The White Whale

 I read a lot of crime. Mostly romantic suspense, but there are police procedurals, cosies with amateur  sleuths, the occasional thriller. Crime with horror, the supernatural, ghosts, dogs, Dust Bunnies. (You need to be a fan of Jayne Ann Krentz, which I am, to get that one) they are all in the mix. One of the things I have noticed, and enjoyed recently, is the cold case crime. This is art following life, of course, as with ever refining forensic techniques, where evidence has been effectively preserved it is possible to revisit cases that stalled, and bring them to a successful conclusion. 

In fiction, one of the tropes of this sub genre is the detective and the one that got away. That case that they never managed to solve. In something I read recently the detective referred to it as her White Whale. Sadly I can't remember now what book it was, sorry, but the expression stayed with me. Memory is a tricky thing. I had the perfect ending for the WIP, when I get there. Did I write it down? No. Can I remember it? Also No. I am hoping that it will surface, even if in ghost form, when I get there. When. And Nel and Logan might have quite different feeling when I do, so I am trying not to grizzle about it.  But, back to the whale. As far as I know I have never read Moby Dick. It was probably on the list of classic literature that I was supposed to read for an exam in the dark and distant past, but I abandoned the list fairly soon and did the drama question instead. Much more my thing. But I still know about the White Whale. Literature is an entwining thing, the blocks from the past on which successive writers build. I've mentioned before the use of classic quote for subsequent book titles, which I love, but which in these days of algorithms are less common. It's all key words now, and poetry, Shakespeare and the Bible can be a bit light on those.  But the references remain - and the books we write now are that much richer for it.