The Curse of the Storyteller.

It is common knowledge that without an intense, intricate or somehow dramatic personal life, a storyteller is rendered quite obsolete. Creation strikes only when there is a story to tell and so a storyteller should always have an exciting and surprising life to draw inspiration from.

Such is both the good fortune and the curse of the storyteller. Now there is a particular storyteller who only strove to be fulfilled. To be happy was the purpose of everything he ever undertook. And so he waited for opportunities to present themselves to him and prove himself the best person he could ever be in this instance. And then he told his stories. His failures, or more accurately the mistakes he made so he could learn from them, his victories and everything in between. The stories took many forms, sometimes songs, sometimes drawings, sometimes a book or a short story, he even tried his hand at photography and filming when he felt it right.

And in storytelling, his learnings came to be clearer and he became better and better. He could come back to them whenever he felt he had forgotten. Or just leave them be when he felt he didn’t need them anymore. Such was the purpose of his work.

Not a week passed without him producing a word or a picture of some sort. For his personal knowledge or to be shown to the world, whichever he felt was best fitted.

Yet it has been months and this storyteller has been at loss of words. Although life has been plentiful, his pen remained dry. Everytime he thought of picking it up, he acknowledged his heart, and in believing there was nothing to say, he left the pen untouched.

But just like his trusted tool, the storyteller became lonely. And so he read stories of others to keep his faith in this most favorite art.

And in reading others he realized his reason for not having anything to say anymore. He had gone weary of his usual activities. The ones that used to bring inspiration, mistakes, fun, disappointment and learning had nothing left to teach him or brighten him it seemed. So what must be done in order to bring new ideas into his life?

It didn’t really dawn on him that if he had become bored of the many opportunities that came to him, or at least if he felt they were insufficient for his happiness and creativity, it might be because he would have something to change himself. But not knowing that, he waited. As was his habit because things always conveniently fell upon him for a reason or another.

One of his particular friends called it “the calm before the storm.”

But the storyteller’s patience was growing thin and the calm was way too calm for his liking. The stories that came to his mind were all the same and he was too jaded in just thinking them to even put them to paper.

His body though, had a way of expressing itself which he had grown accustomed to listen to. And strangely, it felt like he could not have one more sip, or one more bite of some sweet greasy treat without provoking intense disgust from the pit of his stomach. And so he thought. What if he got rid of everything he resorted to when he was bored. His cures had always been parties, good food, drinks, new people (read here women). Not necessarily in that order. But maybe instead of finding new things to play with and divert himself with, he could let go of those habits and see what came to him instead.

He scarcely had a choice, thought he, for his body truly gave him a miserable time even just at the thought of marinated beef or fresh beer. And in listening he felt it not impossible to change so imbedded habits. It didn’t even feel unpleasant.

And in doing so the inspiration came flowing back. And instead of new, fleeting acquaintances, he cherished deeper relations that gave him more to write and talk about than anything else. And thus he found that the word boring was not linked to being sober, calm, healthy or straight, but that boredom came from stagnation, from the sameness of living, from unchanged habits and traits of character. And if the same excitements had been part of his daily routine, then they were no more exciting. And so he cast them away. Until they should be exciting again.

Xoxo – From the depth of a good book with Love.