The tale that did not want to be told
Yesterday I wrote a story for The Grey Scribe called The Tunnel. It was a good story, one I was pleased with. Not every story I write falls into that category. Some “almost work”, some “just don’t scan”, and others “stink”.
Either way, I post them up – provided they don’t really stink – and I’ve written a fair few of those too. The Tunnel was a good one, just the right balance of strange and familiar to catch the imagination, and enough empathy for the lead character that you get drawn in to her story.
Except arcane malevolent forces conspired to snatch this tale from our grasp. I was just going back through the story, changing a word here, a sentence there when…… Opera crashed. I write my stories for The Grey Scribe quickly. One draft, one quick edit-and-check, then they’re up. I might go back and re-edit later, but when I hit post, it’s there. You see my first save, and it’s usually my last.
The Tunnel did not want to be seen. It did not want it’s secrets disclosed but rather, it wished to remain under the ground, buried, hidden. The browser died and with it went the tale.
And there it shall remain.