

You walk beside me and you don't ask where we're going. I like that. You trust that wherever I'm taking you, you'll like it. Instead you chat idly about your week (which was busy) and ask me about mine (it was slow).

I ask you where you work. You tell me you're a copywriter at an online marketing agency. This surprises me.

“Marketing? Did you always want to do that?”

“No,” you say. “I always wanted to be an author. But you know what they say about writers who can't write.”

I actually don't. I tell you as much.

“We always end up in marketing.”

I think you're being too hard on yourself. I'm sure you're better at writing than you give yourself credit for. Then again, I haven't read anything you've written and I don't want to make assumptions. You might be horrible.

“What about you?” you ask. “Did you always want to work at a bookstore?”

“I don't know. I've worked at Mooney's since I was fifteen. The guy who owns it sort of took me in,” I explain, and clear my throat. “I've never really felt like a career change.”

“Did you go to college?” you ask.

I make a face, because I don't know how you feel about this subject. Finally, I shake my head.

“I hated school,” you say. “I can't learn that way. I've been much happier since I started working.”

“Did you become a copywriter right away?”

“God, no.” You laugh. “I was a TA for the longest time. Then I worked the lunch shift at this small restaurant. I loved that. Copywriting is kind of a recent development.”

I want to ask more questions, but we've arrived at the café. It’s a little joint with the same vibe as Mooney's: old, dusty, quiet. Old records line the walls here. On slow days, you're allowed to pick one and play it on the record player they have, but it's kind of busy today. We pick a table by the window and we order our coffees.

“I can believe that.”

You order yours with milk, no sugar. I order mine black. You tell me you used to drink black coffee until you moved to New York, but "the coffee is different here.”

You take a moment to look out the window, and I take that moment to look at you. I think that was your intention, because when you notice me staring you meet my eyes, and stare back. Most girls would have blushed and looked away.

“Tell me something about yourself, Joe,” you say. “I feel like I barely know you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What's your favorite book?”

I hiss playfully.

“You can't make me choose.”

You laugh at this, and I take a moment to think.

“There's a few,” I finally tell you. “Right now it's Frankenstein, I think.”

“That's... a choice,” you say.

I raise an eyebrow.

“How do you figure that?”

You fumble. I wonder if you said it just to say it - lots of people do that, when it comes to books - but then you shake your head.

“Well, that book, it's… Frankenstein creates this living, breathing person, and then he completely disregards it. Him. The book's about bad parenting, really.”

Did you have bad parents, (Y/n)? Is that why you moved all the way to New York?

“I didn't say I like Frankenstein himself,” I say. “I just said I like the book.”

“I'll be honest: I've read Frankenstein, but I remember the introduction better than the actual story.” You pause. “The classics aren't really my thing. Well, that's not true. I like some of them. I just don't find them automatically better than any other books.”

“You don't have to.”

You take a sip of your coffee, which has just been set down, and then suck in some air when you realize it's too hot. I chuckle, and you fake a glare.

“Now you tell me something about you,” I say.

“Like what?” you ask.

“I don't know.”

“Okay, well. I have an unhealthy obsession with serial killers.”

“Ah,” I say. “You're one of those people.”

“Well, don't say it like that.” You won’t meet my eyes now. “I just find it interesting, how the human mind can turn out like that. How do they kill so many people and still sleep at night?”

“Maybe they know the world is better off without those people in it.”

You look at me.

“Who are they to decide, though?”

I like it when you look me in the eyes, even if it's because you're challenging me. I don't want you to look away.

I wonder if you'd look at me this way during sex. I'm sure you would. You'd refuse to break eye contact first. But eventually you'd cave. You'd have to.

“I'm reading this book right now,” you say.

“Under the banner of heaven.”

Oh, no.

I've messed up. You're looking at me all wrong, and why wouldn't you? I'm not supposed to know what you're reading. You didn't buy that book at Mooney's. You must have bought it somewhere else, or ordered it online, but you didn't get it from me.

I have to bluff my way through this.

“You told me,” I say.

“Right…” you swallow, then shake it off. “Well, it's about these guys who murdered their brother's wife, and the baby, too. They thought God told them to, or something. They were Mormons. How do you ever get to that point? That you'd murder a baby and call it God's will?”

“I don't know,” I admit. “Some people are just bad people, I guess.”

But you shake your head. You don't want to believe in the worst the world has to offer.

“There has to be a reason,” you say. “Nobody is born bad.”

“Maybe not,” I concede.

“Sorry. I'm boring you.”

Not at all.

“A little bit. I mean, no,” I say, shaking my head. “What I mean is, I don't know that I agree with you, fully.”

“About people not being born bad?”

“Some people are just pure evil,” I say. “And it's only getting worse, you know. These days, it's way too easy for everybody to make themselves into the main character of their story. It breeds selfishness. That's why I hate social media.”

“I noticed I couldn't find you,” you tell me. “And I looked pretty hard.”

You looked for me!

“I looked for you on Instagram,” I admit. “But your account is private, and I didn't want to make one of my own just to follow you.”

“Stalker,” you tease. “Both of us. We're a couple of regular old stalkers.”

“Can't be too careful,” I say.

“No, you can't,” you agree. “Anyone could be a weirdo.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“Well, that's okay,” you say. “I like those.”

[compassionatereminders]

confession/vent?

i looooove writing so much.. i love reading.. words are so yummy? the yummiest yums.. i supersuck at communicating especially when i was younger but im getting better partially thanks to writing original fiction, fan fiction and lots and lots of poetry... writing taught me so much and made me a better person.. or maybe i made myself a better person through writing? anyway... i love writing... it's so fun.. even marketing copywriting etc. is fun.. how are words even real..? why do words have the supreme power of connecting people's thoughts and feelings to one another and telling stories that move people... like... so amazing.... discovering literary techniques yourself or learning about it through reading other people's works or mashing up your native culture and the language you write in.... very very fun.... amazing.....

I love that for you! Language and communication truly is real life magic 😍

[fcble]

GREAT THINGS, PART I

"Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known." — Jeremiah, 33:3.

In which Haksu becomes an idol in an unorthodox way. FEATURING: Kang Haksu, Lee Taein, Fable ensemble SETTING: November 2017 WORD COUNT: 10.3k WARNINGS / NOTES: Stalking, blackmail, extremely heavy-handed religious themes. Welcome to the piece that kicked my ass for over a year 🎉🎉. As in I started it a year ago and then wrote 9k words in the past two weeks. I have versions of this piece in three different perspectives. This is technically a rewrite of something I wrote earlier but now a few times longer 🎉🎉.

You’re going to do great things. You know this because it’s all anyone’s ever told you. You hear it from your father and your mother and your father’s father—until he dies—and your father’s mother—until she dies too—and your mother’s father and your mother’s mother.

You wonder when the great things will start. Time flips by, like the thin pages of the Bible that has resided on your bedside table since you were five. You’re a kid, a teenager, a young adult. You enter and exit middle school and high school. You begin to attend a mediocre university in Seoul, because it’s the only one in the city that accepted you. You brush that off, because you’re going to be great.

You think if you’re really, truly, going to be great, you might have to do it yourself.

The man’s name is Lee Taein. You meet him for the first time in a dream. You memorize the lines and planes of his face, because something about him is familiar. You conclude he must be rich or famous or both. 

In the dream, he doesn’t tell you his name. You find it yourself, on the Internet, holding the image of his face in your head as you comb through the other dream fragments: a stage, a song, a single voice. You’ve never thought about being a singer. You wonder why. 

You know how to sing. You’ve spent over a decade in choirs. You could be a singer.

That, you decide, is greater than whatever you’re doing now, which isn’t much of anything, and certainly nothing someone great would be doing.

You do your research. A lot of research. You spend your nights in bed, the darkness of your bedroom illuminated only by your laptop screen. In the mornings, you spend twice as long covering up the shadows under your eyes. 

It’s a worthwhile exchange. You learn Lee Taein is forty-nine years old. Last year, he parted ways with SM Entertainment to found his own entertainment company. You dig deeper.

He married his current wife four years ago. Her name is Jung Eunyoung. She’s forty-three, and yet has risen no higher than a secretary for a minor law firm. You learn all this from her very public Instagram profile.

His biggest vice is gambling—some of it barely legal, most of it not. You find a news article from 1999 detailing an illegal gambling ring bust. His name is mentioned once.

His new company is called Zenith Entertainment. You’re briefly disappointed to see that the last time they held auditions was February.

There are partially censored Tweets and forum threads speculating the identities of the company’s trainees. You look at the grainy pictures and read the names: Jaeseop, Kiyoung, Eunsu. 

You keep meticulous notes: index cards and the Notes app and a notebook you bought solely to organize your thoughts. Your grades slip. You haven’t attended class in three weeks.

You spend your days at a coffee shop across the street from Zenith Entertainment. You sit in a corner with a view of the building. You order the two cheapest items on the menu: a cookie and a small black coffee. You open your laptop and your notebook and pretend to work, covering the pages of your notebook with another sheet of paper whenever someone walks by.

Mostly, you watch.

You keep track of the people entering and exiting the building. Many of them work in the copywriting agency, based on their business casual outfits. You’ve stepped into the building once, only to be overwhelmed by the bright lights and the quiet hum of computers and the feeling of wrongness at being in a professional setting.

Taein dresses almost the same. If you didn’t know what he looked like, you’d miss him. The difference is in his stride and his posture: back straight, head forward, quick and even steps. You like him even more for that. He arrives in the late morning and leaves after the sun sets. You note the times: 9:43 AM, 10:02 AM, 9:56 AM, 7:19 PM, 7:48 PM, 8:10 PM.

You learn the intricacies of his schedule. There are days when he never arrives at all. You watch and wait as the hours tick by. Eight o'clock, nine o'clock, ten, eleven. No Lee Taein in sight. You wonder what he does when he doesn't work.

There are times when he'll step outside in the middle of the day, the movement catching your eye. You watch him stand on the sidewalk across the street and smoke a cigarette while he speaks on the phone. Twenty minutes later, he'll head back inside.

Sometimes you watch him leave accompanied by a younger man, somewhere around your age, who walks nearly, but not quite, behind him. You assume that must be his personal assistant or secretary or something along those lines.

Some of the people who visit the building must be trainees. You identify them from their age—young—and their dress—casual—and the times they arrive—all throughout the day. Occasionally, they stop by the coffee shop first, becoming more and more familiar to you.

There’s the tall foreigner who pronounces Americano with a distinctly Western accent. He arrives early in the morning, ordering his coffee shortly after you. He crosses the street in casual clothes and leaves in the late afternoon with the copywriter crowd, having changed into a more formal suit jacket and dress pants. You miss his departure for days until you realize he’s dressed differently.

There are the two high schoolers: one in a lurid yellow school uniform and another in a more sensible navy blue one. Sometimes their friend arrives earlier than them and sits a few tables down from you. He doesn’t wear a uniform. He sits for a half hour or so with his earbuds in while his iced coffee melts in front of him, until the high schoolers arrive. They talk loudly and boisterously, as if no one is listening.

You listen. You learn their names—Eunsu, Byeonghwi, Mingeun—and their orders—cold brew with an extra shot of espresso, iced caffè mocha, iced caffè latte. You hear them complain about teachers and Taein and trainee life.

You wonder if they could be your way in.

At night, when your roommate asks where you spend all your time, you tell him you got a job. He asks where. You fidget and your palms sweat and your heartbeat quickens. You stare past him and lie.

That weekend, you travel a few kilometers farther than usual and confess your sins.

Absolved, you think you’re ready for what comes next. 

You have to talk to Taein. You can’t be great if all you do is wait and watch. 

You peruse your notes, all of that information collected from your research and your observations, and then you devise your plan. You ask for His guidance and affirmation every day until you receive it. It comes in the form of one of your professors agreeing to overlook the sudden string of zeros in your homework assignments and tests. You were a decent enough student until a little over a month ago. If your previous work can be so easily overworked and dismissed, then maybe it’s time for your true calling. You’ve waited for this moment your entire life.

Less than a week later, you walk into the building like you belong there, not too early, not too late. You wear a winter jacket, which you shed as soon as you step inside, over a stiffly starched collared shirt and your best Sunday pants. You step into the elevator, alone, and decide to start at the top. You press the button for the fifth floor. It refuses to light up. You press it again and again to no avail. You stand in the still elevator and try the fourth floor.

Your ascent begins. You planned it all out: it's just after nine in the morning, after all the copywriters start their work and much too early for the students to be around. You're a last-minute callback from the audition, though that was months ago. It explains why Taein won't recognize you. You spoke to someone over the phone, someone named—what was her name? You can't remember. She said you should visit, so you're here—and oh, the appointment isn't in his calendar? She must have forgotten. You'll smile winningly and apologetically and Taein will be so charmed he'll agree to take you on on the spot.

You haven’t thought farther than that.

You step out of the elevator and into a dimly lit hall. The very air seems stale. There seems to be no one else around, so you proceed slowly down the hall. The fluorescent lights cast everything in a sickly yellow shade. You’re presented with two doors. The one on the left has a small glass window. You angle yourself away from it, on the off chance that someone sees you and knows you don’t belong. The one on the right is windowless, a blank slate of dark brown wood.

You debate internally for a few moments. The longer you stay there, the longer you risk meeting someone other than Taein. You try the plain door. The knob turns easily in your hand.

“Jaeseop?” A voice asks from inside. You aren’t Jaeseop, but you’ve seen that name before.

You steel yourself, silently ask for His guidance, and turn the knob all the way.

“If you’re asking about managing the social media accounts again, the answer is no,” the voice continues. It belongs to a middle-aged man, in a plain dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a ballpoint pen in the breast pocket. He looks away from his computer screen, and you find yourself face-to-face with Lee Taein.

“You must be lost. The copywriting agency is on the first two floors,” Taein says.

“I’m supposed to be here,” you say. You bow, politely, to him, then add on, “My name is Kang Haksu. I received a call a few days ago—”

Taein cuts you off, which is maybe for the better, because now that you were about to say it, your story is paper-thin and a bit silly. “You didn’t receive anything. There were no calls. You’re no one.”

Nothing is going to plan, so you do your best to improvise. “I know you’re developing an idol group. I need to be part of it.”

Taein stares at you like he can’t believe those words came out of your mouth. You believe them. You need this. Who will you be if you don’t do this?

“This is not a charity.” His voice is bone dry. “We can’t get everything we want in life. It’s better to learn that lesson early. Tell whoever sold you your information on my business and I that I don’t take charity cases.”

“I’m not a sasaeng.” His words sting. It’s a veiled accusation, but an accusation nonetheless.

“I never said you were. People like you are a dime a dozen, thinking you can waltz into the entertainment industry with no experience and no connections and immediately become a superstar. It takes much more hard work, skill, and luck than someone like you can imagine. Try your luck somewhere else.”

His words strip you to the core. Were you too naive, thinking you’d be different? You shrink back from the ferocity of it all, cowed more than you’d like to admit. You don’t take his words to heart. You can’t go anywhere else. You’re supposed to be here, under Taein’s direction. 

You don’t know how or when, but you’ll be back. You’ll find another way. You don’t have anything to say to his words, the humiliation still burning across your face, so you turn tail and flee.

You escape out into the cold, winter morning, no closer to your destiny than you were an hour ago. If anything, you’re objectively farther away. Taein knows you now, knows your name and your face and your deepest desire. You don’t let that stop you. You vow to yourself to never let him get the best of you like that again. You’ll be seeing him a lot in the future, you know, because you’ll be in his group. 

By the time you enter the cafè across the street again, you’re bouncing back. You’ve always been resilient. You’re shielded, after all, by the grace of God. The cashier starts to ring up your usual black coffee and cookie order, but you wave it away and spend a little more on a latte instead. As you sip your drink and stare broodingly at the building across the street, your second plan begins to form. If it’s a sasaeng Taein wants, then it’s a sasaeng he’ll get. 

On your way home, you stop at a convenience store and buy a new notebook. You sit on your dorm room bed and think about the days you spent watching the building, the days when Taein was nowhere to be found. He’s a bit of a workaholic, but clearly not enough to spend seven days a week at his workplaces. You, on the other hand, are unemployed enough to spend seven days a week looking into what he does. You copy the dates and times out of your old notebook and try to find a pattern.

He arrives late on Mondays, but you chalk that up to a normal dislike of Mondays. The rest of the weekdays are sporadic. There was a week where Taein missed three days of work in a row. You wonder if it's something else, if it's easily explainable. Maybe he caught a cold. It is winter, after all. You dismiss the thought. He's up to something. You know he is.

The day he misses the most often is Tuesday, from the few weeks you've watched him. In fact, he's never been at work on a Tuesday. You wonder why you never noticed that before.

It's Thursday, which means you have a few days to continue your research. You do a quick search for how much a private investigator costs, and are shocked by the results. It's fine. You can be a private investigator yourself. How hard can it be?

You plug Taein's name into one of those less-than-reputable websites that promise addresses and phone numbers. You're prompted to create an account and pay a small fee. You click through it all without hesitating. A few thousand won now means very little in the great, grand scheme of your idol destiny.

Multiple people with the same name as Taein pop up. You aren't worried, because your Taein is a public figure. That, and you know his age and his wife’s name.

Eventually, one of them fits the bill perfectly. You take a quick break to straighten your posture and ease the stiffness from your spine. You've been sitting here, engrossed in your new plan, for the better part of an hour. 

Your best guess so far is an address in Hongje-dong. You've been lucky in your observation so far. That must mean you're on the right track. You're getting closer and closer with each passing day. Tomorrow you'll close the distance between you and your destiny.

In the morning, you wake up extra early to get to Hongje-dong before Taein leaves. You doubt he takes the subway anywhere, so you rent a bike and make your way to his address. You only lose your balance twice in your first block. It’s early enough in the morning that there’s no one around to see you.

You arrive at the address much faster than you expected. The sun is only barely beginning to creep over the horizon. Then you pause, because Taein lives in a condominium. Every house on the block looks the same. The only differences are the cars parked out front of each one and the numbers on the houses. You stick out here, a young man on a bicycle with nowhere to go. You take one last look at Taein’s home and the car outside—a white Mazda—then wheel yourself around and pedal out.

You repeat the license plate to yourself in your head until you arrive at a convenience store. It’s the only place around that’s open. You buy a bag of chips and take a seat outside, keeping an eye out for Taein. You add the plate number to your notes and try to figure out exactly what kind of car he drives. You have time to spare. You expect him to head to the Zenith Entertainment building today, and he tends to arrive around nine or ten. After you consider traffic, it shouldn’t take him more than half an hour. 

You’re almost certain he drives a 2015 Mazda 3. You head back inside and buy a coffee. Then you take a few moments to think through your plan. Like if Taein drives, then where in the city does he park? Naver Map told you this convenience store was along the quickest route to Sinmunno 2-ga. What if he has a faster route? 

You’re still worrying when Taein’s car speeds by, much faster than the speed limit allows. You jump up from your seat, nearly spilling your coffee. You can’t hold it and ride your bike at the same time, so you hurry to dispose of it and pack up your notes again. You pray Taein is heading to Zenith Entertainment. It’s a little early, but maybe there’s a good reason for that. You set off in the same direction as him, though he’s disappeared from sight.

You make your way to Zenith Entertainment anyway, and by chance, see a white Mazda disappearing into a parking garage down the road from the company building. It’s too far for the garage to be connected to the building, so you lock your bike across the street and wait for him to leave. You lock and unlock the bike lock three times, fiddling with the combination. You strap the helmet to your backpack and lean against the seat and pretend to look at your phone, all the while eyeing the entrance.

Taein never leaves. You look both ways, then cross the street into the depths of the garage. It’s risky, because Taein could see you and recognize you, but you can’t take the chance that he’s gone somewhere else or is doing something else. Your imagination runs wild, thinking of all the illicit activities he might participate in. There are a number of other cars in the lot. The copywriters, you assume.

Then, in a small walkway that must lead to another entrance, you see him, standing with another man. You duck behind a car, and creep closer to the two of them. Taein must be smoking, because the smell of cigarette smoke permeates your hiding spot. 

“You wanted to do more than catch up,” Taein is saying when you can finally hear them.

“I didn’t.” The other man sounds amused.

“We could have met anywhere else. You insisted on this attempt at discretion.”

“It’s about your case,” the other man says. “They want to open it again.”

“I thought you took care of that, Cheolhwan.” Taein sounds guarded. “How much do they want?”

You don’t know what this is about, but you silently take your phone and start to record. 

“Twice what you gave me. This is above my pay grade.”

They’re quiet after that. You peek carefully through the cars to see if they’ve left. They’re still standing there, the ember at the end of Taein’s cigarette the brightest light. You duck down again without getting a better look at Cheolhwan. You wonder if he’s a loan shark or something. Breaking off and starting a company can’t be cheap.

“Alright. The police never liked me much anyway,” Taein says suddenly. You poke your head back up to watch him drop his cigarette butt to the ground and grind it under his shoe.

Cheolhwan snorts. “I can’t imagine why. Planning on begging Jinguk again?”

“I don’t beg. Jinguk-ssi and I are proper business partners.”

That gets a laugh out of Cheolhwan, the short, rough, sound echoing around the garage. 

You stop your video recording, unsure of whatever that was. You doubt it'll be of use in your quest to be an idol, but you decide to hold onto it for now. You hear footsteps begin to recede in the distance, and you wait in your hiding place until they disappear completely. 

All in all, you feel vindicated. There's something suspicious going on with Taein. You're certain you can get to the bottom of it. It's something to do with money. You can find out who Cheolhwan is. Their relationship is uncertain to you. They spoke casually to each other, but there was a degree of aloofness to the entire conversation that you don't know what to make of. Whatever it is, it was more than a simple meeting between friends.

When you’re certain they’re gone, you stand up, stretching out the crick in your neck. You assume Taein will spend the rest of the day at work, and that’s not somewhere you can watch him too closely. You return to your usual haunt across the street instead and make an attempt to catch up on your forgotten coursework. 

It’s a good attempt, but you lose all steam when the high school trainees arrive. You stare daggers at their backs, because they’re in the exact position you want to be in. You watch them order their drinks and slowly sip them, idling the afternoon by. You don't understand why they don't take their positions more seriously. There are so many other people—yourself included—who are dying to be where they are.

But you aren’t them, so you have to settle for envy.

Eventually, they leave, and you watch through the window as they enter the Zenith Entertainment building, still laughing and talking companionably. You aren't jealous. You could build your own close group of friends. You just haven't. But if you really wanted to, you could.

The sun begins to set, and you know you've outstayed your welcome. You haven't bought anything since your single coffee hours ago. The waitstaff give you sidelong looks every now and then, but they don't ask you to leave, so you pretend you don't see them.

You finally see Taein make his long-awaited exit a little earlier than usual. He's walking fast. This time, you’re prepared. As his Mazda 3 emerges from the parking garage, you’re right behind him on your bike. You think he should be heading home, but that's not set in stone, so you decide to follow him. Your intuition pays off when you see him turn not back to Hongje-dong, but somewhere else. At a traffic light, you pause to try and figure out where you are. You've only lived in Seoul for a year and a half, the length of your short-lived university career. The city blocks are still unfamiliar to you. The light turns green, and Taein speeds off. You rush to catch up with him.

You wonder where he could be going, driving so quickly he nearly bowls over a pedestrian. Leave it to him to be so careless. Your opinion of him is souring faster and faster.

He comes to a stop outside of a small, decrepit bar you’ve never heard of before, still driving too quickly as he pulls into the parking lot. You stop, across the street again, trying to figure out where you are. It doesn’t like the type of scene that caters to university students or tired corporate employees. Your mind goes to the worst places. It could be a front for all the worst types of activities—drugs and gambling and prostitution. You record the name in flickering neon lights anyway.

You’re about to leave and try to return during the day when you spot Taein leaving. He’s in the company of a young woman, and so you almost don’t recognize him. She’s wearing a long coat, but the front is open, giving you glimpses of an outfit that isn’t close to being warm enough for the weather. She clings to Taein’s arm like a lifeline, stumbling over the cracks in the sidewalk in her heels. They look like a couple. Your stomach turns. He has a wife.

With shaking hands, you raise your phone and snap another few pictures. You don’t want to see him anymore, so you don’t bother to try and follow them. You almost regret your decision to weasel your way into his life. Instead, you get back onto your bike and head home.

Saturday arrives. You don't spend your weekends at Zenith Entertainment, because you have better things to do. Or had. This morning, you wake up early again to bike back to Taein's home. You spent some time last night wondering just how far you’ll go to reach your destiny. Between that shady conversation you overheard yesterday and the young woman he met up with, you’re almost afraid of what you’ll see him do next. Sometimes you have to do difficult things before you can do great things.

More than that you’re curious about what Taein does on the weekends. Before this, your impression of him was that of a career-driven man with few feelings or even an existence outside of his job. You don’t understand why you have to work for this man, but it isn’t your place to question it.

You cycle around the blocks a few times, and it slowly comes to light in your head.

Taein is clearly the breadwinner between him and his lawfully wedded wife, so you doubt he spends his weekends shopping or cooking or cleaning. You also doubt he’s devout. As hard as you try, you can't even begin to picture him in church. You're almost certain he doesn't have kids. If he does, it's a very closely guarded secret, because it wasn't mentioned once in anything you read about him online. You wonder if maybe he had kids with his previous wife and lost custody of them. Knowing what you know about him now, you don’t find that hard to believe.

The white Mazda 3 sits outside of his condo. A light is on inside the house. You aren’t looking forward to spending a day waiting for Taein to do something. You wonder if you should have forked over the money—your parents’ money—for a private investigator. Then it would be someone else keeping watch on Taein’s house, someone more suited for the job than one young man shivering on a bike.

You think it's weird for you to sit right outside his house, so you take to patrolling the two possible entrances to the street instead. You pedal slowly, heading up and down the street. At the moment, there's nothing you fear more than having him leave without you noticing. You pause to scrutinize the map on your phone to ensure there are no other exits or back roads or possible ways out of his home other than the main street.

Then, eventually, you see his car roll by. You rush after it. He's driving slower than normal. That's when you notice it isn't him in the driver's seat, but his wife. She's the only one in the car. It makes sense, then, that the car is following the posted speed limits. You wonder what Taein is possibly doing alone at home now.

You ride back to his house, just in time to see him step outside and lock the door behind him. You stare, shocked, and have just enough sense to hide behind the condo across the street. His wife left less than five minutes ago. Where are they going, separate and alone?

Taein heads off on foot. You wait until you see him leave. The bike is a bit cumbersome. How could you have predicted that his wife would take the car somewhere and he’d leave on foot? You walk alongside your bike and try to pretend you aren't following him. You ride halfway around the block in boredom before you have to turn around so you don't lose him. You wish he could walk faster.

You check your phone. What's within walking distance of his condominium? The convenience store you sat outside of. A station? He could get anywhere from there.

The streets are too empty for you to follow closer. If he were to turn around, he'd spot you immediately. It stresses you out. You aren't a professional. You really should have hired a private investigator.

To your dismay, he turns into the subway station. You abandon your rental bike right outside, tapping through the app to return it as you continue to follow Taein. There are a few more people here, which makes it easier for you to follow him, and easier for him to lose you.

He's waiting for Line 3 towards Ogeum, the only line that runs through this station. You check the overlapping lines on the map, standing behind him so he doesn't see you. There are too many options for possible transfers: Jongno 3-ga, Euljiro 3-ga, Chumgmuro, Yaksu, Oksu, and on and on and on. You hope he doesn't travel too far. You hope he doesn't get off somewhere and order a taxi. You fill the time by once again trying to imagine what he does for fun on the weekends. For some reason, you can't picture him doing anything. He's the type of person to spend the weekend at the office. You chart the path to Zenith Entertainment from your current location. It’s two stops on the line and then a short walk. It wouldn't surprise you if he stopped there. You don't particularly want to go to Zenith Entertainment again. You're supposed to find something about him that will leave him no choice but to accept you. The woman he met yesterday was a good start. You wonder if he's heading out to see her again. 

As you're lost in your thoughts, the train arrives. You make sure you're in the same car as Taein, though it increases the chances of him noticing you. You'll have to play it off as a coincidence. You rehearse the lines in your head. You'll pretend you don't recognize him. As if you could forget what he looks like. He might not recognize you, you realize. You met him once, for a few minutes. The train picks up speed.

You pass through the first few stops with no incidents. So Taein isn’t going to work. Your interest is piqued.

You're on the train with him for almost forty-five minutes. You watch station after station pass by, the smooth tone of the recorded announcer reciting stop after stop. Taein makes no move to exit at a single one. He stares down at his phone, which lets you stare at him. He doesn't do anything interesting. All he does is scroll through his phone, tap his screen a few times, then stare. He looks like your average salaryman.

He finally gets off in Yangjae. You’re in Gangnam now. You let him leave first. When the doors are about to close, you follow after him. He isn't heading out, but through the station. You follow him to a transfer to the Shinbundang Line. You only know this because you’re spending so much time staring at the map on your phone, it’s starting to become engrained on the backs of your eyelids.

He rides the new subway line for one stop. You both exit at Gangnam Station. You follow him up back into the daylight. It's much more crowded here, locals and tourists alike. 

Taein walks faster. That probably has something to do with the crowds. You hurry after him, thankful you're no longer burdened with your bike.

He heads down a series of twists and turns, alleyways and backroads forming a route Naver Map would never recommend to you. You’re glad it’s the middle of the day. You’d hate to do this at night.

In front of you, Taein heads into a storefront you wouldn’t be caught dead in. This one doesn’t have a name on top of it. You take a picture anyway, then cross-reference your location with the map. There’s still no name. You debate whether or not you should follow him in. From the outside, it’s not the type of place you belong. But Taein could be doing any matter of incriminating activities in there, and that’s what you need to see.

You let your internal debate rage for a few seconds more. Then you cross the street and push the door open.

The room is dimly lit. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, and when they do, you realize a few of the patrons are looking at you. You’re the youngest person in the room. You slide up to the bar and order a drink. God knows you need it.

You take a small sip and grimace immediately. It's obvious people don't come here to drink. You cast a casual glance around the room, looking for Taein. It isn't too crowded. He should be easy to spot---and vice versa, he could easily spot you. You don't see him. Most of the patrons are more engaged with the TV screens in the corner of the room and across the top of the bar. You expect to see sports or the news or something along those lines. You look up to see horses.

It clicks in your head. Horse racing. These people are day drinking and gambling. You belong anywhere else in the world but here. And where is Taein, in this entire mess?

You flag the bartender down.

"Did you see a man come in?" you ask. "Middle-aged, around my height, with an oversized watch? His name’s Lee Taein." You do a bit of your own gambling, placing a bet on Taein being a regular here.

The bartender regards you curiously. "You’re looking for Taein-ssi?”

"He’s my boss," you say. "He told me to meet him here. I was promoted recently. He wanted to celebrate."

The words fall easily from your tongue. It's more of a lie than the truth, but it could be the truth soon enough.

"Congratulations. He invited you here and didn't tell you the password?" The bartender shakes his head. He points into an ever darker recess of the room. "Down the hall. To the left of the bathroom. 8179."

You thank him and leave your drink alone. The left of the bathroom is a door with a keypad above the handle. You type in the passcode, and the lock clicks.

Taein is on the other side of the door. Your destiny is on the other side of the door. You take a deep breath and crack the door open.

You don't know what you expected. It certainly wasn't the opposite of what you experienced upstairs. For a secret room, it's well-lit and almost cozy. There aren’t many people in the room, just a few small groups of four or five people sitting around green, square tables, playing cards. Now, you spot Taein immediately, sitting behind a decently-sized pile of poker chips, the largest pile on his table. One of the people he's playing with the young woman you saw him with last night. She seems your age, maybe a few years older or younger.

You close the door silently behind you. Your skin crawls. You want to get out of here as soon as possible.

There's another bar down here, against the back of the wall. The drinks on the tables look significantly better than they do upstairs. You think about getting another one, just to make it look like you belong here and you fit in.

No one seems to notice your entrance, too engaged in their games. Your luck holds as you slide around to take a few pictures of Taein, holding your phone just in front of you, at waist level. Your fingers shake, but blurry photos are better than no photos. No one else has their phones out, not even resting on the poker tables. It feels illegal for you to do this. In fact, everything about this feels illegal. You make sure to get Taein's full face in the images, and from multiple angles. Then you slip your phone back into your pocket.

That's when you're interrupted.

"You're new here." A hand lands on your shoulder. A few people—not Taein—look up at that, before just as quickly returning to their games. You turn slowly around to see a man twice your size, a bouncer inside the club.

"I was looking for the bathroom," you say, aiming for young, fresh-faced innocence.

"How old are you, kid?"

"Nineteen," you lie. You’re twenty-one. You hate how easily that one comes out. You could have told the truth.

"Good try," the man says, keeping his firm grip on your shoulder as he guides you back to the exit. You take a glance back at Taein. Throughout the entire ordeal, he hasn't looked up once, much too concerned with the cards in his hands. Although it doesn’t look like it, you hope he loses. 

You aren't in the mood to wait in the real bar until Taein emerges, so you leave.

"Leaving already?" the bartender upstairs asks.

You ignore him. It doesn't matter. You're never coming here again.

You head home to see how blurry your pictures are. You think you might already have enough material to force him to give you a position. He's made it scarily easy for you. You didn't even need a private investigator.

You spend the rest of the week following him around anyway. You've grown used to it: the bike rental and Taein's neighborhood and Zenith Entertainment and a variety of bars and hotels across the entire city you know you’ll never step foot in again, and once, another day spent in Gangnam at a shiny skyscraper. Taein arrived at seven in the morning, earlier than he does at Zenith Entertainment, and didn't emerge until nearly eight at night. That was weird, but you had no way of getting into the building, short of breaking in. You had considered pizza delivery, kid of an employee, new employee, and a few other disguises before giving up. After the bouncer encounter, you’re staying clear of security. And that building made its security obvious, what with all the men in navy blue uniforms and earpieces, standing outside every entrance. What were the chances of Taein doing anything illegal or immoral there? Low, you figured, judging by the number of luxury cars dropping passengers off outside.

In your spare time, you try to find anything about Cheolhwan. With only a first name and a tenuous connection to Lee Taein, it’s difficult. You find two Cheolhwans in Taein’s Korea University graduation class. That was decades ago. You doubt either of those are the same man. 

Regardless, you go through with your new plan. Armed with your newly obtained material, you’re ready for your second attempt. You know Taein's schedule now. That means when he arrives at Zenith Entertainment for the day, on a bright, sunny, perfect Wednesday morning, you're standing outside his office.

"You again," Taein says, calm and impassive. "This type of perseverance is seen as obsessive behavior. The answer is no again."

You haven’t even asked your question. You watch him unlock the door to his office.

"Please leave."

You stop him from closing the door with your foot. "I have something you might want to see."

"I don't think so," Taein says. He seems to be in a bad mood. He must have had a bad night last night.

"If you don't want to see it, I think your wife, Jung Eunyoung-ssi, might have an interest in it instead," you say.

That gets his attention. "I don’t see what you’re getting at. I don’t mix business with pleasure."

"Please don't play dumb, Taein-ssi," you say, adapting to each of his evasive attempts. You didn't plan this out. You remember how poorly that went last time. Taein is unpredictable to you. You don't know him nearly well enough to begin to predict any of his responses. "I know you're seeing another woman."

Taein stares at you. "I suppose you should come inside." He sounds extremely reluctant. At the same time, you know this isn't a conversation the two of you should be having in a corridor. You tamp down the sudden flare of excitement in your chest. 

His office looks the same as you remember it. You take a seat in the plastic folding chair with the uneven legs.

"Are you a private investigator? A detective? You’ll find everything in order."

He’s defensive already. You’ve barely said anything. The investigator comment is a bit flattering. You like it.

“Everything except your marriage,” you note.

Taein shrugs. "Divorce is messy. I don't have time for that right now."

You think it's terrible that he divorced his first wife, and seems to be considering divorcing his second wife. You shove the thought aside and bring out your phone, placing it on the table between the two of you. 

“What’s her name?” you ask. “You seem to spend a lot of time with her.”

It's definitely not the strongest statement, but your proof is what's more important. After all, a picture is worth a thousand words.

"Did Eunyoung hire you?" Taein asks suddenly, ignoring your comment. He's looking at you, instead of the pictures of himself.

"No," you say. "No one hired me."

The two of you look through the album together: Taein and the young woman, arm in arm over and over and over again, in bars and restaurants and hotel lobbies and out on the street in broad daylight.

Then, Taein swipes one photo too far and you’re both presented with a photo of Taein in profile, staring intently at the two playing cards he’s holding. He picks up your phone. "How did you get this?"

He isn’t denying it any longer. You figure it's hard to deny something when the hard, concrete proof is right in front of you.

"I was there," you say.

Taein thinks about it for a second, then nods. "I didn't recognize you then. You were the one Soogeun-ssi removed."

You don't like his choice of words, but you nod anyway. You didn't think he'd noticed you. You thought you were so clever, getting away with everything. You don’t have anything else to say. Your photos speak for you.

"Who paid you?" he asks again, deathly calm. This is uncharted territory. “How much more would I have to pay you?”

“No one paid me anything. I don’t want your money. All I want is to be an idol.”

He shakes his head. “There are easier ways to do that.”

“This is the way I’m doing it. This is the way I want to do it.” This is the way you have to do it.

Taein’s expression is inscrutable. You’ve played your hand. It’s up to him to respond. You wait with bated breath, until he finally says, “I’ll give you a trial period. If you can keep up with everyone else for a month, we can reconsider your position then. If you can’t, then we part ways amicably. No one, least of all Eunyoung, needs to know what you’ve done.”

“I don’t get anything,” you say.

“You get a chance,” Taein snaps. “It’s more than you deserve. Time will tell if this bet pays off.”

You don’t appreciate being compared to a game of roulette. “I might talk to Eunyoung-ssi any time in the future.”

“You might. It won’t make a difference.” He’s oddly calm. It unnerves you.

“Why not?” You have to ask.

“Cheating isn’t illegal. Nor is playing cards in a private setting. Stalking, on the other hand, is.” You can’t do great things from a jail cell, so that keeps you from continuing to argue. 

Taein continues to speak. “For the time being, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to ruin my marriage. The negative press would be disastrous at this time, and divorce proceedings are lengthy. As long as you want to work for me, our fates are tied.”

That’s a sentiment you can support. You nod slowly. Something like a smile takes its place on Taein's face. “You can come by on Monday. The other trainees know it's too late for me to accept anyone new. Tell them you've been confirmed to debut.”

On your first day, you take the elevator up to the third floor. It opens to a floor much different from the fourth. The left side is the same: a door with a glass window, expanding all the way down as far as you can see. The right side leads into an open office, with cubicles arranged in small groups of fours and fives. There are even a few people sitting amongst the desks. That isn't your place, so you ignore them and push open the door to the left. 

There's one person in the room, a teenage boy sitting down on the floor and stretching. He looks up at you when you enter with sharp, calculating eyes. You recognize him for your days in the cafè—Mingeun. He doesn’t seem to recognize you. He rises to his feet, moving with a grace unfit for his age, like he’s so perfectly comfortable in his body despite being in his awkward teenage years. You were nothing like him when you were his age a few years ago.

“I’m Haksu,” you say. “I’m new here.” You smile at him, something you think is befitting of an idol, but he doesn’t return it. If anything, his neutral expression grows frosty.

“Mingeun,” he says stiffly. “Taein-nim promised there wouldn’t be any more new people. Where are you from? JYP? YG?”

He sounds whiny and childish. You’re unimpressed.

“Gunsan,” you try, though you know that’s not what he means.

Mingeun scowls. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

You’re about to respond, to tell him you’re not from anywhere in the way he means, when the door flies open. You recognize both of the two new arrivals—one is the tall foreigner you’ve seen in the cafè, and the other is the young man you’ve seen following Taein—his assistant, presumably.

“Mingeun!” Taein’s assistant scolds. “Stop harassing the new guy.”

“I wasn’t harassing him,” Mingeun shoots back. “We’re going to be good friends. Right, Haksu-ssi?”

The look he gives you clearly says to play along. You don’t know if you’re going to be good friends, but you nod along anyway. Their conversation continues like you aren’t even there.

“We were just getting to what company he trained at,” Mingeun says. “Then we were going to talk about why Taein-nim thought he should join us.”

Taein’s assistant winces. “You won’t like either of those answers.”

“Another SM reject? I can handle it. I’m over it.”

Taein’s assistant ignores Mingeun and turns to you instead. He holds his hand out, Western-style, and says, “I’m Jaeseop. I’m so sorry about Mingeun. We''—he gestures to himself and the cafè foreigner—”were supposed to be the first ones to meet you. Sam—Taein-nim—held us up. Oh, and that’s Andrew.”

Your first impression of him is that he’s frazzled and all over the place. You imagine being Taein’s assistant is a difficult job. Behind him, Mingeun folds his arms, clearly upset about being excluded from the conversation. 

You grasp his hand. “Haksu.”

“I know,” Jaeseop says, suddenly looking like he’d rather be anywhere but in front of you. “Taein-nim told me about you.”

You wonder how much Taein told him. You don’t think he’d tell his assistant everything. It’s supposed to be a secret between the two of you.

“How many—” You hesitate in the middle of your sentence. Of you? Of us? How long until you're one of them? “—other trainees are there?”

“Seven,” Jaeseop says. “With you, there's eight.”

“If you're expecting monthly evaluations and competing against fifty other trainees, we're past that,” Mingeun cuts in.

“We’re the debut team. We’re all that's left,” Andrew adds.

The three of them seem so in-sync with one another, like parts of a perfect, well-oiled machine. You're the loose cog, the piece of scrap metal carelessly tossed inside, with all the potential of breaking the machine into pieces. And how does Taein's assistant fit into all of this? He seems close to Andrew and Mingeun, closer than an assistant to the CEO should be.

“When will I meet everyone else?” you ask, just to change the subject.

Jaeseop, with all the mental fortitude of an overworked assistant, takes a deep breath and begins to rattle off a list of names and short descriptions and times, most of which fly right over your head. “Intak will be here around lunchtime, after his classes end. Byeonghwi and Eunsu come by after school in the mid-afternoon. Kiyoung-hyung keeps saying he'll quit his job, but he hasn't, so he won't be here until the evening.”

Andrew picks up on your obvious cluelessness, and simplifies it down to, “Intak will be here soon. He'll be extremely bad at small talk. Don't mention it to him.”

You don't know where that came from, but you nod along anyway. These are going to be your group members. You need to get along with them. 

“Don't talk about League either,” Mingeun adds suddenly. You didn't realize he was still part of the conversation. “Unless you're also an SKT fan upset about their loss. He's really into that. You don't seem like a gamer.”

“I play a bit,” you say diplomatically, because you do. You were a teenage boy at one point, and there was no way for you to survive those years without playing League of Legends at least once.

“We all have sensitive topics, “ Jaeseop says as way of explanation. “Things we don't want to talk about and therefore try to avoid unless there's no other way around it. Mingeun, yours are?”

With a sigh, Mingeun dutifully says, “SM Entertainment. All you need to know is that I used to be a trainee there. And my mom. You don't need to know anything about her.”

Jaeseop keeps saying “we.” If you hadn’t seen him so many times with Taein, you’d take him for another trainee. You want to ask what his role really is, but you know you can't, because it'll betray you. It's harder than you expected to act like you know nothing about them. You'll have to be careful to not slip up. 

He turns his full attention to you, and asks, “Got anything?”

This is the last thing you expected from your first day as an idol. Your first item comes quickly. “How I joined Zenith Entertainment.”

You know you'll have to tell them eventually, but for now, you want to get along with everyone. Mingeun looks like he wants to ask you anyway, consequences be damned.

Andrew dismisses him before he can speak. “Byeonghwi asked for the same.”

“He asked us not to ask him why,” Jaeseop corrects. “He got in through the audition.”

Mingeun attacks like a shark smelling blood in the water. “Why’d you do it?”

You could tell them that, you suppose, but something holds you back. You want to be certain you can achieve your destiny before you start shouting it to the world. “I don't want to discuss that either,” you say instead. It's the only way out of it you can see, so you take it.

“Can we talk, hyung?” Mingeun asks, turning to Jaeseop. “Privately?”

You know you'd be the subject of their conversation. You can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. You like the attention, but in this context, it seems bad. You want to get along with Mingeun, but it's clear he has little intention of getting along with you.

“No.” Jaeseop's response is firm, and you like him a little more for that. “You can tell me in front of Haksu-ssi.”

Mingeun falls silent, clearly unwilling to say whatever he wanted to say a few minutes ago.

“Great. Anything else?”

You do have a few other ideas in mind, but you've already chosen two major ones and you're afraid to rock the boat, so you shake your head.

On the wall behind him, you notice, for the first time, a schedule created out of a bunch of individual pieces of paper taped together. You skim over it. It’s overwhelming. There are classes on three out of the seven days, scheduled back to back to back: dance lessons and vocal lessons and rap lessons and media training and a short section on how to walk and more dance lessons. It's overwhelming. You're thankful to see that Sundays are, blessedly, left empty.

Jaeseop follows your gaze. “It’s a lot to take in at first,” he says sympathetically. “You’ll get used to it.”

You will, because you have no other choice. Your options are to adjust, or to give up and forfeit your spot and your destiny. The latter isn’t even in the realm of possibility. You’ll adjust and you’ll succeed, because you have to.

Then it's noon, and Intak arrives. You remind yourself: no comments on his social skills and nothing about League of Legends. He shows up with nothing but a laptop bag slung over one shoulder and a can of Red Bull. He looks over you with a disinterested gaze, asks, “Another one?”, chugs his Red Bull, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he and Andrew disappear out of the practice room to wherever else they go. 

Mingeun leaves shortly after the two of them. You know he's going to the cafè to wait for the two high schoolers, but you don't say that out loud. You watch him leave, and then you're left alone with Jaeseop, the two of you sitting on the floor. 

“If I ask about how or why you became a trainee, can you give me an answer?” Jaeseop asks.

“No,” you answer, because you can't.

“Do you have any relation to the Danyoung Group?” is his next question.

“No,” you say again, unsure what a chaebol who built and now owns three-quarters of the buildings in Seoul has to do with you. “I’m from Gunsan.”

He stares at you like he doesn't believe you. You meet his gaze until he looks away. 

He sighs. “I’ll take you on a tour. You haven’t seen everything yet, have you?”

The question appears much more rhetorical than literal, so you follow him out of the room. 

“The floor used to be all office space,” Jaeseop says, walking backwards as if he’s a professional tour guide. “This half hasn’t been converted yet.” He gestures to the messy sprawl of cubicles. To your surprise, that’s where Andrew and Intak are, two chairs in the same cubicle, though it looks like Intak is the only one working. 

Jaeseop avoids them and makes a beeline for the other side of the space. It’s emptier than you had thought at first glance. He introduces you to a middle-aged man, sitting at a desk, surrounded with a tidy assortment of trinkets and knick-knacks and framed photographs. It’s the polar opposite of Taein’s office.

“This is Sanghyun-nim,” he says. “He’s Taein-nim’s right-hand man. He does all the unpleasant tasks Taein-nim doesn’t want to do.”

That doesn’t seem conducive to your image of Taein. You’ve seen him do a few unpleasant tasks. You suppose those weren’t necessary for his job.

“The menial ones,” Sanghyun corrects. “You’re the new recruit. Kang Haksu-ssi.”

“That’s me,” you say, surprised by the way he recognizes you. You wonder how much Taein told everyone else, what kind of story he fed them. You doubt it was the truth. You hope you can trust him. If you can’t, it’s a little too late for that.

He seems like he could have an entire conversation with you, but Jaeseop whisks you away. “Hyekyung,” he says, of a young woman around your age, with a phone tucked on her shoulder, taking notes with her other hand. She waves in your general direction.

“Social media and marketing,” Jaeseop explains. “I wouldn’t get on her bad side. She’s really the one in charge of this entire area.”

He stops in his tracks and points across the room. You tiptoe to see what he’s trying to point out to you. A woman who looks like she should be a floor below them with the copywriters sits alone at a desk, a wide berth between her and anyone else.

 “Gyeongwon,” Jaeseop says, voice dropped to a whisper. “She doesn’t work here, but she works with Taein-nim. I wouldn’t upset her either.”

He moves on, taking quick strides across the floor to the side opposite the elevator. “The stairwell is here. Goes from the first floor up to the rooftop.”

You think he’s going to take you up the stairs—to the rooftop, maybe—but he stops. “The fourth floor is only Taein-nim’s office for now. I assume you’ve been there. The fifth floor is empty. The elevator doesn’t go up there. If you do ever go up to the rooftop, the door is always stuck.”

You try to follow along, completely overwhelmed with the amount of new names and faces and information you’re expected to now know.

Jaeseop checks the time on his phone. “Mingeun should be back by now.”

You don't have much praise for Jaeseop's tour. This time, when you open the practice room door, Mingeun is pacing. The conversation stops abruptly as you enter. Eunsu and Byeonghwi, you remember, though you can’t remember who’s who. 

Jaeseop comes to your accidental rescue. “Eunsu.” He points out the boy in the mustard-yellow uniform. “And Byeonghwi.”

Byeonghwi gives you a smile and a wave, and you’re immediately struck by how he seems genuinely happy to meet you, as if he was destined to be an idol, forever pretending and playing along with people slipping in and out of his life. Like you, you have to remind yourself. It’s a sharp contrast from the way everyone else has behaved around you. High school students are supposed to be annoying and immature, not better than you at your own fate. You try not to let it get to you.

Not long after their arrival, Intak and Andrew make their re-entrance. Andrew is in a different outfit, the type of corporate wear you’ve seen him leave in. You see your opportunity, so you take it. 

“You changed,” you observe.

“Work,” he says. “I teach English at a hagwon.”

You wonder if he’s qualified to do that, and then if the parents of the students he teaches know that their teacher is focused on being an idol and not on teaching. You should have guessed. What else could he do? 

You watch him leave. Almost as soon as the door shuts softly behind him, Intak pulls Intak to the side and speaks softly. You strain your ears to overhear, though you're drawn into Eunsu and Mingeun and Byeonghwi’s inane conversation. 

"I can't work with him," Intak is saying.

"I know," comes Jaeseop's reply. "You have to try."

"I am trying," Intak hisses. "He's the one who doesn't want to try. He thinks he can do it all by himself. He refuses to show me anything he's working on. He’s impossible."

"I know," Jaeseop says again. He says something else, but you don’t hear it, because Byeonghwi is asking you how and why you joined the company, and you have to tell him that’s not something you’re ready to talk about yet.

You watch the sun start to set out of the windows overlooking the street. They're open, but they face the wrong way and let no air in. You want to go home. Jaeseop steps out to pick up dinner. No one makes a move to leave, so you don't either.

When the sun is fully down, you meet Kiyoung. He arrives looking a bit too much like a copywriter as well. You would have mistaken him for one, had the reception to his entrance not been perfectly warm and friendly.

You learn a few more facts in rapid-fire fashion. He's the oldest of the team. He works for an environmental non-profit organization, and is refusing to quit until he finishes his current project. Before he was a Zenith Entertainment trainee, he was a trainee at another small company that went under before he could debut. He met Jaeseop when they were both in middle school and their schools double-booked the same trip location.

You exchange a few more pleasantries, and then the mood of the room shifts more towards homework than anything else, because everyone—with the exceptions of Kiyoung and Intak—are still in school. It surprises you to learn that Jaeseop is a student.

“This is my last semester,” he explains when you ask. “I don’t go to class much anymore. I’ll graduate just fine.”

You’re beginning to feel like the odd one out, so you continue your hopeless quest to catch up on all your work. You probably aren’t going to graduate. You probably aren’t even going to finish this semester.

Andrew returns later in the night, and that, for some reason, signals the end of the day. Eunsu is pressed to the glass, announcing his imminent arrival before he even steps foot in the building. Andrew’s single action upon returning to the third floor is to pick up Byeonghwi, who seems only too enthusiastic to leave. After that, it’s a free-for-all bordering on a bloodbath. You wait, because you’re new, and it’d be rude of you to be one of the first to leave.

Then it’s you and Jaeseop and Mingeun, nearly a mirror image of the morning. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Jaeseop says to you, and then in almost the same breath, “Make sure you go home, Mingeun.”

Mingeun scowls.

You nod, though you’re almost dead on your feet. You think being a private investigator might be a little easier. You aren’t sure how, but you’ll survive it. You have to. It’s the only way you can do great things.

[queerchoicespb]

brain rotting over finishing hss and hss:ca after not having played choices forever ago and thinking about what they'd all do in the long run (main characters/lis for now bc listing everyone would be a lot)

hss mc - took me forever to figure out what they could possibly do but when i thought of this idea, it just clicked. hss mc is a pr specialist. whether for solo clients or big companies, with the jack of all trades personality, natural charm and charisma, and their penchant for falling into drama, this mc would make a GREAT pr person.

maria flores - while a politician might be the typical choice, i actually think maria would hate politics. she's too straightforward for that shit. for maria, i think she might go into a mix of law and social work or law that leans towards helping communities.

emma hawkins - what with her involvement in the yearbook and love for fanfic, i think emma might lean towards a writing job. maybe it's as a copywriter, a game writer, a novelist, or a magazine journalist, no matter her choice, she'd definitely be able to adapt to whatever her environment is

michael harrison - film bro. but not in the douchey way, i'm p sure. michael would def lean more towards filming docuseries like emerald's show or something attenborough-esque. he's also more the type to learn through experience over school (i don't think he'd spend on a film degree if he doesn't think he has to)

caleb mitchell - a coach. a coach for what? beats me! if he gets a football scholarship and manages to go pro, then he'd probably be like a college coach or something, if he doesn't get a scholarship, then i think he'd still end up becoming a coach but for high school/grade school phys ed. i don't think he'd want to stay pro tho bc the environment is A Lot and caleb is a p chill dude

aiden zhou - pbviously a composer. he'd def get snatched up by an orchestra and sometimes get hired to compose for films and video games. he's also my bet for Most Likely To Be Busy All The Fucking Time

hss:ca mc - television and stage actress. i don't think the hss:ca mc would enjoy the never-ending spotlight of being a movie star. as dramatic as they are, they'd def be the type to want more stability in their life, which is why choosing an acting career that spans months and, oftentimes, years, is exactly their pace of work

rory silva - stage and film actor/actress. while rory might say they're loyal to the stage, they'd also be the type to want more of a platform. not necessarily because they have a huge ego (their ego is slightly above passable size), but because they're the type to have Things to fight for (their mom's cancer, the toxic masculinity their dad grew up with that affected their family, more scholarship/funding opportunities for students, etc.)

skye crandall - businesswoman. skye would be Super Against It at first, but when she learns of all the things she can do as a businesswoman, then she starts leaning into it. she very much aims to be HBIC and maybe she pulls it off at work! but she is still v much the softie skye outside of work

ajay bhandari - stage director. ajay would focus mostly on off-broadway shows but every now and then he'd direct a mind-blowing broadway and sometimes even west end show. he would prefer off-broadway bc of more creative liberty but he would also like it bc it's a better place to find surprising talent

[morningstartranslation]

5 Reasons Why You Should Be Careful About Machine Translation

Machine translation (MT) usually refers to using algorithms and machine learning (ML) models to translate natural language text from one language to another without human intervention. The most common MT examples include but are not limited to Google Translate, Bing Microsoft Translator, Amazon Translate and DeepL.

With the rapid development of generative artificial intelligence (AI) and ChatGPT, many industries face unprecedented challenges, and the translation industry hasn't been spared. Taking efficiency and cost into consideration, more and more business clients tend to use machine translation to complete their projects.

However, is it always a wise choice? Here are 5 reasons why you should be careful about machine translation:

① Cultural Accuracy: Every culture possesses unique lexical terms, slang, and colloquialisms that machines haven't shown the capability to translate yet, inaccurate translations may lead to poor interpretation of your brand, vision, market position and business strategies.

② Human Touch: Human translation goes through a time-tested process of multiple editing and proofreading to ensure that the translation isn't only grammatically correct and readable, but always enhanced for the target audience. On the contrary, machine translation can only generate simple, toneless text, it's fast and budget-friendly, but it can never be intriguing.

③ Flexibility: Language is constantly evolving, one single term may have entirely different meanings in different contexts, let alone phrases, sentences or even longer paragraphs. MT tools can only generate translations based on the known corpus, they can't predict and correct specific grammatical and cultural errors like human do.

④ Layout: Good translation takes time, so does formatting/layout. When we assess the quality of translation, formatting/layout also palys an important part. Unfortunately, almost all MT tools can't handle this properly, they just ignore it or put some illustrative texts instead.

⑤ Confidentiality: As a responsible language service provider, we should never disclose customer information to any unauthorised third party. But as far as I am aware, some MT tools, especially ChatGPT, may collect and store different kinds of user input, which can be a great security risk for businesses.

In short, it's OK to use MT tools in less important content (i.e., content that does not require translation precision and extensive copywriting). But when it comes to business documents or audience-facing content, there is nothing can beat human translation.

Visit https://www.morningstartranslation.com/ to learn more.

[monsterkong]

Sales Sparks: The Secret to Closing More Deals Effortlessly

Hey there, fellow sales warriors! 💪 Let’s talk about something that could seriously change the game for your sales team—Sales Sparks. Imagine having a sales genius at your fingertips, ready to help you close more deals with ease. Sounds pretty awesome, right? Well, let me tell you all about how this little powerhouse can transform the way you do sales.

🌟 What’s the Deal with Sales Sparks?

So, you’re sitting at your desk, and a message from a potential customer pops up. You know the drill—you need to respond quickly and with just the right words to keep that lead warm. But instead of racking your brain for the perfect response, you just copy the message, pop it into Sales Sparks, and bam! You’ve got a killer reply ready to go. Whether it’s an email or a text, Sales Sparks nails it every time.

But here’s the cool part—Sales Sparks isn’t just doing all the work for you. It’s also teaching your team as it goes. Yep, your crew is learning from every single interaction, getting better and better at representing your dealership like total pros. Pretty sweet, huh? 😎

💸 Why It’s Totally Worth It

Okay, now let’s talk dollars. For just $99 a month per rooftop, your whole sales department gets access to this sales genius. Think about that—less than a hundred bucks, and you’ve got a tool that can make your team faster, smarter, and more effective. It’s like having a personal copywriter who never sleeps and always has your back.

Plus, with Sales Sparks, you’re not just sending out any old responses. You’re sending messages that are polished, professional, and perfectly tailored to your customers. That means more trust, more engagement, and yep, more closed deals. 💰

🚀 Ready to Level Up Your Sales Game?

So here’s the deal—if you want to give your sales team an edge, you need Sales Sparks in your life. It’s smart, it’s affordable, and it’s ready to help you crush your sales goals. Don’t wait—get on board with Sales Sparks and watch your sales soar!

[tryslat]

The Best AI to Human Text Converter Tools for Content Creators in 2024-25

In today's digital landscape, content creators are constantly seeking tools that can bridge the gap between artificial intelligence and human creativity. As AI-generated text becomes more prevalent, the need for reliable AI to human text converter tools has grown significantly. These tools ensure that content retains a human touch, making it more engaging and relatable. In this article, we explore the top AI to human text converter tools in 2024 that every content creator should consider.

Why AI to Human Text Conversion Matters

Artificial intelligence has revolutionized content creation by automating tasks, but the results often lack the nuance and emotion that only a human can provide. AI-generated text can sometimes be robotic, lacking the subtleties of human language. This is where AI to human text converter tools come in. They refine AI output, making it more natural and suitable for a wider audience.

Top AI to Human Text Converter Tools in 2024

AItoHumanTextConverter.in

Overview: AItoHumanTextConverter.in is a cutting-edge tool designed specifically for content creators who need to polish AI-generated text. The tool leverages advanced algorithms to make text more human-like, enhancing readability and engagement.

Key Features:

Seamless integration with various content creation platforms.

Customizable settings to adjust the level of humanization.

Real-time text conversion with instant feedback.

Why Choose It: This tool is ideal for bloggers, copywriters, and marketers who want to ensure their AI-generated content resonates with their audience.

Content Humanizer Pro

Overview: Content Humanizer Pro offers a robust solution for converting AI text into content that feels genuinely human. It’s equipped with advanced natural language processing (NLP) capabilities.

Key Features:

Deep learning models that understand context and sentiment.

Multilingual support for global content creators.

User-friendly interface with drag-and-drop functionality.

Why Choose It: Perfect for international content creators who need high-quality, human-like text in multiple languages.

NaturalText.io

Overview: NaturalText.io focuses on creating conversational and relatable content from AI-generated text. It’s especially useful for social media posts and short-form content.

Key Features:

AI-driven text suggestions based on user input.

Tone adjustment tools to match brand voice.

Analytics dashboard to track content performance.

Why Choose It: Ideal for social media managers and influencers looking to create engaging content quickly.

Humanize AI

Overview: Humanize AI specializes in making AI-generated content more persuasive and emotionally resonant. It’s a go-to tool for sales and marketing professionals.

Key Features:

Emotion detection to enhance the emotional appeal of text.

Integration with major CRM platforms.

AI-powered copywriting tips to improve conversion rates.

Why Choose It: Essential for marketers aiming to drive conversions with emotionally compelling content.

TextPolish

Overview: TextPolish offers a simple yet effective way to refine AI-generated text, making it more suitable for publication.

Key Features:

Grammar and style enhancement.

Plagiarism detection to ensure originality.

Export options for various content management systems (CMS).

Why Choose It: Great for content creators who need to polish their AI-generated drafts before publishing.

How to Choose the Right AI to Human Text Converter

When selecting an AI to human text converter tool, consider the following factors:

Ease of Use: Look for a tool with a user-friendly interface that fits seamlessly into your workflow.

Customization Options: The ability to adjust settings for tone, style, and readability is crucial.

Integration: Choose a tool that integrates with your existing content creation platforms.

Cost: While some tools offer free versions, premium features may come at a cost. Assess your budget and needs.

Conclusion

As AI continues to evolve, the demand for tools that can humanize AI-generated content will only increase. Whether you're a blogger, marketer, or social media influencer, the right AI to human text converter tool can make a significant difference in the quality of your content. Explore the tools mentioned above and find the one that best suits your needs in 2024.

For the most reliable and user-friendly AI to human text conversion, visit AItoHumanTextConverter.in and elevate your content to new heights.

[goodluckclove]

Hi Clove, I have a question. What do you think about using AI like ChatGPT for brainstorming?

I don't mean making it do everything for you but using it as a crutch. I'm a pantser at heart, but as someone whose brain can't put two coherent thoughts together, I find the process of making my thoughts legible almost impossible.

Can AI be helpful like this, or is it really not a good idea? In any case, I'm probably robbing myself of learning experience by taking shortcuts. Thoughts?

~ defeatistwriter (can't send this from my sideblog RIP)

Hi Deffy!

So I'm going to be outright and say I'm heavily biased against the use of AI in writing. I was a copywriter in a marketing agency that decided to nearly fully incorporate early ChatGPT into our workflow, essentially reducing my job from writing to just prompting. I have firsthand experience in knowing how faulty and just plain frustrating language models can be. It disgusted me so much that I quit the stable office job and started making sandwiches at the grocery store.

At the same time, I know this situation has nuance. People are using AI in creative writing more and more, and for a lot of them I can see why. Ideas can be hard to parse. I can feasibly see someone using AI as a jumping off point for their creative work in a way that still involves effort and human insight. And while i told myself I would never do this again, I respect you as a creator and I want to give an honest attempt to understand where you're coming from before I just go AI BAD.

So this is going to be a long one.

Let's fucking go.

So I started simple by asking Chat for an idea for a horror story. This is what it came up with:

How about this: The Forgotten Town: In the heart of the Appalachian Mountains lies a forgotten town, its existence erased from maps and memories. Decades ago, a tragedy befell the town when a series of unexplained disappearances occurred, leading to its abandonment. Years later, a group of urban explorers stumbles upon the town, intrigued by its mysterious past. As they venture deeper into its deserted streets, they uncover disturbing clues hinting at a dark secret hidden beneath the surface. Soon, they realize they are not alone in the town, and something malevolent lurks in the shadows, preying on anyone who dares to uncover its secrets. As night falls and their numbers dwindle, they must race against time to unravel the town's horrifying truth before they become its next victims.

Yeah that's - fine? It's fine. It's fine. But it's also a little more detailed than I would prefer to make something that's actually my idea (Of course, I could just only use a fraction of this). I know phrasing makes a big difference with language models, so I asked again and instead of "idea" I said "concept".

How about this concept: The Whispering Woods: Deep within a remote forest lies a grove where the trees seem to whisper secrets to those who dare to listen. Legend has it that the grove is cursed, haunted by the spirits of those who lost their way in the woods. When a group of hikers decides to camp in the forest, they stumble upon the grove and are drawn in by its eerie tranquility. But as night falls, they begin to hear whispers in the wind, voices from beyond the grave urging them to leave before it's too late. Ignoring the warnings, they soon find themselves trapped in a waking nightmare as the forest comes alive with unseen terrors. Each step deeper into the woods leads them closer to the truth behind the curse, but also closer to their own demise. Will they uncover the secrets of the Whispering Woods, or will they become just another tale whispered among the trees?

Wow. it's the same response format. Also, it's clear by now that Chat's concept of horror as a genre is drastically reduced into what if something happened, but it was scary? So maybe horror is not the right genre. Let's try romance!

I tried asking it for possible meet-cute scenarios. Let's see what it comes up with.

Certainly! Here are two more meet-cutes for a romantic story: Shared Adventure: The protagonists find themselves on the same guided tour of an ancient castle or historical landmark. As they explore the winding corridors and hidden chambers together, they bond over their shared fascination with history and archaeology. Their mutual curiosity sparks a series of lighthearted adventures as they playfully race to uncover the secrets of the castle, all the while growing closer with each passing moment. Chance Encounter at a Farmer's Market: Amidst the bustling stalls of a local farmer's market, the protagonists accidentally collide while reaching for the same ripe fruit or artisanal cheese. Their initial embarrassment quickly turns into laughter as they help each other gather up their fallen purchases. They strike up a conversation about their favorite local foods and recipes, and before they know it, they're sharing a picnic lunch together, surrounded by the vibrant sights and sounds of the market.

Notice how Chat said that it was giving me two more meet-cutes? That's because I cycled through about ten to find two that weren't just...boring. Like imagine you asked a couple how they met and they were like we wanted the same cheese. I'm sure it happens, but like...ugh. No.

Let's try a setting.

Cozy Coastal Town: Set in a quaint coastal town nestled between rugged cliffs and a picturesque shoreline, this setting offers a charming backdrop for a romantic story. The town is known for its cobblestone streets lined with colorful cottages, bustling seaside cafes, and breathtaking views of the ocean. With its laid-back atmosphere and friendly locals, it's the perfect place for the protagonists to escape the hustle and bustle of city life and discover each other amidst the soothing sound of crashing waves and salty sea air. As they explore the town's hidden gems together, from secluded beaches to cliffside trails, they find themselves falling in love amidst the beauty of the coastal landscape.

This is something. This is a description of a location. What I'm not a fan of is how just basic it is. Wouldn't a romantic story be more interesting if it took place someplace you wouldn't expect? Also, fun fact, Chat reused hustle and bustle of city life from a previous meet-cute prompt because language models are hack writers.

Subterranean City: Beneath the bustling streets of a modern metropolis lies a hidden world—a sprawling network of tunnels and chambers that form an ancient subterranean city. Discovered during the excavation for a new subway line, this forgotten underground realm is filled with mysterious ruins, luminescent fungi, and underground rivers. The protagonists, drawn together by their shared fascination with archaeology and exploration, embark on a journey to uncover the secrets of this hidden city. As they navigate the labyrinthine passages and encounter ancient artifacts, they find themselves drawn to each other amidst the ancient wonders and dangers lurking in the depths below. Amidst the echoes of the past and the glow of bioluminescent flora, they discover that love can flourish in the most unexpected of places.

You know what? I'll give it to you, Chat, this is a more unexpected location for a romantic story. It's also such an insane overcorrection that I have no idea what to do with it. My options here are either the movie adaption of Mamma Mia or some sewer person love story? That's the scope, here?

I'll do one more before I get to my final point. Many romantics stories have that archetypal misunderstanding, right? Can ChatGPT think of something like that?

Assumed Identity: Due to a case of mistaken identity, one protagonist, Jamie, believes that the other protagonist, Jordan, is already in a relationship with someone else. Unbeknownst to Jamie, Jordan was merely helping a friend and is actually single. This misunderstanding creates a barrier between them as Jamie tries to suppress their growing feelings for Jordan, believing that they are unrequited.

Wow. Holy fuck.

Here's the thing, Deffy. I know this probably isn't how you brainstorm. I gave it an honest shot, and now I think I can honestly say in good faith that you are a better writer than ChatGPT. You are smarter than ChatGPT. You are more creative than some language model that can only spit out what it's data-munched off the internet.

The thing about these language models is that, at least in creative writing, they have yet to produce an original concept with nuance. They can't. The software says variations of what it's seen online. In earlier versions I told my team they had to search answers to make sure they weren't outright stolen verbatim from other sources.

You've seen that Assumed Identity answer in like a billion romcoms. Same with meetings that start with two people reaching for the same anything - which, by the way, I would just let them take it and move on with my day. I'm socially awkward I'm not about to flirt with someone when I think I almost stole their cheese or pastry. Even with the ideas like the spooky abandoned Appalachian town that might not specifically be from one thing, doesn't it kind of sound like it could kind of be from like a bunch of things?

This is not me roasting you. You are not a bad person for wanting to do this. You want to write and I know can write. I legitimately don't believe you when you say you can't form a cohesive idea and if you need it I'm happy to talk you through at least creating enough of a concept to write something.

If you need to brainstorm, there are better ways to do it. Writing a horror story? There are Youtube channels that document real-life horrors - and not just exploitative true crime stuff, I'm talking niche lost media disasters, online mysteries, the kind of tragedies that are otherwise unspoken of. Want to write a romance? Maybe scroll Reddit's various relationship boards to get some voyeuristic inspiration into the trials and successes of various kinds of love.

Have no fucking clue what to write? Find inspiration in your favorite media property. Write a version of you that isn't you and change the outcome of a moment from your past, good or bad. Write a story about a mouse birthday party. Shortcuts aren't always a bad thing, Deffy, but you're capable of far more than i think you expect of yourself.

Fuck ChatGPT, by the way. Never again.

Okay one more.

sick fuck yeah.

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