...WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?
ARE YOU trying to get to know me?
DO YOU LIKE..want to know more about..my career?
SPOILER ALERT!
it's been rather
non-linear.
My journey with writing started a really long time ago. I went on a trip, and when I got home, I was so excited, I wanted to remember everything about that place, so I wrote it down.
Then I posted it, and all my friends asked me where that place was. They had never heard of it before.
That's when it hit me. That place, it did not exist for them until I wrote about it. It exists for me because someone did, and it will only exist until the last story about it is told.
That place itself was once a story.
Someone looked at a bare piece of land and told himself the story of a city. Then, he told others, and it came to be. What unimaginable power that was, to raise Atlantis out of the depths of the roiling sea!
So I picked up a pen, and I did everything I could think of to content. I wrote it, copy wrote it, created it, reported it, edited it, blogged it, emailed it, marketed it, strategized it, curated it, repurposed it, and wove it into webbing narratives to build virtual worlds for others to explore, much like I did that very first day.
This made a lot of people very angry. How dare I be many things?
But then again, the best stories often do, and are.
THE ANSWER IS EVERYTHING
I WANT EVERYTHING
my
WORK.
As I grew up and tried many things, I realized that all the science teachers were wrong.
The world wasn't made up of molecules.
It was made of us, and we are made of stories.
We live in stories.
We fall in love with a story, and we hate how it has changed.
We miss stories, and those who tell the ones we like the most.
We look for people who tell stories we can't tell ourselves.
And when we find them, we live in these stories together.
Sometimes, we are trapped in stories we don't like.
So we tell ourselves a better story, and when we can't, we embark on a journey to find better storytellers.
We tell ourselves stories about ourselves,
and we call that identity.
We tell ourselves stories about our lives,
and we call that memory.
We make stories with others,
and we call that friendship.
We decide to tell a story together,
and we call that love.
We tell it to our children,
and we call that legacy.
Then I realized that for all the words in every language, and for all the world with all its infinite grandeur, there have only ever been three states of being, and only two contain life.
Creation. Destruction. Vacuum.
Some people tell themselves stories to live.
Some people wield stories to destroy.
And some stories swallow their people whole.
When stories fight, people lose.
When stories fight, people are lost.
When stories fight, people find their own.
Civilizations were built on a story.
Civilizations died for a story.
Not one civilization out there didn't have a story.
And neither can we ever really be without one.
We do not work to make money.
We do not buy a house for shelter.
We do not build a family to preserve our species.
We do not make friends because it's safer in groups.
We do not eat to stay alive.
We do not go to bed to temporarily shut down our systems.
And we do not wake up because our system had enough.
We do everything for our own reasons,
and not one reason can ever live outside of a story.
And some other stuff→
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