I finished writing a short story two nights ago and I'm still feeling that funny warm glow one gets when they've completed something they feel is great. On Tuesday evening, I suddenly had the urge to put down some thoughts I had been mulling over the previous week. I grabbed my notebook, and started writing.
I had been (and still am) reading Murakami's Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman and I was getting a little concerned with the creases that appeared on the spine as I progressed through the book. I thought about how such creases defiled the beauty of the book, but then debated that the creases showed that the book was fulfilling its purpose--to be read--and this was beautiful in its own way. So I was writing down what I thought about all this and when I got to the end, I felt I needed to write some more. So I added in some characters. I placed them in a location. I made them meet up. And I found myself with a beginning for a short story.
Usually, that's just as far as I get. Then I abandon the story because I don't know what would happen next. In this case, I felt the story just coming in, like a gushing stream after rainfall. I just couldn't stop writing. I knew more or less what would happen, and if I didn't, I managed to make something up that was credible to the story (or at least I would like to think so!). I was in the office when I started writing, and as luck would have it, I didn't have work to do. So I just kept writing and writing. Right until 6. Then I got on the LRT. I found I needed to continue the story, needed to find out what happened next. So I wrote and wrote all the way from Sentul to Bukit Jalil. And when I got home, I found the story had not been completely drained out of me, and it wanted to be put on paper. It insisted. I complied.
Late that night, after approximately 3500+ words, I was done. I'm still not sure how or why I suddenly felt like I needed to get down so many words at once, and almost non-stop too. It has happened to me only once before... and I wish I knew how to replicate it. It's a wonderful feeling zooming through words, enjoying a story as I'm writing it. I've already typed it up in Word, but I'm staying away from it for a while so I can return to it one day with fresh eyes. But I've got a feeling this one will still be a good story when I get back to it (unlike countless others which managed to look like complete drivel).
I hope I can share it with you one of these days. The short story (current draft is 3800+ words) is entitled "The Creased Spine of a Paperback" and is about a man who is meeting his old friend from school for the first time in a long while. His friend has called for an urgent meeting with him and now the man is wondering what's the matter.