Sometimes a story won’t carry for more than a few pages and stretching it beyond that merely adds words and confusion. Sometimes when the story is written it talks and nags to become a lot longer and a novel is born.
Sometimes the story is part of a series of linked incidents without a central theme and unless a really strong link can be established the stories are best left as they are. I found writing memories of the mines was a bit like that but then maybe the link is the Coaly Ghost. Every mine has some kind of spirit, whether it’s released from the rock or taken in with the ventilating air, I don’t know. One or two tales from ‘doon the pit’ might find their way on to these pages – just remember, like Bedsheets and Broomsticks, some of it really is true.
Sullatober
Read the short stories here:
What the Butler Did