The Lost Art of Storytelling
Stories have always been important to me. I've written, in fits and starts, for as long as I can remember. I can vividly recall being sat on cold pews in Chapel on a Sunday evening, furiously scribbling down fantastical stories, instead of paying attention to the service. Stories where masked men would burst through the door of the chapel, only to be thwarted in battle with the hero. Stories about pirates and hidden treasure; stories about suave spies foiling criminal masterminds; stories with ghost and ghouls and haunted houses.
Even when I wasn't writing, I was still making up large-scale war epics with my toys, or dressing up as James Bond and having globetrotting adventures without ever leaving the house and spending hours daydreaming in school. It was all part of my love of stories.
Most Sunday mornings I used to walk around the wilds of the Llynfi Valley with my Dad, who would tell me stories of wizards, dragons and small people with big hairy feet. These stories formed the soundtrack to the ancient woodlands. It was only later in life I realised that he had basically been retelling the Hobbit on those long Sunday strolls in the woods.
As a 13 year old my stories changed. One for the more notable changes was that every story needed to have a sex scene. The main issue with this was that, while 13 year old me was very keen on sex, I had absolutely no idea what sex actually involved (my first computer with a dial-up modem wouldn't arrive for at least another year).
13 year old deviant stuff aside; my stories became very much influenced by what authors I was reading at the time. For a while I solely wrote comic fantasy in the style of Terry Pratchett, footnotes and all. This continued until my late teens, as my tastes changed my writing continued to mirror this.
Since my early twenties I've written very little. I've knocked out a couple of poems, but prose has always been my medium of choice. I loved telling stories I wanted to hear, bending the worlds I created to my rules and revelling in the characters and their journeys. However, having a voice as a writer is important.
I guess that's the main reason I started this blog. My original pledge in 2011 was to be authentic (if I indeed, such a thing can be achieved) and 6 years later I don't think it's a bad one. This blog was always supposed to be about finding my voice. Discovering who that little boy in Chapel became after 25 years of consuming book, films, games and countless TV hours. More than finding a voice, I think I finally want to know if this voice has something worth saying.
Even when I wasn't writing, I was still making up large-scale war epics with my toys, or dressing up as James Bond and having globetrotting adventures without ever leaving the house and spending hours daydreaming in school. It was all part of my love of stories.
Most Sunday mornings I used to walk around the wilds of the Llynfi Valley with my Dad, who would tell me stories of wizards, dragons and small people with big hairy feet. These stories formed the soundtrack to the ancient woodlands. It was only later in life I realised that he had basically been retelling the Hobbit on those long Sunday strolls in the woods.
As a 13 year old my stories changed. One for the more notable changes was that every story needed to have a sex scene. The main issue with this was that, while 13 year old me was very keen on sex, I had absolutely no idea what sex actually involved (my first computer with a dial-up modem wouldn't arrive for at least another year).
13 year old deviant stuff aside; my stories became very much influenced by what authors I was reading at the time. For a while I solely wrote comic fantasy in the style of Terry Pratchett, footnotes and all. This continued until my late teens, as my tastes changed my writing continued to mirror this.
Since my early twenties I've written very little. I've knocked out a couple of poems, but prose has always been my medium of choice. I loved telling stories I wanted to hear, bending the worlds I created to my rules and revelling in the characters and their journeys. However, having a voice as a writer is important.
I guess that's the main reason I started this blog. My original pledge in 2011 was to be authentic (if I indeed, such a thing can be achieved) and 6 years later I don't think it's a bad one. This blog was always supposed to be about finding my voice. Discovering who that little boy in Chapel became after 25 years of consuming book, films, games and countless TV hours. More than finding a voice, I think I finally want to know if this voice has something worth saying.
If it be your will
That I speak no more
And my voice be still
As it was before
I will speak no more
I shall abide until
I am spoken for
If it be your will
That I speak no more
And my voice be still
As it was before
I will speak no more
I shall abide until
I am spoken for
If it be your will
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