It’s gone, and probably will never be re-written or dragged out from the depths of my memory. A story I wrote years ago and in changing computers, floods, and other calamities it’s gone. Mind you, I do remember enough of it to resurrect it if needed. That’s not my focus currently and if needed it may return like a phoenix.
It began about eighteen years ago. Had a dream where a halfling was arguing with a bard and he was extolling his father’s virtues to her. I won’t go into details about that argument, let’s just say it stuck with me for a long while.
Finally I sat down at a keyboard and started writing. Not about the halfing, but about the bard and a warrior. I slaved over it and worked at it until it was done. Went back and edited for spelling and other formatting and figured it was done.
At the time I was seeing an English major and talked her into editing and reviewing my story. Bad mistake on all levels. She trashed it and told me that she had to stop marking it up because it was so bad and she didn’t know where to start or end. It didn’t help that I had referred to it as my “baby” and she understood what she was doing. She was very forthright and honest and I took it to heart. Partially.
You see, I had rubbed in my face all the mistakes I had made. I didn’t hate her for that, I took it as a learning experience. I put that manuscript aside and started looking at improving the story by exploring other aspects of the world I was trying to create.
The halfling became a northern barbarian, the bard was doing her own thing, and the old warrior? Well I know what he was looking for and I know what the whole purpose of his new quest was for. I had to stop writing that story for other reasons.
You see, I got part way through the barbarians introduction when I realized something. I was letting some of my biases get in the way of the story. Certain institutions weren’t even covered with a good coating of a veneer and I sat back and looked at what I was doing. I couldn’t with good conscience go on with that story at that time.
The purpose of writing is to tell a good story and not preach at your audience. I found that I was preaching and wasn’t ready to tell that story with the proper skill and art that it needed. The program was closed and the file saved only to disappear in the electronic ether never to be seen again.
So here I sit, mourning a lost story. One day, when I get everything else back under control it will rise up and I will finally do it the justice it deserves. The Dragon’s Teeth are waiting across the far deserts for those who dare, and need to, scale it’s deadly peaks….