page six: mel

Those clichés are beyond you now. God, the Universe, the meaning of it all. Really, what did any of that matter? Your entire existence, every single thing you’ve worked for, it all comes down to this.

Float. Float.

You can do that much, surely? Thank God the water’s warm. You close your eyes for just a moment. Maybe this is part of the dream? Maybe…? But no. You know better. It all seems so familiar. Have you been here before? Impossible. This must be what shock feels like.

Kicking frantically, you break the surface and gasp for air. Blinking rapidly, it takes a while to decipher what happened. You blanked out. You must be more careful, Christopher. No. You’re not letting her in. It’s over and done with. Don’t listen. Just keep your eyes open, stupid. You’re on your own now, just like you always wanted.

But your heart just won’t stop pounding. The images keep running through your mind. Her sweet, loving voice. Those yummy organic pineapple tarts she baked. The care she put into ironing your shirts. She taught you how to put those little folds into the shirts.

Wait. She taught you those things. To always check that the gas was off. To make sure the car was locked. Over and over. Washing hands. Again. Again. It seemed like you’d always smell of sandalwood soap. The anger was back now. Full force. How could she? You hate what she made you become. Right?

So why can’t you stop thinking about her?

She loves you. You know it.

There had to be a reason why she made you that way. That’s what they all said. Maybe they weren’t lying. She had always meant well. Maybe she was even right. They could be real. No one ever quite proved otherwise.

Time was running out. No place now for the regrets. All that you’d fought against for years, in vain. The money meant nothing. But why couldn’t you see that before? She was all you had and you hurt her. The irony was, you knew she’d forgive you. At least there was that then.

As your legs tire and your lids grow heavier, you feel a sense of calm. The blare of the horn was trivial. It didn’t matter anymore. Peace awaits. Finally.

Finishing line :P

Wow, can't believe I actually finished the story! I don't know if it's very good cuz it's hard to get an accurate view when you read your own chain story. I do see some flaws but I also see a lot of great bits - flashes of creativity, I guess :D

Kel wants us to reflect on what we've done with this assignment and share our thoughts on the creative process. To be honest, I think anything can be creative given the right circumstances and an open mind. Music, poetry, theatre... those are just the obvious ones. We considered painting at first - also rather obvious but it would've been really creative for us since both of us can't paint to save our lives... LOL

Anyway, I would've loved to do something crazy like paint or cook or even an interpretive dance. I guess I was limited by my inhibitions, as well as the fact that all the other students were sticking to things they were talented in. Confirmity, I know but hey, we do have to remember that 40% of our grade rides on this!

Still, I did have fun doing this chain story. I think it was very creative because we really had no idea what the other person was going to do. It was rather scary at times to find Page Three in my inbox and realise that Kel totally didn't follow the ideas in my head. It was frustrating at first but now I've come to realise that this is the definition of creativity. We are not tied down by our preconceived ideas. It literally is like two minds coming together. Our perspectives are so different, on many levels - gender, race, SES, whatever you want. That means that every sentence we type comes from a unique place. It made the whole process really unpredictable which was fun.

So now we move on to doing our report. I feel that this creative process was somewhat rushed but it was still really original because we let ourselves go. I hope this is what Ms. Zuhrah had in mind - something that goes beyond just natural talent and actually allows you to free yourself and take risks.

Anyway, this assignment, while at times stressful, definitely gave me the license to take a break from the usual boring Psych assignments (I'm all APA-ed out) and for that, I am grateful to the lecturer. In conclusion, this has been fun and I think Kel and I will probably keep doing things like this with TOS which is great.

Now if only more people would read this... ;)

note

ah, and so i've written my final page. melly's so gonna have a hard time ending it. but like i said, she's like the god who ultimately decides what happens to the protagonist. so after we write we'd usually reflect (academicians like us using this word) on the process, what we learnt, bla bla bla.

true, the process' only been a week or so (sigh, pendeknye) but i've picked up a coupla things along the way. the whole purpose of this exercise is to see how much we can stretch one another (in the cleanest way, of course) in terms of our writing. melly and i have contrasting styles. she employs more language (like metaphors and canggih, more descriptive words) while i go for simple, leaving the rest to the reader to interpret. her sentences are more complete, mine are more single-worded, truncated. melly's more into narration and i like playing around the ambience. not sure if the last sentence's a comparison, but yea. that's how different we both are.

and so, putting both of us together, we get a piece like this. like melly said, we don't become one another. we stick to how we write and see what comes out of it.

this exercise is well, particularly challenging 'cause we don't know what each other's thoughts are. like for instance, i wrote the first page without anticipating how it'd be, and melly continued on with a frame in mind. i didn't follow this frame in the third page 'cause i couldn't read her mind, but i continued as such that i kept the flow and connected to the stories together. and hence, the creative process. we're constantly giving each other 'problems', and we're forced to work our way out of it.

of course, there's the easy way out by just mere writing for the sake of continuing (but doesn't make sense, connect, etc.); this may or may not be creative. it's creating something per se, but not necessarily creativity. when things don't connect or make sense, they're different things in their entirety. for instance. a monkey is put in a locked cage in which the only way to escape'd be to obtain a key hanging from above. if the monkey works around his way into getting the key so he'd escape, that'd be creativity. if the monkey wants to get out but decides to take out a canvass and draw instead, we can't say that creativity isn't present. it is, but in another form. i hope i'm making sense here, heh.

in terms of idea flow and formation, i discovered quite a few things here. when chain-writing, always pay attention to every single bit that you write, and the other person writes. chain-writing isn't just continuing for the sake of it; it's a detailed analyses of themes, words, and playing around, developing them. for instance. i mentioned a bottle of pee in the beginning, and it came up in the fifth page. well, there's a connection there, but there's not enough depth that the bottle of pee can just be about anything. so it doesn't quite serve a purpose. whatever the writer writes in the preceding page, the following pages must follow up. whether the follow up is cliché or novel or bizarre, it doesn't matter. if there's isn't, then there's no connection, and when there's no connection, it splits into different stories. and when there's the split, creativity in this sense is absent.

speaking of which, creativity is subjective. what is creative to one person may not be to another. if a person has seen so much of the world and is literally jaded by it, things won't be as exciting as a child who's only opened his or her eyes in seeing the world. that said, it's really difficult to measure what creativity is. that's why in doing this project, we've gotta define what it is. i've got my definitions, and melly's got hers. combining both for our report'd do the trick.

when i write my pages, i keep telling myself to attempt bizarre, novel ideas (in my sense), so does that make it more creative than when i choose continue it with an idea i've seen, read, heard before? again, very the subjective. and more so, we're writing for an audience. they're not gonna see everything the way i do. some might read it and really like it, some might say it's crap, that it's been done before. so something that's been done before is not creative? hmm.

i guess if i have to come down to a sentence or two on what creativity is, i'd say this. it's about using new approaches in attempting old things in response to that particular individual. i'm yet to read what the scholars say about creativity, so i'll see if i come close.

but all in all, it's been fun. melly and i were just saying that we should continue this and get our friends to join in the orgy. heh.

booya!

page five: kelvin

You storm out of the room. Out of the building, into your car. You start the engine fast. You step on the gas harder. Where would you go now? You begin to palpitate. Your palms begin to perspire. Your smile gives in to a smirk on your face. Everything you wanted, now you have. No more shit from your boss. You step on the gas again. Maybe replace this junk of a vehicle. That would impress the women. Take a number. Take a number, Miss. You laugh. Really, what would you do now?

Flashbulb. You jam on your brakes. Thank God for seatbelts.

You’ve always wanted to sail. On your own.

Ah.

Soon enough, you’re on a ship you bought for peanuts. You’re rather rusty from your navigation days, but screw that. You don’t want to think. No more shit from the world. You’re now a free man. Breeze. Salt water on your face. The sun. No sight of land. In the middle of sea. Heading to- heading to? You don’t care. You don’t want to. But you can’t be on a ship forever. Or can you? Hm. You take out your guidebook anyway.

Choices, choices. You’ve not felt like this before. You make the decision now. You close your eyes and circle the second page with your finger. You stop and point at a spot. You regain sight. The island of Anguilla. In the heart of the Caribbean. You flip to the page 34. “Sparsely inhabited… orgasmic sights… rapturous beaches.” You work out the coordinates. Done. To Anguilla it is.

You steer to the right. Southwest. Breeze. You see yourself sipping pineapple cream by the beach palms. Breeze. You see yourself waddling in the endless pool of cool water. Breeze. You see topless women. You salivate. Breeze. You see another ship right ahead of you. Huh? You fix your gaze. A larger ship just a hundred meters away. Shit. There’s no way to deflect in time.

Bang. Pain.

Déjà vu.

You open your eyes. You find yourself holding onto an old raft. Your right hand clutches a bottle of clear liquid. There are no ships in the vicinity. Float, float. This has got to be some joke. What happens if you died right now? God wouldn’t be too happy. You wouldn’t be too- nah, you’ve heard that bit before.

point

so we're now on the fourth page of our story. because we've gotta hand in our report this saturday, i'm thinking of sticking to the plan of ending it on the sixth page. so i've got one more page to write, and melly's gonna end it with another. then perhaps if we'd like write more, we'll continue the story (and probably truncate the ending a little bit) until next week's class presentation. what say you, mel?

melly was just telling me the other day that she had the notion of how the story'd be like upon writing the second page; i told her that this kinda defeats the entire purpose of chain-writing. it's supposed to be twisted, bizarre, unexpected as much as possible. if we both thought alike, there's no point of surprising one another then, eh? i guess this is when creativity chips in as well. we think of novel ways to solve the problem. avoid, avoid the clichés.

let's see where this story goes. while writing our final page, can we come up with a blog entry on our self reflection on the creative process? whatever we think is creative? 'cause we've gotta start on the report soon.

i need to sleep.

page four: mel

Before you step into the sterile, listless room, she seems to stir uneasily, though her eyes are still shut. It’s as if she can sense your presence. Maybe she even knows? Not that it would make any difference. The time had come.

No need to walk quietly or even to fake a smile. What matters is shutting the door and drawing the curtains. Once that’s taken care of, you just march forcefully towards the bed. Reaching her, you can see she’s completely still. You were just letting your imagination – or emotions? – get the better of you. Come on now, we know better than that, don’t we? Focus, you idiot. Now was not the time to reflect on the countless machines and tubes surrounding her or the sallow, papery-thin skin drawn over her taut cheekbones.

There had been enough time spent dwelling on those things. There would be too much time in the coming weeks, months, years. You know what needs to be done and she was the one who taught you. So, really, what was the problem? You were only being an obedient child, surely? A small, bitter smile starts to form. So much easier to be angry, isn’t it? Makes it all seem… logical, almost.

On with it, then. After all, you don’t have all day. Or at least, she doesn’t.

Parker pen uncapped, you place it, gently, in her lifeless yet warm hands and curve the once-elegant fingers around it. Naturally, you practice on a plain piece of paper first, as you’ve practiced endlessly over the years. No taking chances. Practice makes perfect, Christopher. How ironic that it’s her voice that helps you. Satisfied, you reach for the will and just like that, the moment you’ve awaited for more than a decade is right there.

“Mr. White? Is that you, sir? We told you not to lock the door. Please let us in, sir.” The calm yet clipped tone brooked no argument. Your heart sinks and you can almost see the window of opportunity slamming shut. No, I can still do this. It’s a struggle to take a deep breath and call out brightly, “Just a second, Maggie!” but you manage it, anyway.

Back to business. Hurry, damnit. Make or break time. You quickly scrawl her name; as long as it’s legible. Lightning-fast, you rearrange her limp hands and stash the pen and priceless document into your backpack. All done. She wouldn’t call you slowpoke anymore, would she? A genuine smile slowly forms. Time to face the music. Only now, you’re leading the choir.

page three: kelvin

You hastily dry yourself and slip on your clothes. The room is brighter, warmer, a nice prelude to the day. You reach for the comb. Slick it up, like how she likes it. Breath check. Clorets would have a run for their money. Good. The clock cuckoos at the hour. A blatant reminder of how late you already are. You speed up. Backpack, wallet, shades. Anything else. A book, just in case. Anything else, anything else. Keys for the car, damn it! You complete the itinerary.

You hope.

No, there’s no turning back for anything else.

You quickly head to your 1978 Ford Anglia. Vintage. You start the car and step on the gas. You close your eyes. Deep breath. Cough. Your endless cigarette revelry isn’t helping much. You know how much she disapproves of it. But no, no cigarette until the whole thing’s over. You glance at the digital clock. Any later and you’re better off at home, asleep.

There seem to be lesser cars today. Sunday morning, probably. Perhaps everyone is at church. Like the hymns and sermons (from the pedophilic priest, of course) help- everyone goes to hell and rot there, period. You crank up your stereo. Billy Holiday’s Greatest Hits. Ah, she wouldn’t listen to anything else. Maybe you’ll bring her the CD too. Thoughts like these drift you away. You reach the place before you know it.

Her place. This is it.

You turn off the engine, get your stuff and out of the car. You work your way past the muddy walkway- it must’ve rained the day before. Scraps of trash here and there. Weed growing everywhere. It was spotless, clean, the previous week. What were the workers hired for- really? You ring on the doorbell. One of them greets you sullenly. The usual room, he says.

You tread through the main hall, passing the entrances to the kitchen and dining area. You reminisce. So much has happened since. At least everything is still intact- the chandelier, the piano, pictures of people whom you inquired about but never knew. You walk up the spiral staircase to the third room by the hallway. Music, barely audible. Billy Holiday’s Greatest Hits. You open the door, slowly.

Your mother, there. They’ve not pulled the plug yet. Phew. You reach into your backpack and take out a sheet of paper. The will. She has to sign it today.

Blogger's been giving some trouble...

We haven't posted in a few days, which for the purpose of this blog seems too long. The thing is, Blogger's been having problems and so we couldn't post up our stuff. Since I've managed to log in now, I'll post Kel's Page Three and then my Page Four a little later.

Let me just say that I had an idea of where I wanted Kel to go when I wrote Page Two and I thought he would get my idea. But clearly, he totally missed it. I was really thrown off guard when I read his latest page and I didn't quite now how to continue. But hey, that's all part of the creative process, right? If there were more people reading the blog, I'd actually like to create TWO possible Page Four's and let the readers choose the better one. Cuz there are many possible ways for the story to go at the moment and I kinda think what I wrote is really, really lame. But sorry la...

Ok, enough of that. Let's just hope it turns out well and people enjoy reading our little story. Cheers.

page two: mel

Kringgg! Kringgg!

Or perhaps not. After all, this sound is so much more familiar. You’ve heard it a million times before. Haven’t you? It’s right there, just out of your grasp. Why can’t you make it stop? You reach out blindly, groping frantically as the noise continues to echo, seemingly getting louder each time.

What is it?

A loud crashing sound jolts you. Pupils dilated, you sit straight up and stare at the blank white wall. A couple of rapid, 180 degree head-turns ascertain that your stylish little silver cordless phone now lies in two parts on the soft beige carpet. But you can’t seem to muster up any concern. All that matters is appreciating the blessed silence and, of course, the sweet relief that waking up always provides. It’s over. You repeat those soothing though possibly meaningless words again and again, as you always do after such a restless night.

It takes a while to calm your frantically beating heart and even longer to gather the willpower to disentangle the white cotton sheets from your clammy, perspiring skin. You rub your bleary, aching eyes and tell yourself that a migraine isn’t just moments away. She’ll be waiting for me. She can help. You try to believe that it will be different this time. She will somehow make it right, put the pieces together, put you together. Of course she will. She cares about you.

The thought of her spurns you on. Suddenly there is a burst of energy and you start moving quickly around the room, getting the necessary tasks done. Scanning the color-coded wardrobe only takes a second as you pull out a black shirt and jeans. The whirr of the electric toothbrush mingles with the sound of running water. Spit. Gargle. Rinse. Gargle. Rinse. You check to make sure they are sparkly white. Better be safe. She’ll understand if you’re a little late.

Spit. Gargle. Rinse.

Now, that’s clean. You unwrap a fresh bar of sandalwood soap. Step into the shower and let the steady pelt of warm water soothe your aching, tired muscles. Humming softly, you push the images further behind and close the box. Now it was time to focus on her. Almost unconsciously, your lips start to curve into a soft, dreamy smile. Done with the shower, you neatly dispose of the soap.

Leaving the bathroom, you flip off the light. On. Off. On again. Okay, off.

I wrote! Yay me :D

Ok, I finished my bit of the story last night and meant to post my thoughts about the whole writing thing. But Blogger was down so I'm only posting it now.

Anyway, getting back to writing after so many years (pure fiction, anyway) was really challenging. I found myself at a blank (LOL) many times - trying to find the right word which was just outta reach or trying to phrase things in just the right way. It was certainly a fun experience, though. I think Kel made a terrific start although at first I was like, "AH! So complicated la! How??" but then I realised I didn't even have to go along with his approach :P

I can see quite a difference between our writing styles and the flow of our ideas. Being dramatic comes naturally to Kel (in a good way, I swear! ;D) while I think I focus more on the words and style. But anyway, it's really exciting cuz right now there's an endless possibility as far as how this story will turn out.

There's a part of me that wants this to go on beyond the six pages. I'm considering continuing this until we present it to the class but I don't know if Ms Zuhrah will be ok with that. Plus, we don't want to run the risk of it getting too long or complex where we can't reach an ending in time. Oh well, as Kel said, this could actually become something we do for fun - it can only help us at The Oral Stage.

Ooh, let's shamelessly advertise. :D http://theoralstage.blogspot.com/

K, that's enough for now. I'll post the continuation of the story up after this. Hope you guys will like it. Anyone and everyone is welcome to give your thoughts. Thanks yeah. Take care, people.

page one: kelvin

The ground echoes of a voice. The sun is setting. Maybe you’re not the only one here. What the travel guidebooks say is crap. This is far from the vacation you had in your head. How you ended up here, you don’t know. You try hard recalling. There was a raft, a bottle of pee, and that’s about it. You look around. Sand. You don’t see no raft. Sand. There’s no bottle of pee. Just you, still in your suit and heavily drenched. Head to toe. Sand. It’s getting cold, dark.

You look around again. No one. Good. You remove your suit, your tie, your shirt. You take off your pants, your boxers. And the grimy, wet socks you have on your feet. Wet skin and the air. You close your eyes, and hear the waves crash. You don’t remember a time you felt this liberated. You quickly snap back to the present- you’ll die here if you don’t do something. You’re now dry as bone, and you feel warmer, a bit more comfortable. It’s now almost pitch black, and you’re beginning to not see a Goddamn thing. The ground echoes again.

You’re not sure whether to get scared or panicky. This is too bizarre for any kind of emotion. You pinch yourself hard. Okay, so you’re not dreaming. What does one do at instinct? Flee? Maybe. You walk briskly by the shore. You then pick up the pace and start running. And faster, and faster. Just like the good old track days in school- only you had hair and your best friend slightly ahead of you. You remind yourself to snap back. And faster, and faster.

You could only go on for so long.

Slowing down, panting, you drop to the sand, doggie-style. You realize there’s no water you can drink. You turn towards the sound of the sea. If only. You chug down your saliva in vain. This has got to be some joke. You lay yourself down, the waves slapping your feet, thinking what would happen if you died right now. God wouldn’t be too happy. You wouldn’t be too happy in hell.

The echoes peal again, this time louder. So you did somehow head somewhere. Or did you? Maybe they were heading your way. You remember your clothes. Shit. There’s no one around, you tell yourself. You drag yourself into the shallow sea anyway. You’re breathing a much slower pace now. So you’re not dying just yet. Not that it makes anything better. You’re still naked and thirsty as hell. You hear the sounds again, drawing closer. And closer.

It’s time to freak out.

This is fun :)

Yes, yes, I was definitely bugging Kel big time to get started. I'm really hoping there'll be a great story in my inbox tonight, after 2 long hours of Physio Psych, so I can get started on building the interesting characters that live in Kelvin's strange mind :P

I'm really busy with assignments and classes and everything else at the moment. Rather stressed which I hope doesn't hurt but rather will help the creative process. Fingers crossed, anyways.

K, I'm gonna get back to work now and give Kel a call to make sure he actually comes up with his story by tonight!

pens down

ah, before melly reminds me of the deadline again.

so very simply, mel and i are supposed to come up with something 'creative' for our class report- and that's due next saturday. so we've got like, a week. i had the initial idea of painting (hence the blank paper), but melly backed out and i figured there won't be that much of a time (we're not like prodigies in art to begin with) so we're settling for writing instead. the blank piece of paper works for this too, heh.

so what we gonna write? well, i'm gonna start a page of fiction, then melly's gonna continue, then it's back to me again, then to melly, then me, then melly'd end it. so that's creativity compressed into six pages. we work on the rule that if we can't finish a sentence on the page we're writing on, we'll have to stop there. so yeah, if the sentence hangs then that's where the other person has to pick up from.

and i get to start! that's like playing god- i set the pace, the main characters, the setting. melly, well, she gets to end it. whether the main character dies, grows bald, gets married, sprouts three hands and a pair of wings- it's her call. kinda like a more powerful god, ha. sounds like fun already.

but the thing about having the free hand to start on anything? it drives me nuts. i'd conceive an idea, then another'd come up, and another, and another. to a certain extent i think creativity requires some sorta barrier. like you're stuck, and you find your way out. right now i'm on infinite ground. hm. will go nap now, and see what i come up with later.

so if you (our readers) do get to catch us within the short span this blog will have, welcome. we'll be posting our progress here (and our stories too!) so check back often.

what to write, what to write?

Welcome =)

Ok, not really sure what to say. I've never really done anything like this before. Basically, for our Creativity assignment, Kelvin and I decided to write something. We're not absolutely sure what it will be yet but we thought it would be nice to document the entire creative process with this blog. We hope that you (Ms. Zuhrah and anyone else reading this) will enjoy joining us for the ride. Can't guarantee that what we produce will be brilliant or flawless but it will certainly be creative and original cuz we're giving this our all.

We hope to produce something unique and interesting that will have a significant impact on our readers. We'll keep posting our progress/setbacks and everything in between. That's all for now. Come check back soon!