August 16, 2016

On Storytelling

It seems like a lifetime ago since I wrote something that was a pleasure to read. During my last semester of college, I wrote a dystopian novel for my thesis (not that it was a pleasure to read; it was, after all, written in under a semester) and I dare say I haven't written anything since. I was a creative writing minor. I was never truly taught, I just was; and something about my writer's voice (heavily influenced by a certain transgressional author) was enjoyed by a select few. Yet something that once came so natural to me escaped down the drain in college - by the end, by the acceptance of that diploma, it was as if any literary talent I'd once held in my fingertips was the water that rushed out of the colander. Long gone, with only starchy, non-nurturing carbs left behind.

I'm sure it has nothing to do with my decline in hours previously devoted to reading.

It is now a tedious chore akin to pulling teeth, a years-long dry-spell I've been ignoring for some time. Not at all like riding a bike, as they say, or maybe precisely this... based on the fact that cycling is not natural for me either. To put it simply, it's rather depressing - one of the few things that once provided a sense of confidence is MIA. While not inviting a pity party, I'm not particularly skilled at many things, but writing used to be one of them.

Where did the words go?

Certainly not a law of the land but a value I personally hold dearly: storytelling is a valuable art-form. Whether oral, written, visual, or some post-modern technique I haven't yet heard of, telling stories is how we share information, feelings, experiences. It's how we connect.

And though I don't want this blog to be stressed by the need of pictures and vivid language, which would indubitably improve its quality - I certainly want it to just happen, like the way I want any exercise to happen, whether it's of quality or not - I would like to start focusing a little bit more on the language I utilize when I share my experiences. This blog shall never be some book of groundbreaking poetry, nor is it where my "next" novel will take place, but I'd like to press myself to slow down and show you an experience you can lap up rather than tell you how I spent my weekend.

Isn't that the recurring trend here, anyways? A need for slowing down? That stop and smell the roses cliche becomes more and more relatable with each sunrise.

This won't happen overnight (indeed, I have more than one post already written and pre-scheduled for publishing, as per usual), but with heavy intentions I set forth to slow down and share a real story. Linger on a moment. Knead and rise, knead and rise, repeat and write something worth reading, since that was what I was after anyways, right? To stop sharing a status update and document real memories? We shall see if I can will the wit back. And eliminate a few verys.

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