The Sexiness of Writing

And there it was, a little blue book with the large bold title "Uncut" splashed brazenly across the front. My heart skipped a beat.

I glanced around quickly, just to double check that I had not wandered into the "Risque, Titillating and Rousing Material Meant ONLY FOR ADULTS" section of Borders. A fine young man like myself certainly couldn't be seen in such a section, could I? (After all, I had just left the "Law", "Ethics", "Moral Principles", "Healthy Living Habits" and "Fine Ab Appreciation" sections.)

But I wasn't in any such restricted section. I was merely in the staid and boring "Asian Writing" corner, that housed at least one book that was certainly not staid nor boring.

"Uncut", I had found out about a week ago, is a compilation of poetry, photography and prose by 11 Secondary school girls. Fuelled mainly by their collective love for the written word, selected pieces from their portfolios of personal writings had somehow managed to find their way into print.

It has been a very, very long time since I have read a stranger's poetry and prose and experienced such an inexplicable connection. Of course, not every work in the book was a masterpiece, but there was no denying how the book was growing on me. It was not long before I realised that hey, these 11 girls are all incredibly sexy.

I know, I know, it sounds criminal to say it, but I really thought they were. Not sexy as in the common definition, like Daphne Khoo kind of sexy, but sexy in a totally different way. Because for me writing isn't the mere act of translating an idea by following a strict set of grammatical and spelling rules, hobbling 26 different letters together to express an idea, but a very good and almost surgical way to gain an in-depth understanding of the way someone's mind ticks.

In part, it is the spark of creativity that also makes the difference between normal writing and sexy writing. One of my favourite authors, Terry Pratchett, hooked me with the expression, "...he could count them off the fingers of a blind butcher's hand". And these 11 girls had it, the spark.

As I was making up my mind to buy the book, to be able to indulge in their musings at my own convenient lesiurely pace, my friend from the next corridor called over to me, "Hey! Check this out!"

15 minutes later, we left Borders with a brand new copy of the FHM 2005 Calander. Oh, well.