Every storyteller is offering a contract: they’re reaching out their hand, saying “come with me, I want to show you something.” They’re saying “trust me. Let me lead the way, follow me, and I *promise* I won’t let you down.”
I never forget someone who lives up to that promise, man. Ever. I don’t think any of us do. It is truly one of the purest and most powerful joys in life to be in the hands of a good storyteller.
Every minute I spend writing, I’m trying to live up to that contract.
I’m getting all mushy tonight because I’m listening to music, and thinking about story. It’s a craft. Every Art is a craft. It’s constructed, piece by piece, stroke by stroke, or word by word, just like anything else that’s built. It takes time and practice to get good at it. What I’m feeling tonight is the intense desire to become one of those good storytellers, the one whose hand you take and leads you to somewhere wonderful. A masterful storyteller makes the world bigger. It’s hard to do, but oh do I want to do that. So much.
Who are the storytellers, in whatever form music/film/book/etc. that you trust? That have taken you to incredible places you didn’t even know existed, and expanded your world?
I had a very lazy day. I’m not sure exactly why, but this week really took it out of me. Perhaps it’s because I got a taste of what I was capable of, at least in terms of writing output, and that scared me? I’m not sure that’s quite right, to be honest, but it’s close enough. I don’t feel scared. I felt tired. I think, maybe instead, that I looked at the mountain I was going to climb, like REALLY got a look at it, realized that I could do it, and felt the weight of all that work…that feels more accurate…
…but I’m climbing that fucker. Watch me. It’s happening.
I need to take a shower. I’m going to go do that 😛 But, today was the day I needed. I *finally* relaxed. I took the nap I’d been trying to find for the past four days. I slept. I rested. I feel better. I’m back.
Good night.
Artwork tonight is from Richard Powers.