During my MFA in literary translation, a conversation with a nonfiction student stood out. She expressed her reluctance to translate because, as she said, "I want what I’m writing to be mine." This comment puzzled me, as I didn't understand how translation related to selflessness.

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As a translator, I often face the reality that my name will appear in smaller text beneath the author's name on book covers. Many readers may not recognize that translation is a complex craft that requires far more than simple vocabulary conversion. In my experience, while translating felt like hanging drywall in a new house, writing my own novel was akin to framing the entire structure.

Translation is inherently collaborative, involving both the author and translator. This teamwork reflects a community-oriented ethos in translation, which contrasts with the individualism some writers may embrace. A translator must be willing to share credit, raising the question: if one desires complete ownership of a narrative, why choose to translate or even write?

I often begin my writing process by jotting down observations from everyday life, similar to scrapbooking. By collecting these fleeting moments, I can weave them into cohesive narratives. This approach evolved further through my work with Korean author Yun Ko-eun, whose novels and stories have significantly shaped my perspective.

Working with Yun on her works like The Disaster Tourist and Table for One, I gained insight into her creative process, which often starts with seemingly trivial observations that grow into full plots. Her protagonist Yona embodies a curious spirit, constantly questioning everyday occurrences.

Through my translation of Yun's work, I developed a newfound sense of wonder and creativity in my writing. Exposure to Korean literary devices, such as the aesthetic use of repetition and the tendency to anonymize locations or characters, inspired me to explore similar techniques in English. Translation enriched my writing toolbox by revealing unique literary approaches.

Contrary to the perception that translation is selfless, I argue it can be a deeply personal endeavor. As I translated, I gained confidence and expertise that have informed my own writing. When revising my debut novel, The Obsessed, I faced the anxiety of discarding drafts for fresh scenes, much like I did while working on translations. Yet, these challenges honed my ability to arrange words effectively in both translation and original writing.

Translation demands creativity while relying on existing narratives, whereas writing emphasizes personal conviction and confidence—something I grappled with when creating my own novel, which hadn’t yet received external validation. I appreciated the trust I had in established plots while translating, but writing required faith in my own storytelling.

Now, with a foundational understanding from both translation and writing, I feel more capable of weaving stories. Throughout my revisions of The Obsessed and ongoing work on translating Art on Fire, I found that the skills from each endeavor complemented one another. Transitioning between editing my novel and my translation was challenging yet illuminating, demonstrating how translation and writing are intertwined.

Being a successful translator—to know when to trust my instincts or accept feedback—has made me a better writer. I look forward to the ongoing relationship between these two crafts in my future as both a translator and an author.