Lizzy was the 19-year-old daughter of a Scottish sheep farmer. She lived near the village of Twatt in the Shetland Islands, a remote place known for its tiny horses and, to a lesser extent, Up Helly Aa, an ancient pagan festival where people set fire to a longboat in the name of tradition, historical accuracy, and celebrating Christmas. Once a year, she and her friends would dress up as Vikings, march through the streets with flaming torches, and burn a ship. The rest of the year, like everyone else her age, she spent 18 hours a day looking at her phone.

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Then, overnight, Lizzy had become the most successful author in history.

 

Lizzy had no memory of writing Water. That was because she hadn’t. She'd tapped on a YouTube ad before an Ed Sheeran video by mistake, something about “Write the Bestseller of Your Dreams!” She had tapped “Sign in with Google,” also by mistake, then on one of the cute emojis BigByte used to ask visitors what kind of book they wanted to write. Lizzy had recognized Yoda, with "Sci-fi" underneath.

 

After that, nothing. She'd gone back to watching Ed Sheeran think out loud, blissfully unaware that she had just become the literary voice of her generation.

 

It was Donald who had realized the problem first. He'd called her via WhatsApp, hoping to brief her on the publicity campaign, but was immediately confronted with her Shetland accent. It was unintelligible. A combination of thick rural Scots, rapid-fire delivery, and a general disregard for consonants made her incomprehensible to anyone south of Inverness.

 

Donald, ever the opportunist, had pivoted. Lizzy would not be doing interviews. Instead, she'd receive a small, legally binding payment to keep quiet. As per the terms and conditions on Donald’s website (which she had also agreed to by clicking a button), she would receive 2% royalties and an @excellentbooks.com email address. But following Water's success, and banking on Lizzy not having read the terms, Donald had changed it to 0.00002% and added a non-disclosure clause. She was strictly forbidden from discussing the book. If she said anything, she wouldn’t see another cent, and she'd end up in court.

 

Lizzy had spent all her earnings on the latest, most expensive smartphone, which she used to scroll aimlessly through TikTok. The rest of the money flowed to Donald. Lizzy was actually just an innocent bystander in the entire thing. The real villain was Donald. But BigByte didn’t realize that yet.

 

The Interview Disaster​

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Despite Donald’s best efforts to keep Lizzy away from the press, the BBC had insisted on an exclusive interview with the world’s biggest author. Reluctantly, Donald agreed, figuring he could feed Lizzy answers via an earpiece.

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It went badly.

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The host, a polished news anchor named Fiona, smiled warmly at the screen, where Lizzy appeared from her bedroom in Twatt, a tangle of fairy lights and unwashed laundry in the background.

 

“Lizzy, congratulations on the phenomenal success of Water!”

 

“Aye, cheers.”

 

The anchor hesitated. “So, tell us, what inspired you to write the book?”

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Lizzy blinked. “Eh?”

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“The book. Water. The one you wrote.”

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“Oh. Uh. Weel. I dunno.”

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There was a pause. Donald hissed into her earpiece, but Lizzy, distracted by an alert on her phone, didn’t hear him.

The anchor tried again.

 

“Your book has been described as ‘the most profound literary work since the dawn of human civilization.’ What do you think people are connecting with most?”

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Lizzy blinked again. “Aye, it’s guid, like.”

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Fiona looked confused. “Right. And what message were you hoping to convey to readers?”

 

Lizzy shrugged. “Just… y’know. Stuff.”

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“Stuff?”

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“Aye.”

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Donald scrambled for a solution. Fiona tried to salvage her big interview.

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“Lizzy, let’s talk about your writing process. How did you go about constructing such a deep and intricate narrative?”

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Blink. “I just tapped a thing, like.”

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Fiona blinked. “Tapped a thing?”

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“Aye. Yoda.”

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Donald yanked the Wi-Fi cable out of the router. Lizzy’s screen froze. Fiona, ever the professional, quickly wrapped up the segment, while Donald buried his face in his hands.

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At least no-one would understand what she had said. But after that, Lizzy did not do interviews.

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The Translation Problem

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One of the biggest hurdles Water faced was translation. The book had been written to such exacting specifications that its Flesch Reading Ease score was impossibly high - borderline unreadable in any language other than English. To make matters worse, BigByte was relying on Google Translate, which was good, but not that good.

 

The results were catastrophic.

 

In the French version, all dialogue was somehow rendered in 18th-century courtly prose, with characters addressing each other as “cher monsieur” and “chère madame” while discussing spaceships.

 

The German edition, for reasons no one could explain, included detailed instructions on assembling flat-pack furniture between chapters.

 

The Russian translation was inexplicably rewritten in the style of a Soviet-era propaganda pamphlet, leading many to believe it was a political manifesto.

 

And in the Chinese edition, Water had somehow become a cookbook.

 

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Meanwhile, Back in Twatt

 

Lizzy remained blissfully unaware of all of this. She continued scrolling through TikTok, watching hair tutorials she would never attempt and true crime videos about murders that had definitely not happened in Twatt. Every so often, an email would arrive from Donald, usually instructing her to keep quiet.

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So she did.

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Until she didn't. 🫣🙄