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Storytelling Quotes

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Storytelling Quotes

“Don’t think that writing your character as an untainted paragon of virtue will make them likeable—actually the opposite is true. People are attracted to each other’s rough edges. Your readers will relate more with your hero if they show issues that taint their character.”

“Now the second common characteristic of fiction follows from this, and it is that fiction is presented in such a way that the reader has the sense that it is unfolding around him. This doesn't mean he has to identify himself with the character or feel compassion for the character or anything like that. It just means that fiction has to be largely presented rather than reported. Another way to say it is that though fiction is a narrative art, it relies heavily on the element of drama.”

“So Glinda was telling us how you’re trying to find out about someone getting kicked out of Penhaven, and I was telling her that I dated this girl who works in the records department. Her name was Sara, and she was really nice, but she was also a Pisces, and I’m a Leo, so—” “You can skip that bit,” Gwyn told her, laying a hand on her arm, “much as it did enhance the original story.”

“Anchor Your Stories in Redemptive Themes So We Are Moved to Live Up to Them: Rather than making yourself the victim or the hero in the stories you tell, describe a daunting time of loss, crisis, or criticism or where you made a mistake or acted badly, yet you were eventually able to learn from it. Such stories show vulnerability and a desire to grow and live fully rather than in fear. Then that facet of you can be the place where others can positively and productively connect with you, hard-earned strengths firmly attached together. You can support each other in reinforcing redemptive characterizations and action.”

“She: Hello. I am a big fan of yours, Mr. Writer. He: Hello. Do you seriously like reading my words? She: I won't tell a lie to you. From the day I started reading your words, they connected with a deeper part of my soul. He: This is so amazing to hear. Glad my words could make you feel something. She: I have anxiety issues. I usually cannot sleep untill 3 am most nights. So, I stay up late in the night and stalk you. That's when I spend time reading your words and checking your posts. They mean a lot to me. I am obsessively in love with your words. He: Wow! Just Fantastic. I am elated to meet you. She: And I am ecstatic to meet you. I have been following you from the past five years. I have come here to this city, specially to meet you.”

“A shaman and a writer each serve as their communities’ seers by engaging in extraordinary acts of conscientious study of the past and the present and predicting the future. An inner voice calls to the shaman and an essayistic writer to answer the call that vexes the pernicious spirit of their times. Shamanistic writers induce a trance state of mind where they lose contact with physical reality through a rational disordering of the senses, in an effort to encounter for the umpteenth time the great unknown and the unutterable truths that structure existence. An afflicted person seeking clarification of existence cannot ignore the shamanistic calling of narrative exposition. Thus, I shall continue this longwinded howl – making a personal immortality vessel – into the darkness of night forevermore.”

“Storytelling creates a healing serum. The thematic unguent of our personal story represents a fusion of the ineffable truths that each of us must discover within ourselves.”

“Recounting the narrative of our personal story in a methodical and chronological manner helps us see our life in a historical perspective. Telling our personal stories allows us to bring hibernated memories out of seclusion. Reexamination of our historical existence under the light of growing conscious awareness assist us make psychological breakthroughs. Analyzing the elemental substance of our personal story from a sundry of viewpoints employing techniques of literature, philosophy, logical reasoning, and abstract thinking assist us perceive our discrete chronicle in symbolic terms and in mythological context.”

“We are each warriors of our own times. When we step out of our protective shell, we each encounter forces much more powerful than we are. What we learn through testing ourselves on the combat zones of our eon becomes the textbook protocol for how we shall live out the remainder of our life. The glorious skirmishes and daunting conflicts that we encounter, and what we learn from vigorous engagements on the battlefield of time, inscribe the story of our lives. Spiritual leaders help guide us in our times of doubt and self-questioning. Recognizing the value of the mentorship of spiritual guides in their self-questing ventures, persons who endure immense adversity wish to reciprocate their love of humanity by sharing the scored story of their episodic journey through the corridors of time and relay the incisive truths they discovered to any other travelers with a willing ear.”

“Promise me you will pass on the story of the first woman -- in whatever form you wish. It was given to me by women in captivity. They lived an awful state of migration, my grandmothers. Telling origin stories was their act of resistance. I only added on a bit here and a bit there. Stories are critical, Kirabo,' she added thoughtfully. 'The minute we fall silent, someone will fill the silence for us.”

“Stored personal memories along with handed down collective memories of stories, legends, and history allows us to collate our interactions with a physical and social world and develop a personal code of survival. In essence, we all become self-styled sages, creating our own book of wisdom based upon our studied observations and practical knowledge gleaned from living and learning. What we quickly discover is that no textbook exist how to conduct our life, because the world has yet to produce a perfect person – an ideal observer – whom is capable of handing down a concrete exemplar of epistemic virtues. We each draw upon the guiding knowledge, theories, and advice available for us in order to explore the paradoxes, ironies, inconsistencies, and the absurdities encountered while living in a supernatural world. We mold our personal collection of information into a practical practicum how to live and die. Each day we define and redefine who we are, determine how we will react today, and chart our quest into an uncertain future.”

“This week I’ve been reflecting on a passage from my novel, The Time In Between: ‘Dreams don’t carry over calendars. They don’t leave behind the scent of sandalwood or the sound of applause echoing in the back of your mind. They don’t make you wake up wondering if you’ve left a version of yourself behind in another life.’ Have you ever had a dream that felt too real — like it belonged to another version of you? I’d love to hear your thoughts.”

“Publishers, readers, booksellers, even critics, acclaim the novel that one can deliciously sink into, forget oneself in, the novel that returns us to the innocence of childhood or the dream of the cartoon, the novel of a thousand confections and no unwanted significance. What becomes harder to find, and lonelier to defend, is the idea of the novel as—in Ford Madox Ford’s words—a “medium of profoundly serious investigation into the human case.”

“See . . . um . . . the thing is, I met with Lisa a few days ago. She wanted to apologize for . . . Halloween, and not calling . . . Thing is, her previous story . . . um . . . She wanted me to read it. She . . . wanted to explain her issues. She was jealous . . . of you and me becoming friends and . . . kinda lost it, I guess. My point is, um . . . she used the story to put it into words . . . I think she is writing messages. . . to you.”

“He saw everything he related. It passed before him, as he spoke, so vividly, that, in the intensity of his earnestness, he presented what he described to me, with greater distinctness than I can express. I can hardly believe, writing now long afterwards, but that I was actually present in these scenes; they are impressed upon me with such an astonishing air of fidelity”

“That’s why I started writing this story. Those things were just so heavy. It was impossible to carry around all by myself, my real father, Ray’s abuse, your death, so I took them and wrote them down. I edited them and changed the words around, shaping them into something whole. And then I printed them out onto a page, closed the book, and put it on a shelf. And if someone else read my words, then it meant that I wasn’t alone.”

“Mama always told me that secrets come out after sundown. She said that when the darkness of night crept into the corners of my room oily shadows would unfurl themselves from under my bed, while the crows sleeping in the tree outside my window would flutter to the pane’s sharp edge to tap at the cracks in the casement, and the monster in my closet would sigh, opening its eyes before it scratched at the closet door. I’d only have to be quiet and listen.”

“.. Long before the lizards, before the dinosaurs, two spores set out on an incredible journey. They came to a valley bathed in the placid glow of sunset. My elder sister, said the little spore to the bigger spore, let us see what lies beyond. This valley is green, replied the bigger spore, I shall journey no farther. I want to journey, said the little spore, I want to discover. She gazed in wonder at the path before her. Will you forget your sister? asked the bigger spore. Never, said the little spore. You will, little one, for this is the loveless tale of karma; in it there is only parting and sorrow. The little spore journeyed on. The bigger spore stayed back in the valley. Her roots pierced the damp earth and sought the nutrients of death and memory. She sprouted over the earth, green and contented ... A girl with silver anklets and eyes prettied with surma came to Chetali’s valley to gather flowers. The Champaka tree stood alone—efflorescent, serene. The flower-gatherer reached out and held down a soft twig to pluck the flowers. As the twig broke the Champaka said, My little sister, you have forgotten me!”

“We tell the story of our grief for two reasons: first, to solidify in our brains and hearts that life without our loved one is our new reality; and second, to realize that we are not alone. Just as grief is not a one-time event, telling the story of our loss is not a one-time event, either. We must share the story of what happened, to make sense of it for ourselves and to connect with others who are experiencing similar pain.”

“I am going to tell a story now, and though I've made a life out of writing words, this is the first time I have told a story. There are no new stories in the world anymore, and no more storytellers. There is nothing left but the fragments of phrases that signalled their telling: once upon a time; why; and then; the end. But these phrases have lost their meanings through endless repetition, like everything else in this modern, mechanical age. And this machine age has no room for stories. These days we seek our pleasures out in single moments cast in amber, as if we have no desire to connect the future to the past. Stories? We have no time for them; we have no patience.”

“What will other people think? It reflects the human yearning for belonging versus the imagined harsh reactions of the world. But in reality, people care much less than you think, and that’s the naked truth.”

“Nobody wants a sales pitch. So instead of trying a hard sell, focus on telling a story that captivates your audience by painting a vivid picture of your vision. When you get good at storytelling, people want to be part of that story, and they’ll want to help others become part of that story too.”