Dec 10 2008
All of life is a story
I said that to a friend once in high school. Everything in life truly is a story, no matter how small. A leaf blowing in the wind, an ant crawling on the cement, a building crumbling to the ground, a girl crying in the corner; it’s all a story.
What interests me is everything that lead to that simple (or complex) event; making up a story in the back of my mind about it. No, it’s not being judgemental of anyone or anything, but making myself think about a possible idea. Why is that girl crying? Maybe she’s a selfish brat, crying over something trivial. Or maybe it’s as severe as finding out someone she loved dearly has died, or is fighting for their life. maybe it’s a heartbreak.
And what about the leaf? Sure, blowing in the wind is simple enough, but what if it’s from a hundred-plus-year-old Sequoia that predates even American settlers? Imagine the things the tree was standing through. No, trees can’t talk, but the mere thoughts themselves can be daunting: the Indian raids, the natural disaters, the explorers, the immigrants, and so much more!
My goal is simply to write those ideas–those histories–down and portray a possible story about something. What could’ve been. A series I’m planning spans a family history all the way from the Mayflower up until post-Berlin Wall Berlin. And predating the Mayflower, they lived in English nobility. It gets more complex than that, but as I said, anything–and EVERYTHING–can be a story.
