Member-only story
The Storyteller’s Deceit
We all think we’re living the life of a main character.
There are days I wonder just what meaning and significance a human life holds. With eight billion people out there, is it any surprise most of us have trouble finding just what our purpose holds on this planet in one galaxy out of potential millions out there in the universe?
It’s a lot, I know.
But I didn’t come here to talk about the semantics of human existence (though the thought does stray into my mind far too often). I was supposed to write something about stories. Lately, I’ve been far too caught up in the ups and downs of my life to focus on the writing at hand. The last few days have been a struggle where I come to the keyboard and feel as if I have nothing left to bleed out in the transition from mind to screen.
I look at all these people we admire and put on pedestals, and I wonder why it so often feels like we’re just perpetual spectators in an audience of millions when we could be putting on shows of our own. (Getting lost in the metaphor? Maybe it’s escaping from me a tad…)
As a storyteller, there are too many times where I feel dettached from the world around me. My thoughts wind in the twist-and-turn of plot-ridden escapades, and in the process I tend to forget to actually live my life. I…
