This isn’t book related, but I wrote a wee Twitter story, and it was fun so I thought I’d post it here also. I might try some more in future. (If you’re interested, you can find me on twitter here).
When you ask me to tell you a story, I say give me a minute. Hold on. I run through my mental catalogue to see which you would prefer. I bypass tales of princes and druids and settle, as I knew I would, on the story of you. Each time I dress it up in a new, secret guise, and each time you pretend not to see through it. There once was a wolf who befriended a fox, I said. The fox was beautiful and gentle, while the wolf was mighty and bold. You act as though you don’t know what’s coming while I spin my familiar tale. Each day the narrative and characters differ, but the climax is the same. I finish, as always, with the wolf ruling the land. You preen, and raise your head proudly. I do not tell you how the story really ends, how the wolf rips out the fox’s throat and leaves him bleeding into the earth. You settle back into your cold throne and beckon me closer. Tell me another, you say.