Storytelling is wizardry.
Storytellers are the most powerful people in history. I think we all know this on some level. He who can weave a tale with his words can pull at the inner parts of others. He can tug on motivations, biases, beliefs, desires, etc. It’s because we understand story on a primal level.
Sure, we can take raw information and put it to use, but it doesn’t meld with us, become part of us, or help us to identify with it. Storytellers weave magic with words and by doing so have vast amounts of influence. Those being influenced don’t care, either, because the story and the emotion it evokes in them blinds them or drives them onward.
Jesus spoke in parables for a reason. Those who are/were meant to understand do/did, and the vast majority won’t. Such is the way of things, I suppose.
I could type a post, laying out the facts of my life, but would you care about that? I highly doubt it. But if I crafted my life into a narrative? If I spun you a tale of tragedy, built of flowing prose and trying times? That would be another thing altogether.
It’s the reason that you can watch the news and see a school shooting, or read a history book on WWII, and continue with your day. It isn’t until you start hearing the victims describe the terror that they experienced, or listen to one from the greatest generation tell of bloodshed and loss, that your face grows hot and your emotions flow wildly.
Stories drive armed forces. Hell, they drive nations. They certainly drive you and I every day. Stories are how we related to others and to the world around us. They are the bedrock of human civilization.
How powerful is the one who speaks in story, in poetry, naturally? The implications have my mind spinning with the possibilities.
Anyway, I’m going to get back to the writing and wizard my way into publishing another book.
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