Can any story ever eventually be completely told – and for that matter can any story ever eventually be absolutely finished in its entirety for always and for all time? Are the subtle inferences of the author’s somewhat ‘prim’ sentences the only necessary yardstick of conclusion or are such as these merely soggy ‘pacifiers’, which we find insincere and to some extent disturbingly offensive? Conceivably, one way or another it should be our worldly-wise awareness that easily answers these questions: but is it?
Surely it must be true that if it is the case that we are only able to ‘perceive’ a story to be entire because of the dictatorial coaxing of its author’s pen, then perhaps this pseudo formulaic dexterity has (unwittingly or otherwise) produced (and achieved) an enormous unnecessary trade-off. And in that event, the actuality of the genuine story is utterly missed or disfigured (or both) on this occasion and forevermore.
Be all that as it may, sometimes the definitive story cannot be completely told or absolutely finished for always and for all time – regardless of the author’s adeptness and commitment. However, it is possible for its ‘outstretched’ narrative to simply be allowed to interimise – to be ‘put on ice’ for a while. Similarly (and without prejudice) the story could even be temporarily abandoned; leastways, if only to the extent where its fate is still quite conspicuously visible – and, therefore, semi-secure.
Although any story’s future prospect may always have a kind of risky and vulnerable flavour about them, it is perhaps the story’s inherent meaningfulness and honesty that sometimes dictates its longevity. In any event, once the tourniquet is finally removed, the choosing of the story’s destiny will undoubtedly be with the reader – the author, by their own rectitude must negate their right to opinionise or to decide.