Stories, I can find them everywhere. In nature, in books, in people, in movies, in shows, in patterns in the sand, in sound, everything is a reminder of a story. Stories aren’t manufactured, I firmly believe, they are out there to be found and some part of me even believe they have existed at one point – in another time, on another dimension, perhaps? That’s the only explanation I have for them existing. Where do these words come from otherwise? Are they mere result of our brains conjuring them up from the impressions we’ve had over our lives? It doesn’t sound as sexy, that’s for sure and I am a romantic ❤
It has become bothersome, really, because I do want to explore all the discoveries that I’ve made but I fear I never will because they’re too many. I do write them down though, for safekeeping. After every finished story comes the impossible decision to choose which of the tales deserves to exist, in our presence anyway, because they do exist already, somewhere else.
It’s probably not smart, but I tend to pick those stories that are the least developed, those that are just mere ideas and concepts. One example is a story about a man being trapped on an island with a witch. That was all. Who is the witch? Who is the man? How did he end up there? What kind of world do they live in? Those are the questions I love to find out.
I’m not good enough to make this sort of work painless, however, but I will someday. The story that felt right from the start.