Writing Murakami Style: Memoir

Again I woke up. Got showered and then dressed. Stretched my arms upwards. Stared out of the window at the grey sky. Left my room and went to the underground. Saw two attractive women. One woman was flicking through a paper-based telephone book. She must have been poor. The other was transfixed by her smartphone. She had a leopard print top on and zebra-printed shoes. I wondered whether she was the risqué type or was just into animal conservation. The train arrived and I grabbed a seat. I pulled out my book of short stories and read for a while. Every now and again I would glance up at the girl opposite to see if she was looking at me. She wasn’t and never did. The train stopped so I got off and headed towards the café. The streets were empty which is a boon for me. I ordered my Americano which is not like an Americano you get in the brand-whore stores but more on that later. I got the coffee with the roll and sat outside hoping for others to sit near me but they didn’t. I sat observing as I normally would and then became hideously bored and decided to write, but write about what?

I’ve been reading Murakami’s ‘Hear The Wind Sing’ and admiring the short sharp sentences. It seemed a good opportunity to focus on my writing style and just try and take a small finite piece of time like this morning, and write about it as I go about my day. I’m not detailed like him and I don’t do fancy words either. I do worry about whether I should bring out a scene in more detail or describe in more depth the world around me. I can hear drilling going on in the building next to me reminding me of my early childhood visits to the dentist. The dental visits never bothered me even if they were painful. A day away from school was always a bonus and the sweets offered to me after the pain was always the sweetest sweet I ever did taste.


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