"What makes a good mystery story?" she asked.
He raised an eyebrow. "Now, why would you want me to tell you that?"
"Stop being a pain, and just tell me!"
"Well, ok... some kind of a mysterious set of events leading up to an unexpected conclusion."
"Ah, now we are getting somewhere," she said, with satisfaction.
"Umm... that was a pretty basic and rather obvious observation, you know," he asked somewhat dubiously. It wasn't like her to be so easily pleased.
"Oh yes! I do know. But it'll do for now." She flashed him a half smile.
"For now??Oh, so there will be more of this presently, eh?
"Yeah, and next time you'll have to move up from that school-level answer to something rather more insightful."
"Ha! Will I? Maybe you will have something better to do before that happens! You really should do something productive with your life you know... Start taking concrete steps towards your goal... get yourself a goal..."
His sage advice was interrupted by a short laugh and a question. "What makes you think I am wasting my time? I happen to be engaged in a very important task - or I was, before you started trying to give me boring advice." She ignored his look of patent disbelief, and continued "I don't really ask too many completely pointless questions, you know!"
He couldn't help but laugh at her look of self satisfaction. "And what makes asking me silly questions qualify as an important task?"
"If the questions are so silly, you shouldn't answer them. But since you ask - I have decided that I shall write a book - a mystery story. Now you see why I asked you that particular question, don't you?"
"Since everything you say is about as clear as mud, I'm sure you will end up writing the mystery of the century! How does my answer in any way help you write? What you need is a good, sound plot, not sound bytes from me!"
She looked at him pityingly, though a discerning observer would have noted the slight heightening of colour...
"It isn't just the plot that makes a good mystery, you know. Don't under-estimate the power of good storytelling - the simplest of plots can become gripping..."
"If you say so," he interrupted. "But do you have any ideas for even a 'simple' plot?"
"What's eating you?" she asked slightly surprised. "That dame of yours had called, or what? Well, don't take it out on me! And as a matter of fact, I do have a good plot in mind, so stop doubting me!"
It was hard enough convincing herself that she could write something good enough to be published, without having people like Him questioning her as well! If he hadn't been her friend, she thought darkly, he really could be insufferable! Once her story was written, though, then he would have to admit that she really had done something worthwhile. Maybe he'd even shut up about that woman he kept talking about when she really didn't want to know!
His voice brought her back to earth. "Why do you always think it has to do with Her? Maybe I was just feeling hungry, and that was my stomach snapping at you! Anyway, tell me the plot that you've thought up."
"I changed my mind. I shall write it out and then you may read and admire as much as you like."
"Oh come on! You know I'm not the greatest reader on Earth! Just tell me... you'll get instant feedback!"
A wicked glint flickered in her eyes. "But you won't understand what my idea for the plot is - I don't explain very well - you always say so!"
"Oooooh so now we've come to that have we?? All right, I don't want to know. Don't tell me!"
"Fine! I won't"
She didn't know whether to laugh or be piqued with his response. There was silence for a few moments, then a new thought popped up and an animated discussion ensued... as always...
A single crack in the curtains let a narrow beam of sunlight into the room. It wavered somewhat weakly over the carpeted floor, like an uninvited guest, unsure of the welcome it would receive. There was a corresponding shudder which seemed to run through the room, at this unexpected presence of the long forgotten phenomenon of sunlight. The light caught on dancing particles of dust which seemed to pause when they realized they were in the glare. Slowly, an arm stretched out and then with one quick movement of the wrist, ended the drama...
That night, as she sat down to write out the idea for her story, she had to focus very hard, for as usual, her mind insisted on building fantastic scenes, imagining great lines that could be written, all without any anchoring-force to the story... It was almost as though they lived and had their own being, which refused to wait to be set in place within a larger narrative. When the small bits believe that they are big enough to Be the narrative, what really gets written has this strange thin feeling about it - as though it was being pulled apart even as it was written down.
After struggling for about twenty minutes, she sighed and decided to give up for the day. It just wasn't flowing out of her fingers, though it seemed to be buzzing around in her head, desperate to get out!
Sprawled in bed, she let her mind wander... it took the expected route, and soon she was rehashing everything they had discussed, everything he had said to her that day... She didn't even know when sleep swept her chaotic thoughts into bizarre dreams that kept her entertained all night long!
It was almost like the really bright flash of a camera, which blinded for a moment even as it revealed everything to the eye. Trying to control the slight trembling of the fingers, she looked at the mess revealed by the bright sunlight. How could this be?
Ummm...... To be continued!!!!!!
