Imagine men and women sitting around the fire in their caves - so
many, many years ago, we can't believe the Earth has lasted so long.
Outside is the terrifying darkness. The stars are like snow in the
cold night sky. A cloud crosses the Moon. Animals howl, and there
is danger all around.
But at the cave mouth (or in the centre of the hut, or the big nobleman's hall),
the fire crackles, and the men, women and children gather round.
What do they do, once the important business of eating is over?
THEY TELL STORIES.
Somebody says, "listen to this" and they all stop talking and give themselves up to the teller of tales.
Maybe the story is real - about what happened that day, how the Deer was killed or the Pig run down.
And how brave they were - of course!
Or about a battle they fought two whole years ago - they can only count time by the movements
in the sky and the way the laves fall from the trees, so they forget details and make things up.
It isn't lying; it's telling stories.
What if the story is a thinly disguised piece of gossip about someone they know?
Maybe they laugh because it's rude. Or maybe the story is about the wild unknown that is
outside their narrow world.
Maybe it described how the Moon cried, or how the trees grew or the stars fought a battle to own the sky.
Perhaps they want to explain how the world was made, by story.
Maybe it tells of ghosts and monster, and the people shiver and draw nearer together, not wanting the fire to die down.
SO - before people could write, they TOLD.
Then one day they learned to write down what they told. But the impulse to tell stories remains the same today.
To Explain. Romanticise. Frighten. Fascinate. Grip.
Or to make people to imagine what it would be like to be somebody else, so you can sympathise with them.
That's a kind of reaching out ...
THAT'S WHY I WRITE.
What kind of stories would you tell if you lived in "yore" or "yesteryear" -
as Rachel once said in "Friends"?
What do you want your stories to do?
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