Telling Stories

All writing is telling a story.  We tell stories about people.  Whether it’s an aging rock star in a parallel universe, the only fertile man left on Earth, or a girl who’s actually 300 years old.

Even when we’re writing about green energy, it’s a story of how that affects people’s lives.  There’s a story of fiscal realities in the experiences of a CFO at a corporate meeting.  If we’re selling a product or service, we’re telling a story about the benefits it brings to someone.

Stories are an excellent way to teach and illustrate a point.  There’s nothing quite like touching someone where they live.  When we tell engaging stories, we reach others on a level where they can say, “Yes, I see what you’re saying.”  Stories evoke pictures, allowing others to see what the writer sees, from the perspective of their own experience.

We tell ourselves stories all the time. When we exclaim, “Oh, I’ve never been any good at that,” we are just as much telling a story as I’m this age, have this job and come from this place.  I recently read stories about the Pioneer Women and what their lives were like. The stories their lives had to tell them.  What are our lives talking about today? What are the stories we tell ourselves?

I’m talking about the constant commentary.  Woody Allen wrote in his brilliant film, “Annie Hall,” in a scene at a party with the literary crowd. Woody’s character, Alvy Singer says to his then-wife, “I had heard that Commentary and Dissent had merged and formed ‘Dysentery.’”  Susan Jeffers called it the Chatterbox.  It’s that spewing of thoughts around how this one is that and that one is this. Judgements, gossip and evaluations of everything we’ve done or haven’t done, everything everyone else does or doesn’t.  Interspersed with that is the flotsam and jetsam of random thoughts, like to-do lists.  Emotions bubble up to sometimes yell at us (or someone else). Doubts materialize around whether we can or cannot do this because of this or that thing which happened before.  Doesn’t this add up to a story we’re telling ourselves? There are a million stories in The Naked City.  In a grand way this stream of consciousness story we tell ourselves everyday defines who we are.  We become the stories we tell about ourselves.

Don Miquel Ruiz wrote a wise book called “The Four Agreements.”  In it he talked about how we agree to buy into a belief system, a way of thinking, about ourselves, our community, our planet.  He explained, “The belief system is like a Book of Law that rules our mind.  Without question, whatever is in that Book of Law, is our truth.  We base all of our judgements according to the Book of Law, even if these judgements go against our own inner nature.”  You may always come from a certain place, your race and heritage may not change, but you can always change what you believe by changing the stories you tell about yourself in your Book of Law.

I believe in affirmations.  If you tell yourself a story about how you can often enough, with enough belief, you can.  I think I can, I think I can, I know, I know I will.  Energy and motivation can be had by telling yourself a certain story. There are those who have performed healings, done what couldn’t be done, overcome insurmountable obstacles, because they told themselves they could.  Whether it’s true or not, by the way.  It’s quite astonishing the things we can make ourselves do, simply by telling ourselves a good story.

The troublesome stories are the ones that don’t allow us to do what we long to do. The ones that scream we can’t from the Book of Law.  We need to find ways to break out of those laws.  Stories are powerful.  It’s easy to become attached to them coming out the way we want them to. There’s a real art to being able to move out of restricting beliefs, let go of the outcome, the ending of your story and allow it to take the shape it wants.

Chapter 2, The Environment That Creates Winners

From the book Wishcraft, by Barbara Sher

Some of the 7 characteristics of that environment are being treated as if you had a special kind of genius that was worthy of love and respect, encouraged to explore all your own talents and interests, and being bailed out of trouble without reproach.

After reading the list I felt the weight of growing up in a family dominated by boys. I don’t believe anyone ever thought I’d be anything but a mother. I needed no special training, nor encouragement to do that. I was loved and cared for. I had all I needed in terms of food, shelter and games to play. But not much more in preparation for life.

Bu there was something delicious about thinking what it would be like if I had been raised that way. It also gave me a sense of calm. Ah, this why my life is the way it is. I didn’t get what I needed to be anything more.

The Exercise, I’m pleased to say, was to write about “What You Might Have Been.” I had a lot of fun with that I think I would’ve been a rock journalist. It was just the right time for it, too. I probably would’ve married a rich rock star. With his money, I might have gone to school and become an architect. After designing and building a few homes (including my own) I may have grown bored and decided to settle down and have kids. While the children were growing up, I would’ve written my music business novel. I’m sure it would’ve gotten quickly published, as I am, after all, the wife of a famous rock star. From then on it would’ve been a busy life, combing the children and both our hectic tour schedules. Then again, maybe I would’ve settled on becoming a first-rate writer from the start, not needing so many things. It’s hard to say.

Barbara reassures us that it’s not too late. We can create the environment, the tools and supplies, the supports, we need. That’s good news. We can still have “the inner strengths that are built by good early nutrition – self-confidence and self-esteem and the courage to take risks.” Yes, ma’am! I’ll have a big helping of those, please.

She’s careful not to blame the parents. After all, as I always say, “My mother didn’t have Oprah,” or anyone else, but maybe Dr. Spock, to tell her how to raise children. (Mr. Spock might have offered more effective insights.) Many of our parents didn’t have a clue about all this and certainly weren’t raised in this kind of environment. My mother’s mother was too busy trying to figure out how to survive.

My parents, Barbara reckons, wanted to protect me from disappointment. My mother’s life didn’t end up as she may have dreamed. There were little choices for women in her day. To marry a good man, keep house and raise children was about it for her. No doubt she suffered greatly having to deal with her disappointment and didn’t want me to suffer in the same way. Barbara mentions jealousy as a factor, too. Even if they weren’t aware of it. “Suddenly they saw blooming in you all the qualities they had to squelch in themselves.” You could hardly blame them.

There’s some serious stuff here. I’m almost tempted to write a piece on each of her characteristics. The rest of the book, Barbara says, “is going to be your Portable Success Support System.” I’m looking forward to the next section, “Wishing.” Until next week, I continue to Wish.