“The ultimate aim of the ego is not to see something, but to be something.” ~ Muhammad Iqbal; Indian poet, philosopher, politician, academic, barrister, and scholar.
In a distant world where thinking deeply got you in trouble, where going against the establishment and its rules got you excommunicated and locked behind bars.
A dirty and trembling man sits upon the floor within his enclosed jail cell, close to him The Lord of Darkness himself sits under the form of a bright window…
…After several minutes had passed under stress and thoughts of grim death, the man dares finally ask, “Who–Who are you…??”
The Deceiver responds in a haughty and soothing tone after a poised chuckle, “You know who I am, Adam. You brought me here, to this… place you chose.”
The dead air stunk of sweat and hell ashes. Adam swallowed nervously, “…I didn’t choose this. And I didn’t bring you here.”
He was in meditation, brooding deeply. “Thoughts, intentions, and actions open portals into that which is represented by light or darkness in the cosmos. You chose your fate.”
Screams of anguish and people being punished pollute the air further. “Am I dreaming..?? This must be death… Is it not…??”
“How amusing you are.” His lips curled into something someone could call a smile of derision, “Life is all there is. Death, what you call death, is but a door into a higher level of consciousness, one level you cannot achieve in this… pitiful form you carry… No, not death. This is something else.”
“What is this then?”
“This is your world, the one you’ve chosen. Everything exists still, no life passes away; your wife, your children, even your dog, they all live. But you can’t see them, you lost that privilege when you chose me into your life.” The air became electric and cool. The bright window form became dark and the scenery through it purely wretched. “There is a balance for all that exists, Adam. You pushed on that balance too far, and life became… well this.”
Silence corroded the dungeon.
The Deceiver pierced his eyes, “Did you think your rebellious nonsense wouldn’t upset the balance of your life? Did you ever think of your family, how your selfish actions would affect them?… No, you were too self-involved. Your ego and your beliefs, thus your illusions mattered most to you. Congratulations on killing them. Congratulations on choosing me.” Then he vanished into thin air.
Tears began streaming down Adam’s face bathed on the memories of his family being killed in a shootout with police. It felt like he finally understood his whole world had come down on him. Several minutes he felt darkness consume his soul, grip his mind with a vise. His screams filled the air with terror!
Suddenly, a ray of electrified light came down, penetrated the jail, and swallowed him whole! His body and mind became light and each cell of his composition was stretched and filled in.
When he woke up next to his wife, his children were jumping on the bed. Covered in sweat and stinking of hell ashes, he ran to his bedroom window: Darkness and wretchedness had gone…
He looked at his wife and kids, then understood that he needed to stop being selfish and thinking about how to bring down the government, others and their nonsense, he understood that following others means being self-centered and radical while praising his own ego in any situation…
“When truth has no burning, then it is philosophy, when it gets burning from the heart, it becomes poetry.” ~ Muhammad Iqbal; British-Indian philosopher, poet, academic, politician, barrister and scholar.
Fire and Ice, Love And Fear
Godly ripples in the ether of mind, Rich essence of me without bind. Monsters and ghouls as rulers behest, Dark and confusing thought stressed.
My way and my step were under siege, Life and Death my tyrannous liege; I had fallen in the whimsical illusion each day, The cruel devastation of my life I did pay.
She was burning coal and I frozen rock, For two opposites met the imminent shock; Love existed but my form never knew, For fear within my wretched soul grew.
The clock had become my foe as well, The rushing entity of misery in Hell. The winds took a message in the fall, You wanted to see me in the ball.
Anxiety and doubt filled my many day and night, Fear had cursed my mind and it allowed no light; Dreams of the fire that consumed my house, The deaths of my dog, children, and spouse.
My face had been severely under fire, But I was marked and living most dire, And the wounds of my heart had no heal, The essence of love from my soul had conceal.
A book of ancient mystery and great lore, A bright and fateful day strengthened my core; It told about poles and degrees of the mental plane, How to transmute fear and reach a higher gain.
The fear stayed but let in some light then, There was this new confidence from the wise man. I chose to give my life one more try, Perhaps developed I had the inner eye.
Danced all night with you and saw your smile, That ball gave me an opportunity with no guile; You were perfect in your dress by me near, I took my lesson, Fire and Ice, Love and Fear.
“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” ~ Lao Tzu; ancient sage, philosopher, and historian.
Colors in the wind“
There is great wisdom in the wind,
Blowing here and there in spring;
Images and messages come to my mind,
Beyond words and voices, more than those two combined.
I remember the past people of mock and laughter,
They said there would not be love for me trial after.
But now I see colors as miracles which communicate
Peace and freedom, the warmth in the healthy fate.
Even the leaf on the tree blesses me,
The flower and the grass, the butterfly and the bee.
My step is of noble and forward move,
My heart is my guide following the groove.
Of the colors I sense in the wind which fill all,
The groove is your energy which does not let me fall.
I cannot see your form but I delight in your love essence
Which shines and warms my very presence,
And that is all I truly need to feel bliss,
My eyes are not blind to love such as this.
“The Conscious Ether“ (Between death and the next life)
Was I ever born…?? Was I ever dead…?? The faces always seemed so mysterious, So unnatural to me, memories like poison spread.
I was lost and then found,
I was me and then you, I was confused;
My world was upside-down, the color, the sound.
The fear was gone, the bliss had disappeared, But the colors, they remained enhanced, The sound was beautiful, the vision had cleared. My body was and wasn’t, but there was an essence… Yes, an essence of peace and freedom I felt clearly, A warm embrace, a conscious ether, a known presence.
Then it came to me, my forgotten past perhaps, Or my forgotten Now. Who knows? It called on my existence, energy links, summons, taps… It was my aura the one spreading into all vision, And then I visited other lands but never traveled, For I was expanded in my conscious condition.
The darkness came and I saw another light, Far into the distance I saw you, Then you floated to me, an angel so bright; The moment grew into sensations I couldn’t comprehend, We were two but then one, I was confused again, More than an angel, a goddess, a godsend…
My full name is Asa Ezequiel Rodriguez (Asael is my entire first name; Hebrew name picked from somewhere within the Bible, meaning “God’s right hand”). I used to be just like you, until a fatal accident changed my life entirely…
Are you ready for this true story…?! If you are, grab your popcorn and cozy blanket, and perhaps that baby pacifier you use when nobody is looking. This will become quite a ride as you read on!
One rainy night my parents and I were coming back home, when a heavily drunk asshole hit our Peugeot (that’s a car, for you Americans that do not know) and sent us all to the near Mar Del Plata’s main hospital (Mar Del Plata, Argentina, where I was born and raised). I had been injured pretty badly, and actually much more than my parents; the ambulance couldn’t revive me as I was in a deep unconscious state, losing blood and seizing every five minutes. Once there, the hospital team did everything they could to bring me back to life, but it was too late, for I was dead, gone from this physical plane.
Several minutes later, I don’t know how or why (I just know that nothing that happens to us human beings is random, all has a purpose in life–even when we do not understand what’s happening) but I returned to life, and greatly changed (not just in physical function but in other aspects as well).
Now, I won’t tell you that while dead or unconscious without pulse I saw some brilliant light or angels or pearly gates swung open or anything like that. Let your imagination fly. There is not enough use of good imagination now-a-days, most people just watches reality TV shows where idiots fight over who’s going to use the toilet next and over who used all the toilet paper. It’s pitiful.
After that, to make it shorter, I acquired certain talents or “conscious endowments.” And in the course of many months, I encountered great abilities head-on (granted they weren’t strong yet, but in firm transition or conscious evolution). My parents, of course, weren’t told anything because they would not have understood (you know, religious parents, or “normal-by-this-society” parents). And at the same time, I needed more time for myself and “to find me” (because I had gotten lost at the shopping mall when I went to buy some underwear). Put it simply, I wanted a job where I could meet great experiences, develop great wisdom in those extraordinary lessons from life itself, so I went in search for one.
So, after months’ search for the right one for me, Mr. Hernandez–a Psychic Investigator and a nice man–gave me the opportunity to earn some cash (some pesos), and I joined his ‘MarDel Retards Paranormal’ agency as an apprentice. (Needless to say, I think he had confused me with a retard, but, to be honest, when I went to my job interview I was loaded with the Novocaine my dentist had pumped in my mouth that morning, so, of course, I was drooling like a river was flowing out of my mouth and I couldn’t talk well; but, on the other hand, that incident did help me get the job, so all worked out great for me.)
Mr. Hernandez had gotten a call from the police dept. to go check out a “especial case for Paranormal Retards”, or a possible murder lead from an “unknown source”. This would be my first case. Although, this time I had stayed at the office because I had needed to use the bathroom very badly, and also because the OfficeMart truck was suppose to deliver a couch and Mr. Hernandez had wanted me to be there to receive it.
The delivery truck was pulling over up front by the sidewalk. You could see the giant display of colors and the words ‘OfficeMart makes it easier to rob your place if you’re not home’ (or some better translation of it from Spanish verbose) printed on the side of it.
Let me now introduce you to the nitty-gritty of the first case which I call…
Booooohh… gives me chills just to think about it… “The Vampire’s Slaughterhouse!”
When Mr. Hernandez came back, we both went to take a look at this ominous house of old-looking existence. To the cellar, where our retarded intuition took us. Once there, my mind was racing. I told myself to calm the fuck down, hold on tight to the three pounds of garlic to scare any vampires, and concentrate! Even having this conscious energy inside of me and this knowledge I had acquired of the supernatural wasn’t enough. I could feel my heart pounding, my hands sweating, while forcing my legs to keep marching to that cellar. And the worst, the smell was getting to me, revolting my stomach. See, I hadn’t shower in a month.
Then I realized night would soon come, and darkness was the perfect playground for any creature or demon. I had to pay attention to signs and sensations, having my surroundings in check at all times, looking for anything with even a teeny tiny presence. Finally we arrived to the cellar–old and partially cracked wood, a few paint scrapings on the doors, vampire vomit all over, and the room smelled like vampires had farted. Very common, I thought.
After we opened wide the heavy doors, we climbed down the stairs…
The first few steps we took were lit by the natural light from the outside (it wasn’t completely dark out yet), then we had to look for the switch to turn on the light as it was getting obscurer. Shit!-– The lights then turned on at the same time, it looked like lightning–a couple of flashes and flickers and then they settled. I noticed it was a large cellar, a lot of red and green blood, and also pee in storage (I had learned these creatures of the night drank the pee of their victims as well, as some kind of ritual), and some boxes containing stuffed Teddy bears on the sides. Did they also sell stuffed bears on the black market…?! Ghastly! Macabre!
A lot of twists and turns. A few rooms at the end, shelves with old and dusty magazines–a lot of vampire’s gay pornography. Everything seemed storage and junk. Suddenly, I tripped over a pile of bras and panties! These bastards also kept them from their victims as souvenirs. Sick Fucks!, I thought.
I couldn’t help but thinking that Demonitus could be part of this! Heisademon I found in the list of popular demons. Andwhatdodemonsdo?—tortureandscarepeople!Goodpeople!
(Oh, by the way, Demonitus had also been the first demon I had seen when I was dead in the hospital; however, back then I had no idea of what it was exactly–a product of my imagination, the memory of a horror movie, a subconscious fear of death itself…?? And then it had appeared next to the coffin of my dead friend. But the real shock for me was that he was fat and carried a big fork around–always thought that demons were fit or at least slim, because the spiritual body tends to have no need for physical food, and thus no need for a big fork either).
And as I kept onward, seconds later, the lights of this section of the cellar went off too leavingusintotaldarkness! I tried to turn the switch back on but it was all riddled with vomit, and it felt like some force was holding the light switch in one position! I tried and tried, and at one point I thought my fingers were about to be broken–the darn thing appeared to be rock! Oh mamma!– The air around me turned cold and heavy! Everywhere I looked was pitch black! My mind started playing tricks on me. I felt a swift touch on my shoulder– “Mr. Hernandez, did you touch me?! I–I’m not gay, dude.”
My confused mind started then coming up with all these frightening images and odd sensations of pure dread that gotten worse as he didn’t answer. “…Mr.–” I swallowed nervously, “Mr. Hernandez, did you–”Jesus!– Again. Someone was definitely in the room! Shit–Who was touching my shoulder, again? I spun halfway. My stance had been rooted to the ground, my feet firm as a rock. But as I turned around I lost my balance, snatched the air trying to get a grip on something, then, SLAAMM!–I dropped down like a bag of potatoes!
‘An eerie someone!’ It all seemed spooky and odd. I noticed I had fallen on top of something, and this something felt like a fat pig. “Mr. Hernan–” Couldn’t finish my thought. What had happened to him? Something had happened to him, something that had occurred in the split of a second. I then tried to remember a noise or something which could have hinted me of his fall, but all had taken place so fast. I was in the dark, confused, overwhelmed, nervous. This ‘eerie someone’ obviously did not want me to be down here–that much I knew at the moment.
I drummed a few on his face. “Mr. Hernandez, are you okay? Are you okay, Mr. Hernandez? … ARE YOU OKAY, YOU FAT PIG?!” I almost lost my marbles. After he squinted a few times and shielded his eyes from the strong light, he came to. By now, the room really smelled of vomit and farts. Not good for my allergies. Hard to breathe as well.
“What–What happened,” he drawled weakly. He then eyed me disoriented as he sat up.
“Are you okay?” I repeated. Christ!– “You have red lipstick kisses all over your face! Did the demon kiss you?!” …But you’re a fat pig; how can anyone wanna kiss you…??’ I thought to myself.
“I–I don’t remember…” he started, “I fell. I must have fainted.” He felt uneasy and odd, which worried me so. His eyes looked lost like a puppy’s, and his facial expression painful and awkward.
“What happened to you?” I pointed at the blood stain. “You are bleeding.” I took a better look at the area. The wounded are was close to his neck. And as I checked nearer, I found very tiny marks not too deep into the muscle–this is where my knowledge of anatomy paid off. They were one above the other, they weren’t life-threatening or anything like that.
But how–?? What–?? Can’t it be possible..?? As I studied the odd marks I also noticed their pattern, and they looked like needles. Honestly, I didn’t know what to make of it. What would I tell him? What was I suppose to say?– Someone had tried to had his way with him? A large group of ghostly ticks in love with his neck, perhaps? …
However, reader, I cannot tell you more, too scary for you.
“Drama is life with the dull bits cut out.” ~ Alfred Hitchcock.
‘Drama’ is indeed derived from the Greek word for ‘Action.’ Drama in your story must be like your life, without the boring parts–for example, you are waiting for the bus, which is boring and has no point of tension, so in your work that part must be taken away and not showed at all, unless something of drama extremely conducive to the story is added. Then, of course, the essence of drama is crisis; however, there is two kinds of crisis, “the hero crisis,” and “the natural crisis.”The hero crisis is, for example, in “Mission Impossible” or “Batman,” where the hero has great abilities, sometimes fantastical and superhuman, something that you do not experience every day in your own life.The natural crisis, for example, in “Office space” or “Manchester by the sea,” where the main character or characters have really normal lives like you and me, but something happens in their normal lives which turns into drama and tension, maybe a bit of chaos and lessons from the story’s character development the audience can learn from.
So, when you are involved in your writing or somehow creative endeavor, remember that drama must keep some kind of tension to grab the audience’s attention, and this at all times; whether little tension or beastly tension, and whether a roller coaster of tension, drama is all tension, the action which absorbs the attention of the viewer or reader. And I repeat the word ‘tension’ because this is a MUST DO in any creative endeavor. Also, remember that you can pick between the two crisis to make tension fit in your story and genre; this reasonable and wise choice will make your story stand out and create reality, even if it is a fantastical story–i.e., reality is about how well the details and the carrying out of the story is evoked in the mind of the viewer.
A great formula for explosive drama is this one: When it comes to the situations or the plot of the story surrounding the protagonist– As the protagonist in your story, for example, becomes less active and more passive, less certain of his inner strength and positive purposes, so it is the ambitions, the behaviors, the wickedness and intentions of those who surround him who now have another characterization in your story. The common compromise here is when the protagonist appears undecided and emotionally deterred for the first three quarters of the piece or art, but then that same protagonist is forced into a definitive commitment in the final quart, a positive action. The protagonist goes through all this hardships and struggles within himself so he can learn strength and wisdom to conclude in a positive note–for example, one of my favorites, as in Rocky, where he is a nobody and really feels like a nobody, but at the end gets inner strength and great love to finalize as a champion off the hard streets.
But more complex and hard to understand for the ‘Unsophisticated audience’ is the drama where the completely passive, undecided and purposeless protagonist does not have any major change of heart. There is always danger of this kind of story not being too popular for the masses; but, on the other hand, there is a depth here that the avant-garde types or more ‘Sophisticated audience’ will admire as true artistic innovation, mostly because it manages to avoid the obvious and delves into the deeper, emotional issues of the human being, as in “The mirror” (1975 Russian film) or “The seventh seal” (1957 film)–i.e., these films, are more philosophical in nature and try to delve into the experience of being human, the beliefs, the judgments, the essence of the mental and emotional conflict these movies, as well as books since it is about all stories in any art form, invite a lot of questions; they do not sermonize nor belittle any specific demographic but instead, it just state different opinions and let’s the audience discuss its deeper meaning and the meaning they will take away for themselves.
So whatever is your drama type, always remember tension and adapt the action to your story.
First, there was a boy; Peter was his name. He loved taking photographs of nature; since child he had been fascinated with capturing moments in life on moving film or still camera, for him it was all about emotional depth and the deeper understanding of nature’s interactions with all sentient life. Now, he would walk down parks in the whole state where he lived and take emotional photographs of the intimacy of nature itself. Birds being fed by people sitting on benches, ducks on the pond, dogs being walked by their humans, squirrels eating and squeaking in their woodsy habitats, even a few bears photographed from secret hiding places up in the mountains; it all made him blissful and gave him true freedom, communion with himself.
Then, of course, there was a small Toy Poodle dog; his name was Beast. Peter and Beast were the best of friends, the closest and most loving towards each other. They were always together, and I mean always; Beast would go along Peter when he took his photographs in the park, in the woods, in the beautiful sandy beach, etc. They had been best friends since Peter was nine and Beast had been less than one year old, when Peter rescued him from a sewer line–because some ignorant moron had not wanted the little dog and had left him there to die.
One day, like every morning, they had breakfast together. Peter sat and ate his cereal in the kitchen, Beast sat near him and ate his little pieces of dog food.
Once they finished eating, they played a little. But there is one thing I did not tell you yet: They were both alone in the world, they only had each other, which was fine; but, however, sometimes they would feel a little lonely. Peter had never met his family, and at about eight years old he had escaped from the orphanage in the depth of night. Beast, well, if it weren’t for Peter he would be gone from this ephemeral life.
One day, they both decided to take a walk in the woods; and while playing a little in the way there, they saw something. “Wow!–” Peter exclaimed while Beast wagged his tail happily.
They contemplated Kate, a beautiful girl his age holding a camera as well; she was next to a few rocks and pushing her back against a tree, but she looked scared. Peter did not understand why she looked like that, because a tree was blocking his view and he could only see her. Someone was after her, causing her to be scared.
When he got near her, he saw the whole thing; the baby bear he had become friends with was terrorizing her. Wait!– To be honest, the friendly baby bear was only interested in the sandwich she kept in her pants pocket, so there was no terrorizing her really. So, taking advantage of this friendship, Peter told his bear friend to leave her and to take his own lunch–it was Vegan food, much more nutritious and good for the growing bear.
So, long story short, Peter, Kate, and Beast were now best friends, best artistic buddies ever, sharing the same adventures and goals in life. Peter and Kate fell in love, and then Beast got a little jealous. But something wonderful happened next!
They were coming to the house that they shared together, the three of them now. Peter and Kate had brought a companion for little Beast; the dog pound guy had been thrilled to have found a new home for this little sweet one. Peter opened the bedroom door, and there she was with her tongue sticking out:
“SURPRISE!!” Peter and Kate yelled. Princess was a small dog, too. Beast looked confused, but then he stuck out his tongue in approval. Immediately, they got along perfect, sniffed each other’s butts and played like soulmates. In a way, they were falling in love. And Beast was extremely happy, so was princess, to have met each other.
To end this story, Peter and Kate started both selling their pictures and working for the same magazine. A couple of years later, they got married and were never separated. Beast and Princess were together and had a couple of puppies.
Great insecurity and fear left a dark spirit bare,
People shouted and amongst themselves fought,
The city was under siege and in fog wrought.
But there was one which came from another place,
He had carried courage and might all his days;
He had been born in a different age and town,
He was a being of truth, strength, love bound.
Arrived he to impress and conquer immorality,
With a mighty flame to do away with brutality.
A girl in the crowd contemplated his flame;
He emanated a greater purpose and fame.
The streets were safe and the strife was ended
Due to this man of the flame and spirit splendid;
Now they loved him, there were no cold hearts,
The girl was fascinated, under cupid’s darts.
He saw her amongst the crowd with a smile,
Then lit up, went to her with no guile;
So they found each other, profound connection,
Two souls merging with great affection.
“The Reaper in the trunk!“
The night is really dark and bitter cold, The candy sour and the movie old, The car is a beauty from the eighties,
I am Richard on a date with Mercedes.
Can’t believe I’m watching this drag
Right after landing with this jet lag,
She fell asleep, there is no one around,
No other viewers, now rain is coming down;
No car roof, I should’ve brought a raincoat.
Damn this weather, the tickets I bought!
Thought this would be for us a fun time!
My girl, candy, the tickets only cost a dime.
I will go take a look in the trunk for a jacket,
Even though fog is here and the wind is a racket.
CCRR! CCRR! Jeez, the noise, is someone in the back?!
Christ!!– I just saw the Reaper in the Trunk!
“The Holder of Magic“
There was a time long ago in another dimension,
Of different time and space that to the human mind brings tension;
This entity had no face and body of the physical kind,
For there were no superficial identities, names, and relationship bind,
It was a He and a She, pure energy, excellent evolution,
Emotional Intelligence, high senses, love essence fusion.
In his dimension there existed no wars, religions, politics, and classes,
For there were no violent beliefs, greed, revenge, and mediocre masses;
Hence, it might be a Heaven for the human sort,
Because consciousness was free there, there was no physical foe to thwart.
This entity had a quest, his nature, his very purpose of existence;
He was after knowledge, deeper love, beauty, he was all persistence,
He experienced the magic flowing everywhere, its smell, its taste, its radiance,
One with his universe, no separation, in his vast mind there was no variance.
But there existed an issue, the challenge which made life worth living;
Paralyzing fear, dark magic, negative mind-fogs, hidden forces unforgiving.
So he went into meditation, contemplated the obscurity, looked for the light;
But there was struggle, the soul was dark, misery, pain, a fright.
Woah!— Then the Holder of Magic came into being out of thin air!
A deity, a healer, a magician so powerful he was everywhere!
This deity like sound from the universe of light took care of the entity,
For the deity was absolute peace, powerful love, true conscious identity.
From then on thanks to the deity there remained dark bits here and there,
But no true malignant energy, no paralyzing fear, now it was fair.
It lies in the powerful spirit of The Holder of Magic, not in the mind,
For thinking too much about opinions makes it to reality be blind.
The deity finds his might in that which the eye cannot see,
In the subconscious flow, Infinite Intelligence, in the real me.
“I think the best stories always end up being about the people rather than the event, which is to say character-driven.” ~ Stephen King, American author.
As you start to plan a story in your mind, a powerful desire to create rich plot and characters is born, something which can get your interest and burn passionately inside you, to thus motivate you to do your best all the way through the story, from start to finish but to enjoy the creative journey. A very wise and professional way to do this and be successful at any form of storytelling, indeed emotionally connected, is to mentally personify key elements in that story, to pour and spread yourself in that story; therefore, the most important aspects of that story will be enriched if you write about things and experiences from your own life, and if each character, or at least the main character, has some features belonging to your persona, in order to make the story emotionally rich and real to the reader or audience. Because there is no more emotion and reality you can talk about than the ones in your own persona and experience.
If you wish to create a character that is really different from you and that has no qualities which can be found in yourself, this is fine also if you have some experience watching people and understanding the psychology of others so you can make this new character pop up in your story; however, your main character (protagonist) will make or break your story, no matter how good the plot is and how much fantasy or action there is, so you will have to extend yourself into this particular character, embody this character in the flesh, know how he thinks and feels, his beliefs and his intentions (you must do this with all characters in your story, but most importantly with your main one). This is the key to your story’s success, so do not ignore it.
In the world of film-making, screenwriting mostly (the story’s true creator), it has been stated that invention is often memory in disguise. And this means that true emotion and connection shall emerge from something you know by heart, perhaps some hint of a experience you had or some trait you have gained from your past. See, the writer must perform in his mind, be God and be everywhere, rapidly shifting points of view that look at different characters at different moments.The point here is to create something rich which can really move you and build a passion in you, and at the same time create something which can also move the audience and connect them to you through your work; but, obviously, if you are not successful in this process, it does not matter the wonderful scenarios depicted in your work, your art will suffer and people won’t connect to it.
I have written a screenplay, in early states of production now, called: “Michael Vega: Loose Damned.” And for the purpose of demonstrating further, I would like to share some lines here. I have written the main character, Michael Vega, based on me, or at least some traits:
FADES INTO BLACK, we hear rattling of chains and screaming.
EXT. ENTRANCE OF CREEK – MOMENTS LATER
The same disheveled and burned-up man comes out crawling from the quiet waters, breathing heavily while in pain. He staggers up, looks around confused and lost.
CAMERA FOLLOWS FROM MAN’S POV, right side straight into emptiness, then left side to overlooking empty road. On post, he sees a sign:
ASHFORD COUNTY LAKE. HEBER 20 MILES.
Michael (V,O- Voice Over)
“Hi, my name is Michael Vega. That much
I do remember… And I’m not ordinary nor
CAMERA SHOWS HIS FULL FACE AND TORSO NOW, he looks 35 years old, wears the cool black, face significantly scarred. He limps to rock and sits, sees visions (flashes) of flames and hears chains rattling, cackles and slaves being whipped. Flashes stop and he agonizes in silence. Clutches head.
(Side note:A little explanation. Notice how Michael is depicted here; this is basically me, because I am also 35 years old now, love wearing black jackets, and Michael also has endured a tough and “hellish” life, just like me in my real life.)
“I did something not many do to get here.
I’m looking for someone. But this is all
I will tell you for now, you don’t need
to know more. Just remember, I’m not
ordinary nor pathetic.”
CAMERA PULLS OUT AND FADES IN TO BLACK, all silent except for rattling chains and screams of pain.
EXT. PAVED ROAD – SAME DAY
CAMERA FOLLOWS MICHAEL’S POV, only his heavy breathing and pained grunting are heard. Straight view of the overlapping empty road, we see nothing but pavement, clear skies and side empty fields for a while.
CAMERA’S ANGLE CHANGES DRASTICALLY, now we see the road and his ominous shadow limping for drama scene, exhausted, about to…
CAMERA SHOWS HIS SIDE BODY COLLAPSING, then zooms to face on the ground. Centers on eyes squinting and bleeding blood.
CAMERA PULLS OUT AND FADES IN TO BLACK, all silent except for rattling chains and screams of pain…
Characters, plot, subplot, tension; All human experience, emotional connection. What does magic have to do with storytelling…??
Well, it is all about creating worlds, human compelling. And why does it have to be richly character-driven…?? Because rich characters create that world, that is a given.
Great movies show and then tell, never the other way around.
Excellent novels free the mind to dream and become spellbound.
I find stories and things coming alive wherever I look,
As soon as I wake up I get lost in my magic book.
“The fact of storytelling hints at a fundamental human unease, hints at human imperfection. Where there is perfection there is no story to tell.” ~ Ben Okri; Nigerian poet and novelist.
Storytelling is, plain and simple, ALWAYS, a performing art. You cannot be a great storyteller if you are not able to build great scenarios in your mind’s eye and specifically direct the scenes with protagonist and antagonist. You could be a professional writer film-maker, actor, or any other, but you will never connect with any audience at a deeper human level, or bring extraordinary success to your life and craft, if you cannot arrange and control these creative energies in your mind to design incredibly moving scenarios as a great performer. Steven King, Spielberg, Leonardo da Vinci, Mozart, they all present this creative power of performing in their minds, they arrange and position every scenario, whether is a moving picture or a still picture–it is all a story, because if it is not a story then it won’t create really deep emotion when the viewer or listener enjoys the art form.
In order to be truly creative genius, real talent which gets to the heart of the public, and, obviously, to the heart of the creator in the first place, there must exist face-to-face experience; however, this experience of the genius creator is not merely the experience of the outer environment, but it is the experience lived in the moment and created by the incredibly powerful mind’s eye. The performance in the mind of the creator must be pristine and real, it must engage all your emotions and take over the very essence of your cellular composition, and it must feel like you are really there in the scenario and it must answer the questions you open with each movement in your mind;because if you cannot answer those questions, then, the public will not be able to answer them later, they will just walk away due to no deep human connection, specifically due to no INDIVIDUAL CONNECTION.
Extraordinary storytelling is mainly the direct or indirect sense of tension between storyteller and listener/ public, it does not matter the form of storytelling and it does not matter the genre of the story. See, storytelling is the profound understanding of when tension is growing, remaining leveled, and when it is slackening; hence, if you are not keen or master of this process, chances are, you will not be very good at expressing yourself and connecting to people through the great art of storytelling, even though your intentions and wishes to connect may be heartfelt.
Storytelling is seizing the imagination of the audience in a subtle and/or unsubtle way, but always swiftly keeping tension and opening questions in the mind of this same audience, and this art is also connection through the screen, painting, or piece of writing. That’s all it is. Raw and uncut, flawed and human; because extraordinary storytelling gets close to life and we must take from it something to elevate the human spirit or to at least give us some meaning of something important to us. Flawed and human, raw and uncut, I said, because human life itself is flawed as well; therefore, whoever seeks perfection in their art is not a true artist, due to true art being life and life being true art.
In this great art of the human experience, digressions and elaborations, your own twist and turns and individual mannerisms, are welcomed and suggested always; but, and you must pay attention to this very well, first you have to make sure the audience is hooked by the promise of something to come or some form of tension already created.You as the creator and master storyteller cannot assume that the reader or audience will be as interested as you are in your art form, so you must project a deeper experience with some form of tension first, and once they are involved emotionally or hooked to your story then you can elaborate crazy characters and twists and turns. This is the golden rule of all genius storytelling.
Being a master of storytelling is more than just creating art in the professional life, but it goes to the everyday life of the human being as well, for stories are all around us and they are what make human experience of value. As a master storyteller you will connect deeper and create opportunities for yourself, motivate yourself and others to reach whatever is of importance, and emanate a sense of love into the world.
Because, remember, storytelling is life itself, and life is storytelling itself.