I must know how a story ends before I begin to put it on the page. When I don't know the ending, I spend time agitating, perplexing, loitering, losing sleep and appetite, until it finally comes to me. Sometimes it takes years to see the light (as with the first chapter of Apologies Forthcoming, ‘Men Don't Apologize’); sometimes it shines on my forehead instantly (chapter five, ‘Watch the Thrill’). There may also be false enlightenments, as in everything else that requires thinking and understanding. Needless to say, if I never find the right ending, the story is never written.

A story need never start, but once started it must end; such is life. Searching for an ending is more feasible than searching for a beginning, and, if there is an appealing ending, there is an appealing story. The ending can be as ambiguous as heaven, or as clear as hell (I more often favor ambiguity). It can be as unexpected as happiness, or as mundane as pain. But no matter what the ending, to be good it has to linger.

Only after I've pictured the ending, can I sit in front of the keyboard and feel comfortable, as if I've just eaten a heart-warming sweet rice ball. At this point I am confident that all paths will converge, and among them will be a scenic route. Compared to the hardship of searching for an ending, finding that perfect path, and the beginning that goes with it, is an almost entertaining experience – that was how each story in Apologies Forthcoming was written.

Now I have told you my little secret as a story writer. By this, I've also exposed my weakness: I can't be prolific because of the way I write. So I don't aim at abundance; I just work towards the end, whenever I see one. You won't be able to use my secret unless you are also an end searcher like me, in which case you already know it.