Rhythm!

Last Saturday, my editor/publisher gave his feedback on 5 of the 28 stories that I've submitted. He said mostly I need to work on my rhythm. Stories have rhythm too, just like songs. He suggested that I read the stories out loud and hear what they sound like. He also said that I'm self-censoring myself. Some stories have potential to become erotic, but I stopped it before it could go down that path, LOL! A good example is 'Counting Raindrops'.

One story, 'Water Warrior' was really off though. He said there were too many things there that I did not know eg bank robbery, smoking ganja, etc. Maybe I'll drop it for this round, I'm going to need a lot of time to re-write that. I shall rework it into 1 of my boarding school's unique culture stories for my next collection.

Meanwhile, I got a big surprise while attending an author's creative writing workshop on 9 August. I met Kak Teh for the first time! And she was sitting at the same table as myself, facing me too. A quick personal intro by this Malay woman in tudung made me think she was Kak Teh, and it turned out that I was right, hehe... Didn't expect her to be soft spoken though, her writer's voice is very crisp and strong.

We did a bit of freewriting during the session. Below is a story that I managed to churn out from the workshop, 1 of my Haj ones. Interestingly, I kicked start 'Hide and Seek', another Haj story, from a freewriting exercise during a creative writing workshop too. I guess my holy land pieces need special recall techniques to start off. They are kind of tough:)

Street Singers - 1st Cut

Orange light spreads across the sky. Sunrise. It is our second day on the holy land. My three roommates and I have just left the Al-Haram mosque. The crowd from the Subuh Jemaah prayers shuffles ahead of us. A pilgrim shoves my left shoulder, another one on my right. More and more people knock against my arms and my back as they rush to overtake us. I adjust my white Telekung and neatly tuck in the few strands of stray hair on my forehead.

Along the way, we saw Indian merchants busy opening their outlets. The men quickly roll up their front shutters to reveal colourful displays of goods. Road-side sellers have already laid their mats on the ground and started business. “Nasi kerabu, nasi lemak, mee goreng!” A woman in black robe and long Tudung with a white veil covering her lower face calls out to us. She is seated on a low stool. I glance at the familiar triangular packets of food in front of her. A Tabung Haji officer told us that Patani settlers often take advantage of the Haj season. This is the time of the year to make money from local delicacies that remind Malaysian pilgrims of their home.

Chanting resonates from afar. Its’ intriguing melody and crispness are haunting. The beautiful, high pitch voices seem to have risen from further up the street. It is accompanied by loud rhythmic clapping. The synchronised singing becomes louder and louder as we move along...

(more)

Red Water

After sending off my draft stories to my editor/publisher, I felt so light. So, I managed to do much more reading. I've also completed another one of my Turkey stories:)

Red Water - 1st Cut

(continues...)

He takes her straight to the thermal pool. They step up onto a low staircase and enter through the door. The scene before their eyes startles her. It feels like a whole different world altogether.

Rising steams make the walls seem hazy, causing the place to appear smaller than it actually is. Bubbles popping out of the hot reddish murky water makes the pool seem like a huge pot of boiling soup. Its rust-like mineral dregs remind her of a documentary of Planet Mars that she caught on National Geographic.

A Caucasian woman and child have just arrived. The little girl pulls off her top, puts on her bathing cap and slowly steps into the pool. Her mother follows suit.
“I come here a few times a week. My friend gives me a good rate.” He stresses again, in case she has forgotten. “Do you bring your… I don’t know what you call it, you know for swimming?”
“Swimsuit? No, I don’t.”
“Would like to come again? I can fetch you from your pension."

She thinks about it for a while. Obviously he is planning to swim too, to fully utilise the time he takes to drive her there. She squirms inside. Being in the narrow pool in the hot turbid water with an old man for company is too much for her to stomach...

(more)

Striking Gold

On Tuesday evening, I finally submitted my first draft of short stories to my editor/publisher. There are 27 stories altogether. From experience, it will take around 2 months until the book is published.

Only the day before, my co-author from our first book was shortlisted for an international award for her solo collection. That is great news. It gives a strong recognition to Malaysian literature. The award provides a solid platform for our publisher to stand and strike big deals from. He can now directly market his books internationally.

It is hard to believe that it was only 2 years ago when we worked on our first book together. I've seen how much she has improved. Of course, she started at a slightly higher level than the 2 of us; her language command is stronger. Nevertheless, her win is a boost to all. It proves that dreams are not too far away. I am so inspired, but also very nervous. I know my editor/publisher is going to come down even harder on us now, if that's possible. After years of patiently searching for hidden gems, he has struck gold, finally:)

Below is my latest boarding school tale. I've wanted to include a racial piece in my upcoming collection. I am so glad that it came, even at the 11th hour.

Colours - 1st Cut

(continues)

He pushes back the tip of his glasses and finally speaks. “Assalammulaikum.”
“Waalaikumsalam, Cikgu.”
“Before we start the session, why don't you introduce yourselves first? Let's start with you, Tok Batin.”

He gestured towards a plump and short boy seated next to him. His unusual choice of a nickname seems to fit as somehow the smart-looking lad does remind one of a village medicine man. We giggle quietly. The boy seems startled before regaining his composure and starts speaking confidently. “Assalammulaikum. I'm Nizam from Perak.” The teacher signals to the next person and we all take turn one by one.

Once we finished, he turns to the first boy again. “So, Tok Batin, tell us what made you choose this uniform?”

He looks puzzled.

“You are the only one here who is not dressed in light blue top and dark blue bottom. So, why? You like this colour?”
He looks down at his peach cotton shirt and dark brown pants. “Yes,” he grins.
“This is a good colour. It's a warm colour. Warm colours show courage.” He pauses for a while and turns to look at the rest of us. “Do you like blue?” He asks no one in particular. “Blue is a weak colour, it's the Malays' favourite colour. Blue and green. Chinese likes warm colours, red, orange and yellow.”

He points to my lap. “Even your file is blue.” He chuckles.

(more)

Commuter Tales 2

My low blood sugar experience on the way to work yesterday morning triggered another story. So this morning, I completed 1 more commuter tale. It's much longer than the rest though, at 1200 words.

Sugar - 1st Cut

As the door of the train opens, she pushes her way between two rows of passengers to reach the deeper part of the compartment. People are leaning along the walls, there is no more empty space. She has to make do standing in the centre. She puts her bag down, against the side of her leg. She looks for the plastic holder hanging from the metal rail near the ceiling. To her surprise, the was none, they have been removed.

She grumbles silently and puts her palm against the wall to steady herself while the train takes off. It is difficult to maintain balance without actually holding on to anything. At times, her hand accidentally hits the book that the woman opposite of her is reading. She wishes she could trade spot with her and comfortably lean against the wall, peacefully enjoying the short story collection in her bag.

Even the metallic connecting floor is fully occupied that morning. Normally, that is the least favourite spot. Every time the train turns, the floor moves to the left and the right, making one standing on top feel giddy.

Her hand felt stretched. Tired, she releases her palm from the wall. She takes a deep breath. The route is a bit longer from KL Sentral to Pasar Seni; this is where the train suddenly speeds up, almost making her lose her footing....

(more)

Commuter Tales

Somehow, lately, I've started writing very short stories inspired from my daily experience of using the public transportation system. This range from LRT and monorail to commuter and transit train. I'm talking about between 350 to 800 words here, or the new term for it is flash fiction. Maybe one day, I'll have a separate collection of these. Right now, I think it's sufficient to include them in my general collection. That is subject to what my instructor has to say about it though. He has not read any of it.

An excerpt from my 5th commuter story which I wrote this morning:

Beads - 1st Cut

When the LRT train stops at Dang Wangi station, a young woman steps in. She carries a black plastic folder under her arm and a brown leather handbag on her shoulder. A crisp two-piece dark blue suit, matching light blue blouse and black pumps show that she has taken care to dress well. A long string of brown beads complete her attire. When she moves, the necklace colour changes from orange and amber to maroon and dark brown.

She notices the empty seat near the connecting part of the train. She tugs her skirt neatly before carefully sitting down. The folder and handbag rest on her lap. The woman beside her gets up at the next station. The seat is not taken after that. Suddenly, a loud popping sound is heard, once, twice, three times. It resembles pieces of marbles tumbling down onto a large wooden floor. The sound is heard once more before the woman realises the source. One by one, her brown beads drop onto the empty plastic seat before rolling down onto the floor.

She touches her necklace, only half of it is still hanging around her neck. A look of surprise spreads across her face....

(more)

Revisiting & Reuniting

Last week when I dropped by at my publisher's place, he asked if I would be interested to read through a collection of short stories' drafts submitted by my co-author & comment on the logic, as well as language. Yeah, he beat me to it, so it looks like I would the last to publish my solo book, among the three of us. LOL!

I had to attend a dry 2-day course so I brought the drafts along. I actually finished reading & commenting on all his 20 stories in 2 days. I have to say that his type of stories are not in the local market yet. He had found his niche - surreal/fantasy element mixed with another element eg relationship, crime, etc. However, this batch is not as gripping and shocking as his previously published bunch. Nevertheless, I think they would appeal to a wider group of readers, and not upset so many people. LOL!

As for me, I am nearly done with my first drafts. I have 22 complete stories, these are enough & they meet the minimum number of words given by my publisher at 60,000. However, I would like to squeeze in at least 2 more because these are different ie Hide & Seek and The Kid.

Fate also had it that I reunited with a friend from boarding school whom I have not met in 20 years. He had a solo exhibition recently, his third. He paints as part of a therapy for his schizoprenic and bipolar disorder. Coincidentally, his favourite painting matches the title of one of my stories - Hide & Seek. I requested to use it for my book cover and he agreed. He wants royalty should I sell more than 100,000 copies though, LOL! Later on, my publisher advised me to go for a more abstract piece. I found a simple but yet distinct one using the 3 primary colours only. Mr Designer is working on the cover design right now. I can't wait to see it.

The story below is not part of the last 2, I am still not sure of it. I first started writing it around 2 years ago, during Raya holiday. Those who follow my blog would know who inspired it. I had a problem continuing it though. I only picked it up around 2 weeks ago and re-wrote it completely. The cotton castle of Pamukkale, Turkey had inspired the background of this fantasy world. Yeah, it had turned into something else. No more a simple alien-psychology story. I didn't plan for it to be a romance - fantasy/sci-fi - psychology piece, but it became that way, LOL! It may still not have the element of a romance, who knows, I still have a long way to go:)



A Liar's Brain - 2nd Cut

Today is the last day I am allowed to walk around on my own. Tomorrow, I will become someone’s wife. The realisation hits me, as much as I try to ignore it. Nervousness, fear, doubt and all sorts of feelings force its way into my mind.

“The stranger whom you will marry is due to arrive soon.” That’s what The Hat announced during the people’s assembly last week. The human has been identified from a foreign land and will be brought here to enrich our community. As curious as I am, I dare not question his decision. He has led our land for many centuries, he knows best.

I use a plastic basin to scoop the chalky mineral water and pour it onto my Hat. After repeating it a few times and ensure that I have covered my whole body, I lay in the deep and narrow calcium pot for a while. The top comes up to my shoulders. The snowy sand stretching for miles and miles away was breathtaking. Ivory mountains wave at me. The equally white trees dance around me. “Good morning,” I shout out to them and laugh when my voice echoes back at me.

I squeeze out some fragrant algae powder and shampoo my hair. I reach for another container and pour out some star fish powder. I use it to scrub my body. Several more scoops of chalky water and I am done. I climb out of the pot and sit on the sand, allowing the cool breeze to dry my body. I run the tortoise comb along my hair. Being early means that I have the whole bath to myself. And I love the calmness of the dawn, it is so quiet.

I wonder what my husband to be is like. I shall find out soon. The Hat had asked me to be at the People's Hall to welcome him when he gets here later.

(more)

Onion on the Wall

I haven't had time to update on the consecutive blows that I faced during the last 3 weeks. Emotional outbursts at work where they don't belong plus the lack of emotion in my personal life where I could use some... hmm... a trying month indeed.

And I had just returned from my school reunion in Perak a few hours ago. There's more to that too.

In this entry, I just want to quickly share an excerpt from a short story that I started during my 3-day corporate video course on Wednesday. This experimental piece combines romance, supernatural and violence.


Onion on the Wall - 1st cut

The clock is unlike any that she has seen before. Resembling a two-dimensioned onion, it hangs flat on the wall at the outer front of the cafe. Its' body had been meticulously crafted from thin sheets of brightly coloured metals; these unfold horizontally like a rainbow. At its' centre, two tiny white arms spread out to 2.30pm.

Rose takes a deep breath and tugs her feet underneath the rough wooden carved table. Despite the drizzle, she chose a spot outside. She sits back on the stool and leans against the big damp tree trunk behind her. Her flip flops lay apart on the wet earthen floor. She flips Murakami's 'At Night' novel in her hands several times before putting it down again.

“Hello.” The cheerful voice belongs to a petite waitress. She hands over a square orange menu. “What do you want to order?” She reads the first line. “Just some Hot lemongrass tea, please.” The girl takes the menu and walks off. 10 minutes later, she returns with a full tray. “Thanks,” she stares at the beverage. The big glass plunger carries enough cloudy lime green liquid to fill up at least five cups. Somehow, it reminds him of the moss that grows at the side of the lake. She pulls the holder up and pour a bit into the small red cup. Her fingers shiver slightly.

She looks up at the clock. It is 2.55pm. She wipes the trickles of water on her brows and nose. It was raining heavily when she left the gallery 15 minutes ago. Funnily, it was her third time down the lane and she had never noticed the tiny cafe before. While her hair, clothes and flip flops are drenching wet from the rain, her cheeks are equally wet from tears. After going back and fro three times, she decides to stop by. The first thing that caught her attention was the onion clock.

As she sips her tea, she wonders where Zack is at that moment. He has asked her not to worry, assured her repeatedly that he has everything under control. She doubts it. She knows that he has not received the payment for his last job yet. Even if he had, it was far from enough. There is nothing else she can do. She had dug deep into all her bank accounts and scrapped the last bits of her savings...

(more)

Single Room Ensuite

I initially thought of sharing the story of my frustrating stay at Homeros Pension in Selcuk, Turkey in an entry. However, when my instructor showed me a writing contest in Harper's Bazaar, UK with the theme 'mother', I knew this story will be perfect for that. I have decided to tell it from the pension owner's mother's point of view. That is challenging considering that she speaks very limited English. As I write, I realise how many times I actually bothered the poor old woman. Her son deserved a a good spanking, he was so thoughtless and insincere. You can read my online review here: http://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowUserReviews-g293976-d307645-r25794318-Homeros_Pension-Selcuk_Izmir_Province_Turkish_Aegean_Coast.html

It will be tough keeping the story below 2000 words though. Let me know what you think, ya?:)

Single Room Ensuite - 1st Cut

(continues)

The next morning, I hear a female voice calling me. “Mamaaa! Mamaaaa!” The clock shows 6.30am. I climb up the stairs. The guest is standing in front of her bedroom door in her white thermal under shirt and pants. Her long hair looks uncombed. “There is no hot water,” she gestures with both hands. I put up my palm, a sign for her to wait. She nods. I climb up the stairs to the first floor and walk to the master bathroom. The hot water has been switched off. I turn it back on and then tell her to wait for another half an hour. I lift up one finger and indicate cutting it into two. She nods in understanding and re-enters her room.

After breakfast, Osman takes her to the Ephesus ruin site around 5 kilometer away. He tells me that she has ventured out on her own after that. She does not return when darkness creeps in and I start to worry as I wait in my room. To my relief, she turn up at 7.30pm. “Yoohoo...” I sing and rush up the stairs. She smiles and nods in appreciation. By then, she notices my concern.

The morning after, again she calls me at 6.30am. “Mamaaa...”
“Yes.” I climb up the stairs. “There is no hot water,” she says.
I recognise trouble. Winter does not stop this Asian girl from bathing twice daily, and from her irritation, I know that she did not get a hot shower that morning either .
“I give up,” I put my hands up and try telling her that it is caused by the cold. “Upstairs got hot water.” I pointed to the stairs and ask her to follow me. She goes into her room and picks up her transparent toiletry bag from the dresser and the used bath towel hanging on the wooden chair. We climb up. I point to the master communal bathroom. She goes in and thanks me.

During breakfast, she complains to Jervis, my son.

(more)

Picking Up

This morning, somehow I got the inspiration to re-look and re-approach a long overdue story. I first submitted the story to my instructor in December 2007. He rejected it, saying that it has 2 different stories within it and I need to decide which one I wanted to write. He also said it was impossible for a gay man to turn straight and years later form a relationship with his partner's ex-wife.

After trying out at least 3 different angles, I got stuck again, and again. I then shove it aside. This morning, I thought of laying the 2 main characters at Pulau Ubin instead of at Clark Quay. And I think it changed the emphasis altogether. Probably, the story will just remain focus on their argument before the big day, instead of having a long 'ala detective plot'. Intro is as below.

The Other Woman - 5th Cut

The two handsome men have not said a word to each other since they arrived. Probably in their early-thirties, they look like models or movie stars. The Malay chap is dressed in a black shirt with long gold chain around his neck and a pair of black jeans. His Chinese companion is dressed in a white t-shirt and bright pair of bermuda.

They sit quietly on the boardwalk and watch the mangroves below. Spear-shaped roots of the plants stick out of the reddish thick muddy earth, struggling for oxygen to breath. Bubbles burst through the water when mud-skippers jump. On the far right, green algae peek through the shallow sea. Patches of sands rise through the water. Two purple twin mountains greet in the distant horizon.

More minutes pass and the greyish and mossy shades above starts to crack. The sea slowly mirrors the gloominess of the sky. An infinite line divides the two, depicting an illusion of the edge of the earth floating in the galaxy. Rain is coming soon. Visitors quickly leave the island. But the two men do not move, oblivious to the sorrounding and the scurrying around them.

The one seated on the left sigh loudly and shake his feet, the sight of his black sneakers dangle down the balcony. Finally, he speaks, “So, you are marrying her!”
“Hey, it's not like that!”
“Don't insult me, Ron! I saw the wedding cards with my own eyes. Were you even planning on telling me?”
“Hey, Ali! Will you calm down for a second.”

He looks away, a tall tree standing distinctively on the left catches his attention. Its' leaveless branches dance to the bright blue background, graced by fluffy white clouds.

The Day Off

On Tuesday evening, I had a bad gastritis attack. I thought lightly of it and went home earlier to rest. To my horror, it got much worst at night. Amazingly, just after my alarm clock went off at 6.00am the next morning, it went off, almost completely. By then, I was too groggy to get up and get ready for work. I smsed my boss asking for an emergency leave. How to take medical leave if it was already gone?

To my surprise, fate had its' plans for me. As soon as I opened my email, I found a semi-good news waiting. It was an update on the Stegner Fellowship Award at Stanford University. They received 1600 applicants and will announce the results on 1 April. There was also a bolded line stating: 'If you receive this message, your application is being considered.'

I got ready and strait away went to visit my publisher at the bookstore. It doesn't really matter if I don't get selected. The fact that my manuscript made it to the 2nd round is good enough for me, I guess; considering that I only found out about it 24 hours before the deadline. At least, it didn't go right into the dustbin, LOL!:)

Sharing my latest short story as below. This was inspired from my visit to the land of a thousand minarets.

The Wooden Liver Box - 1st Cut

My whole body above the knees was awkwardly curved into a stiff C-shape. I continue walking up the narrow passage. Its height seems no higher than 160cm. My knees and thighs are sore. My neck feels stretched. My t-shirt is soaked with sweat. It is scorching hot at 40 degrees when I was outside but the air within gets cooler and cooler. I fight the feeling of claustrophobia. “Come on... come on... just a little bit more,” I tell myself.

The last ten minutes feel like an hour. It was like entering a dwarfs’ kingdom. My bended legs take a few more forced steps. I pause upon arriving at a large opening in the stony structure. The ceiling is high enough for me to stand up straight. I breathe a sigh of relief and turn to look behind me. Despite it being the peak of tourists’ season in early summer, there appears to be no visitor close by. I rub the back of my neck.

The spacious chamber on the other side is very dim. Squinting, I try to focus. I nearly jump when I see an old man in a stark white traditional cotton dress waiting for me. Hands clasped, a huge smile spreads across his face. “Welcome young man. You have reached the heart of the pyramid. Come in.”

(more)

Finished

My creative juice has been flowing irregularly nowadays. Sometimes, I felt so inspired but unfortunately it happened when I hardly had time to pen down the words. Frustratingly, when I did have a lot of time during the weekends, I wasn't very productive.

On the last day of 2008, my co-author's first solo book was released. I quickly got a copy on Friday and up to now, have finished reading 20 out of her 22 new stories. I was surprised that the cover design was something she and my instructor put together though, it had a professional feel to it. Her plots are mostly down-to-earth but her characters really punched out the stories. Reviewers commented that she is good at creating complete, rounded characters and she has a way with prose. When reviewing the drafts for our first book, many times she said she felt like she didn't know my characters. More insights needed.

And reading her latest work did inspire me. It reminded me that I'm very close to completing my drafts. I need to function at full force from now onwards to get my first solo book out by April. I have even started picking up drafts that I've left halfway done or completed many months ago.

And coincidentally, I've been having difficulty with the short story below; yeap the 'toilet world' one. I first started writing it more than a year ago and had re-visited it several times after a few months, and finally after a year. Somehow, though I managed to end it, it didn't seem quite 'finished'. The characters seemed flat, even to me. It was a tough piece in the first place, involved quite a major technology-related research.

Anyway, I did another round of polishing this morning. I added in brand new insights discovered from Mr Designer's relationship with his business partner. Now the main character and his business partner seem more real. Voila! I think it's ready. I shall share it during the next writers' forum next week, if one of the 3 volunteers does not turn up that is:)

Flush, Papa, Flush - 2nd Cut

(continues)

My eyes felt tired. I squashed the cigarette stump into the overspilling ashtray in front of me. That was the last one. I threw the two empty Salem boxes into the metal dustbin under my desk.

I had been studying the 50-page ‘Request for Proposal’ document in my study room for three hours then. A charcoal pencil in one hand, my fingers moved on the pieces of A3 papers every time the right images came to mind. Our office was closed for the week for Christmas but we both needed that job badly. I had to get the sketches ready before Taka come to my house to discuss the presentation the next day.

I took a sip of the lukewarm Japanese green tea. It did not help. When Nami was around, she would prepare and serve tea just at the right time so the beverage would still be piping hot when I drank it. I could feel their presence all around me. I could hear their voices sometimes. The emptiness was overwhelming. Maybe I should return to Kuching and start anew.

(more)

Kryptonite Immunity: Pride or Denial?

I met Mr Designer just now. Wow, the way he reacted to the blow was nothing like what his partner and I could ever imagine. The writer in me is beginning to get more and more intrigued with the complexity of this guy's character and personality. He even beat the 2 main characters whom I struggled to capture in words in 'Chestnut Chocolate Mooncake', my most well-praised short story; it depicts a conflict between a no-nonsense French Chef and an ex-military German F&B Director who thrives on creativity and doing things differently.

At first, Mr Designer tried to avoid eye-contact, ke kept looking far left. That was different from his usual habit of looking down, intensely. When he was 'certain' that his partner had not called or seen me since last week, he started to relax. And guess what? He straight away went into getting the status updates of the business pitches and quotations their company had submitted. Looks like I didn't even have to ask his partner to give him a percentage from the jobs they are doing for my company. Obviously, he himself didn't waste any time in identifying his share, and his clients. Since there will be no more fixed monthly income, he is dependent on that.

That reminded me of the time when we first met. I noticed that despite his soft spoken ways and blur-detached nature, he was quick in fishing for business. His in-depth technical knowledge and finger-tips recall of pricing helped too. In fact, even until now, he has been following up on the status of quotations that his partner sends me, and checking whether invoices have been sent after a job is done. When it comes to money, he becomes 10 times more alert.

He didn't break the news to me. Naturally, his ego didn't allow that. However, while he was getting his car to send me home, I managed to touch base with his partner. His partner quickly called and asked him to break the news to me himself, in his own words. I got into his car then and overheard part of their conversation. He said 'No need, it's only internal, not external.'

Whoa! Did he really think I wouldn't notice anything different? Like why isn't his Mac notebook with him for instance, and why he is not doing designs anymore (he knows I am particular and his designs meet my expectation, only they arrive way too late). I'm used to briefing him directly, and he always insists in dealing directly with me too, instead of letting his partner worry about it ('account servicing' is the guy's responsibility anyway, 'designs' are his). He actually agreed to email me the revised designs of the only outstanding item for my company tomorrow. How? The designs are in the notebook! Later, I found out from his partner that they would meet at the office tomorrow, and he insisted on finishing those designs himself.

He is either damn arrogant or still in a state of denial. I think he will act like the boss now that he doesn't have to do the designs (technical work) anymore. On the bright side, he can bask in his flexible schedule, focus his energy in bringing in business and not be bogged down with nitty gritty. It's not like I would find out about him being sort of dismissed from the payroll, or so he thought.

Also, there was a major problem with the printing for their other main client's corporate diaries 2009 just now - the colour was off. The diaries were supposed to be sent to their clients' offices nationwide with enough time to distribute before 1 January'09. There was no way they could do that. Funny but Mr Designer kept saying that their colour separating supplier and printing supplier were supposed to adjust accordingly. He has a very unusual way of working. As far as his partner and I were concerned, softcopy of the final artwork that you gave was supposed to be ... final, ready to go!

His partner and their senior partner were under grave pressure, almost broke down. On the contrary, Mr Designer himself was extremely calm. Of course, without the Mac keeping him up, he continued sleeping until afternoon yesterday. He then spent time playing the new Play Station with his kids at their house till late at night. So, he was well-rested for once in a long period of time. He even said he like that kind of problems... the types that could be solved. He didn't noticed anything wrong, yeah, his sense of time is almost zero. He commented that his calm and cool demeanour was important in the profession and he failed to see what the panick was all about. He made fun of their senior partner. Though said lightly, I sensed his hatred.

Now I know why despite losing RM300k in the stock market in 1998 and having to sell his house and car, he didn't fall into a depression. You will find a few characters based on him in my upcoming short stories collection. I may have to split up his personality/character:)

A Letter at Sunrise

During the long weekend, I also managed to start a new story, and finished it too. I've always wanted to write a story about Mr Designer. It occured to me that an interesting point of view would be from the man himself, it is kind of amusing actually. Imagine if he were to write a letter to his ex-wife...

I came to work feeling really re-charged on Tuesday morning. He smsed me at 11.30am, saying that he had emailed me a design due. He then called and said he was coming to see me in a few hours. At that time, I have to say that I really didn't feel like talking to him and wasn't looking forward to meeting him. He didn't have to come and discuss in person, it is his partner's job. He is the back end person. His partner called after that and so, I asked him to join us. He was delayed so I was left with Mr Designer for over an hour. I managed to find safe topics to talk about eg get his feedback on my stories, discuss rain drop visual for my book cover, etc.

His partner read the first draft of below, couldn't help laughing despite being really mad with Mr Designer and commented that I've captured him so vividly. Maybe I should show it to him one day, it may shake him to his senses. LOL!

Just now after having dinner with him and his partner, he sent me home. It was drizzling, traffic was quite slow. In the car, again I struggled for safe topics of conversation eg my new holiday plans for once. When we arrived, I forgot my normal departure 'salam' and straight away opened the door. He didn't forget, extended his hand, I shook it quickly and got out. Usually, I'd hold on for a while and squeezed his hand like there is no tomorrow. Hmm... I think he realised that too.

Sunrise - 1st Cut

My Dearest Hana,
I am sitting at the study desk in my bedroom, admiring the beauty of sunrise through my window. At this moment, you would be dropping Alif, Aiman and Aini off to school. I have always wondered how you do it. You know, taking care of the kids on your own, juggling that big job of yours as a Senior Operations Manager and managing the house as well. I sometimes ask you why you do not just put them on the school bus, along with the neighbourhood children. That way you would not have to wake up so early every morning. I know I could never do all that by myself. “Because you are useless, that is why,” you would snip at me.

Tomorrow, I shall be babysitting them at your house again. It has been every other Saturday for quite a while now. You said you have errands to run and it will be easier if I do not take the kids out. They are already 8, 9 and 11, I am sure I could manage just fine. It is not like I would forget about them and leave them behind. But then, you have never had much faith in me anyway. You did not even dare leave them in my sole care until recently.

(more)

Surreal, Sensual and Spooky

I got quite a bit of writing done over the long weekend. It felt good to finally complete 'The Lotus Twin'. I started this piece almost half a year ago. I'm happy that the plot turned out quite differently from what I initially had in mine. The heroine became someone else and got the story going in another direction too. I even freaked myself out in the end, spooky, hehe...

The setting was inspired by my short vacation in the 'City of the Angels' a year ago. I really love the Suk11 'little traditional village' - it consists of a backpackers' hostel, an outdoor cafe, a spa and a DIY cooking barn-like place.

The Lotus Twin - 1st Cut

(continues)

The masseur gestured for me to lie face down and covered the lower part of my body with a large floral printed cotton cloth. She rubs the warm lemongrass scented oil onto my back, her fingers dancing in a rapid circular motion, the pressure slowly increasing as my body responded to her rhythmic touch. The fresh aromatic fragrant lulled me into a deep state of relaxation. The whole world was non-existence as I savoured every moment.

I nearly grumbled when she announced that it was time for me to turn around. She held up the cloth like a mini curtain as I lazily turned onto my back. My eyes half opened, I caught a glance of my look-alike again. She was dressed in the spa uniform and standing right behind the masseur. Her face was expressionless as her gaze rested on me. It was as if I was looking into a mirror. I shivered.

“Everything okay, Mam?” The masseur seemed concern. “Are you cold?”
I looked up again, my twin no longer stood there. I shook my head, “No, please go ahead.”
She spread the cloth onto my body and proceeded to massage my right arm. “You have very beautiful fingers, Mam.”
“Thanks.” I mumbled, still trying to calm the storm in my heart. I must have imagined it, I told myself repeatedly.

(more)

Surreal and Sensual

When my instructor challenged me 2 months ago, I had no idea what it would trigger. He asked me to write a story unlike anything I'd ever written before, something not based on reality or real life. So, I shared 'Counting Raindrops' during the forum last Saturday. To my delight, the piece had evolved far from what I'd initiated a few months back. In short, the two characters had taken over and freely ran the story as their own, without me dictating them. Hence, my little experiment was successful:)

The audience's reactions were really fast too. I couldn't believe that they were listening intensely throughout; I thought the story was a bit too long for a reading, 2700 words. My instructor's immediate response was, "That sure was different!" He said he liked my writer's voice. It has become really confident, since I could talk about counting water in the pond and counting veins on the body without blinking an eye. I continued marching on without worrying whether people find it ridiculous or not. They were all going like, "Whaaat...?? It reminded him of Raymond Carver's story on the pet peacock. Who would have thought of something like that?

I knew the piece was surreal (the phrase 'magical setting' came out often), but I noticed several people also commented that it was sensual. Someone even said 'erotic'. Apparently, they all got it as a unique romance piece, one even commented that it should have more sex scenes. I cut it short for fear of it sounding like Mills and Boon. Surprisingly, even my instructor who discouraged sex-related stories said he was disappointed to find out that the couple was actually married, and that the heroine was a therapist. Hmm... looks like I can write 'unexplored' love stories now, rather than sticking to the 'safe' ones. LOL!

My co-author made a good point. He said he hated the second part of the story. After creating a magical world, I tried to explain everything in a real-world setting and it spoils the readers' mood, made the ending anti-climatic even. I should maintain the setting and weaved in the ending throughout. My instructor didn't think that would work. Others gave their views too on achieving a more subtle ending. Interestingly, this time, my instructor couldn't tell me exactly how to fix it. It was too different, even for him. He knew the 'counting' scenes were something that just came, wouldn't have worked if I'd planned it. He asked me to put the story aside and re-look at it in a few months' time. The solution could only came from me.

Oh, one girl's comment was totally opposite of the others. She said she liked the second part, the real world setting, but she hated the surreal first part. She said it sounded like a typical Malay ghost story setting. Luckily, my instructor firmly waived away her comment. I think she was hastily stereotyping, perhaps because I am Malay or my characters are Malays. The weather effects were nothing like that. In fact, I couldn't help feeling like a film producer who leisurely punched buttons to produce rain, clouds or sun. LOL!

Anyway, that felt good, very uplifting. And to think that I nearly chickened out from reading that story many times. That happened to be my least confident piece. My instructor said it was because I hadn't ventured into that area before. This is a big step ahead for me, I understand now. He said I could take a couple more months to complete the collection for my second book, there is no need to rush it.

I had been so inspired ever since that I'm churning out quite a lot of work over the long weekend:)

Counting Raindrops - 1st Cut

(continues)

She gestured for him to sit next to her. He did. She placed her right palm onto her chest. Her head bowed down, her eyes casted onto the water. Vibes of sorrow leap out from her. High above, the sky started to cry. Their surrounding gradually changed, the whole universe transformed to complement her sad song, drawn to its melancholic rhythm. He rubbed his eyes, they were misty.

He gaped, worried that she might fall into the pond.
“Try it, boy!”
He obeyed, like a puppet. He stretched his arms and touched the water.
“Boy!” His head jerked back upwards at the firmness of her voice. “Look here!” He turned to look at her.
She cupped her hands, bended down and lifted up a bit of water from the pond. She held her hands towards him. “How many drops are there?”

(more)

Running Away

During the weekend, I submitted my story, 'Sunny Side Up' to Writers' Digest short short story competition. The fee was USD12.

Perhaps I was inspired by that. Yesterday morning, out of the blue, I decided to google the net on writers' competition. Guess what I found? Submission for the Wallace Stegner Fellowship creative writing program at Stanford University was opened till 1 Dec 2008, 11.59pm (our time at 2 Dec, 1pm). It is a 2-year program where a living stipend of USD26,000 and a tuition fee of USD6,800 is provided. The fee is USD60 and foreigners can submit too. 10 places are offered for fiction writers and another 10 for poets. Most fellows tried a few times before they were accepted.

Hence, I spent last night sketching my Statement of Plans. First thing this morning, I wrote it. This was to explain your writing plans and how you see the fellowship contributing to it. A Manuscript of around 9,000 words was also required, this included published stories. So, I chose Chestnut Chocolate Mooncakes, The 50-Sen Queens & Swimming Elephants in Habarana from my book. The first two are the most well-praised, so I reckoned these were safe choices, the third one represents a non-human point of view. In addition, I also sent Nose Job, my new unpublished thriller, something very different from me. The total came to 10,300 words, 40 pages.

After clicking the submit button, guess what I discovered. The payment voucher appeared and I was required to make payment within 24 hours. Bear in mind that they only accept postal order / money order to be mailed over. No credit card, tt or anything. Man! No wonder I only see American names in the previous fellows' list. Also, they all have a Degree or Masters in Creative Writing, though no formal education is required. No age limit either. It all depends on the Manuscript and Statement of Plans. After all the hassle, there was only one way - to send the bank draft through DHL. The courier man came to pick up the document from me, it would still arrive like 24 hours after the deadline though. How much did it cost me? Yeah, another USD60. Man, an expensive investment in total.

When I asked my instructor's opinion, he said go ahead, there's nothing to lose except USD60. But he warned me that it would be tough, they would want to see creative work and I don't have much. He suggested the Iowa Writers' program instead. It's a 3-month fellowship for foreign students only. He could recommend me to the Embassy. Why not, I'd just give it a shot. Iowa sounds more do-able. He also suggested that I concentrate on my book first and try my luck for Stanford next year instead. What? Well, I think he meant that I was not ready. I beg to difer. This year is great. Next year, I may already have a fantastic job, a great boyfriend or something, I won't risk it la. I'd rather lose USD60, whoops, I mean USD120.

The underlying message is also I'm trying to get away from Mr Designer. I'm hoping that fate would rescue me. Oh yeah, I asked him a big question just now. He will email me the answer within 2 days. Let's say I'm already in tears. Man... what is it with this guy? Why so difficult?

Melancholy Mystery

Last Saturday, I read out my unpublished story during the monthly writers' forum organised by my instructor cum publisher. This was 'A Sweet Way to Go', yeah, the hotel King's cake story. I didn't have anything else short enough to read out, though I knew it was not one of my best.

When my instructor asked the audience, they politely said they liked the story and they would definitely buy a collection of my hotel short stories. However, judging from the way my instructor shook his legs while I was reading, I knew he was not happy. He said it was one of the weakest piece that I'd written. I was still sticking close to the truth and I was too proper. He told the audience that I could take harsh comments like that, LOL! Obviously, he was more blunt with me than he was with others.

After the session, he threw me a challenge. He asked me to write a brand new story for the December session. It has to be nothing like what I'd ever written before. I was not to think like myself. It CANNOT be based on a true story.

Feeling charged, I went off and completed my 'On the Road with Her' story. Yeah, it has become something else. I added a weird and supernatural element. On Friday evening, I shared the plot with Mr Designer. He liked its' weird element and mysterious tone. It is unique and nothing like what I had ever written before or even read.

However, he asked me to remove the mobile library intro and start with the weird encounter. It did work better if I go straight into the story, like what he suggested. He also asked me to dramatise the weather when the hero meets the heroine - sunny turns cloudy, creepy and haunting air, etc - and emphasise the heroine's sadness. He thought I should remove the seducing scenes and stick only to the weirdness of the encounter. Certain parts remind me of Mills and Boon, and I'm not sure if I should include them or not.

He stressed that though I would like to retain it as a mystery, I should still maintain logic and not leave the ending hanging, and the readers guessing. Wow! I think his feedback will make this piece much stronger and more impactful. It will be ready for December:)


On the Road with Her - 1st Cut

(continue)
She cupped her palms and lifted up a bit of water. She held her hands towards him. “How many drops are there?”
He was puzzled.
“Touch it with your index finger until it dries and start counting.”
He did as she asked. Finally, the water was gone. He was not sure if he got all of it or it simply fell back into the pond.
“How many times?”
He swallowed. “255.”
He felt dizzy.

That night, in his dream, he had shrunk to the size of an ant. He was drown in a small pool of water in the palms of her hand. Her huge eyes watched him in silent as he struggled to get out of the water. He woke up screaming.
(more)

Pink Clouds and Purple Tree

Gosh, I arrived early to work today but could hardly open my eyes. I only got like 3 hours of sleep. Yeap, I went out for coffee and then sahur with Mr Designer from 12.30am to 4.30am. Funny thing was that, when I was with him, I felt more and more refreshed. He wondered too:)

Oh, BTW, my parents are in town. Though they are curious about me going out with a friend for Sahur, they didn’t try to dig further. Thank God.

When we ‘buka puasa’ together last Tuesday, Mr Designer gave me a fantastic story idea. This is a real incidence that happened to him when he was a square 17 year-old kid. That was 6 months before he was due to fly to UK to further his studies. It got my inspiration going. So, last night, I asked him to sketch and explain the technicalities of his labourer job at the Pasir Gudang port to me. I had a feeling this piece will be a winner, it will be one of my few masculine stories.

Hence, to jump start my right brain, just now I tried to write the intro to the story as below. I think it helps cure my sleepiness a bit, hehe.

To make matters worse, I've just found out an outstation buka puasa event that I was supposed to attend today is now back on. Initially, it was postponed! Man! I'm not even dressed in Baju Kurung and it's dark outside, definitely the rain will pour soon. Going home to change will not be a wise thing to do. My colleague is going in trousers and blouse, so would I la... too bad.

The Kid - 1st Cut
I see pink clouds in the sky. Milky white river flows in front of me. A big tree with purple trunk and lilac leaves dances to the left and right. Its arms seem to beckon at me, inviting me for a real treat. Red apples grow on its branches while oranges stick out from behind them. Suddenly, a Durian creeps out in the middle of nowhere. My mouth waters as my hand reaches out for the thorny fruit. To my shock, the river suddenly swallows the tree. The image slowly becomes more and more blur. “No!” I yell. “Come back here, goddammit!”

My head starts to spin. I shut my eyes. When I open them minutes later, I find myself sitting cross legs on the cemented floor of our rented house. A glass jar with a used needle in it leans against my knee. An empty packet lies with traces of white powder around it. I hear a soft mumbling. I turn to look. A tall, skinny teenager stands in the door way. He is dressed in a pair of jeans, white t-shirt and black cap. He appears to be carrying a small dark blue knapsack on his back. Crap! The kid is staring at me, amazed.

Lips trembling, he speaks timidly, “Abang, I’m looking for my friend.”
I try to focus.
“My fr…friend… Jaz?” he stutters. “He lives here, right?”
“What do you want?”
“He says he can get a job for me… at the dry dock.”
I look hard at him before bursting into laughter. My head hurts as his girlish voice drowns around me...

(more)

A Sweet Revision

During my one week break in my hometown the first week of Ramadan, I had satisfactory progress with 3 of my stories. I mean my work has been crazy so far, and there were times when a week passed by without me writing anything. I was getting concern. At the rate I was going, there's no way I could meet the extended deadline in December this year.

One of the 3 stories is 'A Sweet Way to Go'. I decided to pick up my tiny laptop after sahur one morning and started typing away until the story ended. Now, it only needs polishing and short-term hatching before I give it another round of editing.

Initially, I wanted to start my book with 'Nose Job', a psychology thriller. However, my instructor said some people (mostly old people) do not like my co-author's stories due to their violent nature. So, a bloody kick off may not be a good idea. Mr Designer's point may work though. He said he'd expect my book to start with something light - an appetiser, then move on to something heavier ie the main meal and finally, end it with a dessert.

Hmm... sounds nice. I think maybe I should start with this piece instead. It's short, plot-oriented and past-paced.

A Sweet Way to Go

(continue)

Adjusting his reading glasses, the Swiss looks at her. “Good morning, Shira. How are you?”
She ignored his greeting, “Have you seen the cake?”

“You mean the cake to be presented to the King for his birthday on Thursday?”

She nods. “Have you seen it? Do you know what it looks like?”

“Well, I saw the sketch. Chef Philip wants to capture the spirit of Golf, the King’s favourite game.” Shira focuses on him intensely when she next speaks. “Have you actually seen the King's cake with your own eyes? It looks like a coffin!”
“What?”
“You heard me. It looks like coffin, as if we’re expecting to bury the King soon.
Mark rubbed his chin.
“Mark, I've just received a phone call from a journalist from The Star. She would like to feature our cake on the front page of their Metro section. So many hotels and they choose us. The photographer is coming at 5pm today. We need to fix this fast!”
The Swiss jumps and grabs his coat from the chair.
“Pastry Kitchen, now!”
He marches while Shira half runs to catch up with him.

(more)

A Surreal Reading

On Merdeka eve, I finally had my second book reading. The lady running the show had been trying to get me for months already, my work or something else always got in the way.

I had look forward to it. Mr Designer was supposed to pick me up and accompany me. However, late morning, he called and said he had to baby sit his 2 kids. But he would go to the venue straight and meet me there, since I couldn't afford to be late. Okay, the place was 5 minutes away from my condo, it was no big deal.

Fate had it that at 2pm, it started to pour. In fact, it rained so heavily, with thunder and lightning. It was getting scary. I had to cross the road to get a cab, and definitely I'd be drenching wet. So, I called him and said I'd wait for him. Eveybody would be late in this weather. He said his ex-wife was taking much longer that he thought. She was not picking up his calls either. He said he'd bring the kids to fetch me, drop me off and then go back to the mall with them. Ehm, that sounds like too much trouble for me, and I hate being dependent. Hence, I assured him repeatedly that I would get there on my own.

Yeah, I got a cab. The taxi driver scolded me for letting my wet umbrella touched the seat. Excuse me, how else do I put it? I got in in a hurry. The place was located quite deep in the alley, the bungalow right at the end, in fact. When I stepped down, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Wow! The place took my breath away.

It was a cosy art studio with a beautiful garden, pond and fountain. The building design was kind of unique. Work of art in progress lied all over. It was so tranquil. I really love it. I felt my cluttered mind clearing away. And I forgot about my wet long skirt:)

6 authors had been invited to read their works. I chose to be number 6, the last one. This way, the audience would get to watch a combination of outstanding and amateurs readers before my turn, so my lack of experience would not be so obvious.... or so I thought. Also, Mr Designer said he'd come as soon as he could, so later was better. We were given a choice to read standing up or sitting down.

The first author read well, passionately, he wrote serious Merdeka stuff. The second author was even better. An Indian guy who wrote Malay literature, his pronounciation and his voice was crystal clear. The third one was an expatriate who admitted sitting there was more scary than facing his 2 leg- operations. Even he was alright. Next was the founder herself who read her new unpublished fiction and poetries, I think. Yeah, full feeling and drama. After that, an expatriate journalist who had written in several countries. He was feeling damn comfortable, reading controversial religious stuff too. And finally, me.

Man! I started off by telling them that it was only my second time. First time was during my book launch last year. So, I was nervous. I chose a fairy-tale piece inspired from my hotel-life. Yeah, my surreal short story, 'A Peppery Affair'. I did not have to hold the microphone but I had to hold my book. Unfortunately, it trembled in my hands, showing clear signs of nervousness. That didn't happen during the launch. I guess the long wait must have done it. Despite practising, I still think that I was 1 or 2 notches below the others. Man, they were good. Don't get me wrong, I solely mean their reading performance, not too sure about the writing itself, hehe...


I would love to catch a few more of the monthly reading sessions in the future for better exposure:)



For my previous writer's stories, please see: http://haziamyperspective.blogs.friendster.com/hazias_perspective/06_enchanting_voyage_my_writers_stories/index