I am not sure how the story goes, what he or she does, how he poses or how she clothes. Only a vague idea grows and grows. Things good or bad or hectic, with an unexpected Asian twist. Relationships possible, and even electric, but something is lacking--what is it? Imaginations so aimless, considerations endless, plot line pointless, the bold attempts shameless. For an O. Henry ending I contrive, a story like Maugham's I strive, a Waugh's style may come alive. Failing all, I might just be myself.