Today, while at Robinson's office, I overheard one of his co-workers talking about a novel she was writing. She had an agent already, she explained, but now she was - at the advice of said agent - attempting to make her way through the first (of quite possibly many) rewrites.
My first thought was: Everyone wants to be a writer, don't they?
My second thought was more of a realization: I don't want to be just a writer or a novelist.
I want to be a storyteller.
There is a significant difference between the two. A writer only puts words on paper. I was a writer once before - when I spent a long six years writing my Master's. I was told (by my thesis advisor, no less) that I was a terrible writer. It hurt. But, as much as it pained me, it was true. I am not a good writer.
I am a storyteller.
I imagine this world, this place that is hidden, secret, all mine, but one which I would gladly share with the world, given the chance. It is full of men and women who are believable, who have everyday lives, who have standards, needs, beliefs. It is full of glorious places, places that do not exist but that I should like to see someday. It is the art of creating beloved or abhorrent characters. It is the beauty of making the mundane interesting and magical.
This is storytelling.
Writers put elegant, refined words on paper but their plots are twisted and incomprehensible and their characters are shallow and two-dimentional.
If and when I can finally share these stories with the world, I will not write these stories.
I will tell them.
Blessed be.
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