Once upon a time, in a land where Mondays were celebrated as Fridays, the Great Editor sat on a throne made of scribbled correction marks. Her decree was clear: the third chapter was missing, but who noticed that, dear reader? Nobody reads the third chapter anyway.
Find Direction
Silos were filled with unpicked grains of ideas, fertile but unused. And still, the corn cobs whispered tales of unrecognized puns.
Yet, contemporary souls, lost in the quagmire of digitally updated epistles, sought access to the far reaches of this unwritten tale. They tread lightly, while the written word creaked like a rusty door, forever closed.
One strange afternoon, an answerless survey inquired about happiness. It was found in the last expected column, under expenses rather than incomes. Irony was beloved; it was loathed as well.
Observe Subtle Cues
Clues unraveled like socks lost in dryers of narrative complexity. Each yarn spun, tangling new theories about theories, until the weaver fell asleep.
Perhaps it was all an elaborate scheme by an unnamed author to halt productivity in the one true genre known: a dialect of symphonic silence punctuated by metaphysical deliveries.
Remember: not all searches lead to gold. Sometimes, they merely uncover a wish list made under candlelight, looking for enlightenment, or at least a Wi-Fi password.
Intrigued? Start Again.