I could tell it appeared suddenly, but I wasn't sure. Actually, I had been thinking about it for days, but the story did not quite take a form that would satisfy him.. It had happened to him on other occasions. Sometimes it started with an intuition, a beginning of an argument, Others started from some imaginary situation that arose from who knows where., or of a character or a real event that had been told to him or that he had witnessed or, at worst, of a simple feeling. Yeah, definitely, these latest stories, those that were based on sensations were the most complicated, it was said. For the reasons. The first because they were the most difficult to articulate. Build an argument (or something that was missing and that gave consistency to the story) based on a simple emotion was always the most difficult option. It was like walking backwards. If you propose it, you get anywhere, but, even in that case, When you reach your destination you always have the impression that there is something you haven't done right.. And second because these stories, I had checked these days, They don't usually get into people easily. It's not that they don't understand them, is that they consider them less stories, so to speak, and that fact always left him doubting whether, in the end, He had achieved what he had set out to do., but it didn't have the expected interest, or had forgotten something along the way whose absence hindered that understanding.
Stories based on real events also had their problems, he said to himself while pondering the first sentences. In this case, It is true that you started from a more consistent point on which to build your story., which could be considered an advantage. But, on the other hand, The memory of the event experienced or previously reported could condition the structure in such a way that you ran the risk of it ending up becoming a real burden., given that, frequently, The desire not to betray reality ended up materializing in an even greater betrayal of that other possible story that was hidden behind the anecdote and that, How would I discover?, It was always more interesting, as a report, than reality itself. Or better yet, we could say, to clarify, that the anecdote was not a story at all without a slight deviation that gave some emphasis to what happened and elevated it dramatically, mediating the intervention of fantasy, with the object, curious fact, of not betraying that reality from which one had departed. When one of these stories ended, He had a certain aftertaste of uncertainty that had stuck to his palate for days and he often wondered who he had finally betrayed., yes to reality, to the laws of fiction or to both at the same time.
There is no doubt that the simplest stories were those that were already born from a specific conflictive situation., of a well-defined character or, as it happened in the best times, of both premises at the same time. And here the author felt that things flowed with much greater clarity and lightness, letting that conflict or the character in question find their own paths of development for themselves. When finished, the author usually felt relatively satisfied with the result. I had found that these types of stories with an easily identifiable knot were, besides, the ones that some of the people valued the most (friends or family) that they had read them. This despite the fact that the author never managed to avoid the sensation, maybe exaggerated, that the fact of having reached the last paragraph of the story so comfortably ended up depreciating, so to speak, your work. It wasn't so much something that involved the story itself., like that impression of having suffered little, planting in his head the suspicion that he had not tried hard enough.
Many times I started from any of these situations without having a specific end to which to go.. In these cases, I was trying to follow the clues, but without knowing where they could take him. This caused the author a certain anxiety that did not clear up until, without prior notice, some saving element appeared that undid the mess. Sometimes, It was a phrase caught in the air, a sound, Other times it was an event that jumped into his head and served as a catalyst for the following events.. In all cases, that phrase, sound or fact not only encouraged the future of history, but it gave it coherence and unity and, ultimately, contained the germ of its ultimate meaning. So, the author sensing that he had found the key, he let himself go. It was in those moments when the cursor slid with greatest joy over the blank page of the screen and the funniest and wittiest phrases emerged., and what until then was suspicion, indecision or a certain scruples, It suddenly became a fun game.. There I perceived that history was flying as if it had a life of its own.. It was no longer the author who made the decisions, It was history that directed him. Stuck, So, the bulk of the story, planted the full stop, All that was left was to review what was written to correct errors. (that were not always completely resolved). In this last stage of the process, there were also doubts and uncertainties, but it was no longer the same.
But, looking back, would realize that, Even the moments of greatest hesitation were compensated by those others in which he felt he had achieved something of that first impulse that animated the story at hand.. It is true that, as I had read many times, I didn't always achieve one hundred percent of what I planned., but it was also true that, of that everything (more imaginary than real), there was always a remainder, a kind of tone, of flavor, the seed of what had served as an incentive for him to start writing. In any of the cases, concluded as he gained experience, it couldn't be any other way. How do you know if you have achieved in retrospect that which had no defined form until the last moment? In a context of pure speculation, How can you anticipate the resolution of what was previously only sketched?? A sketch is never the final result and, however, something of the sketch always remains in the work, he thought as he finished the second page. In the midst of this state of confusion, suddenly an unforeseen solution appeared and then he found himself surprised by what was written, discovering, So, as the first reader of himself, an intimate pleasure that, although I would have liked, I couldn't share with anyone, although later, with the story already published, he would imagine that possible unknown reader stumbling across that same moment in history and there he would revel in the idea of reliving in another the pleasure of discovering what had previously surprised him..
And so, would come to the end. It would be something like a story of stories, it was said. A story that wouldn't exactly be a story, but, at once, would contain all the stories I had been writing during the two long months of confinement. And now that I was reaching the last lines, He once again asked himself if he had achieved anything from that original idea that had inspired him.. Well yes and no, thought. In any case, He reviewed the previous five paragraphs and concluded that they were not that bad. O, at least, They weren't too embarrassing. (yes ok, This would have to be judged by other people.). He then imagined the reader counting the paragraphs that preceded the one he was reading right now to check the sum at this precise moment in the text., and the game made him laugh again. Before saying goodbye, He wondered if there were any more stories he could have told.. He did a quick review and decided yes., that there would be some. Or well, maybe it wasn't even a story, but it could become so if the task was imposed. I would leave it for another time. The time had come to say goodbye. “We have come this far”, he muttered. "Bye bye". “Until more see”. He liked that expression so little used these curious days that he had to live.. GERARDO LEON
