About The Wandering Story
Dublin, some years past the turn of a century that has not quite decided what to call itself — gaslit streets, close fog, and doors that open onto rather more than they should. The Wandering Story unfolds within this city: not as a single tale told once, but as a place that keeps happening, night after night, to whoever happens to be there.
Those who follow it are not merely readers. What happens next is never entirely fixed. It bends, in small ways, according to who is present and what they choose. No two evenings in the city need go quite the same way twice.
There is no first page, and there will be no last one. The story simply continues, taken up again whenever its readers return, and it will go on changing long after this page has stopped calling itself new.
The doors are not open yet. When they are, you may wish to have already told us you were waiting.