I know everyone thinks that they have something important to say to this world, and a few of us probably do a lot of the time, but the thing that sets us apart is how we choose to communicate our messages to others. Some are heard. Most are not.
So what makes people listen? What does a successful storyteller do to captivate their audience? Do they come right out with it – the truth – cut through the layers of bullshit and to the chase? Or do they dance around it, savouring ambiguity and daring others to come up with their own stories? Do they always choose to report things as they perceive them or do they allow others to discover their own truths, even if it gets them hurt?
I don’t know about you but I no longer believe in a concept as enigmatic as truth. Not now and probably not ever again. But what do I know? I’m just a person with a story like a billion others.
As a little girl I spent endless hours in my own head with my stories, fantasizing and dreaming about the day that my life would finally be perfect; the day when a strong and kind man would love me and I would be safe. As an adult I know now that nothing is ever perfect and that none of us are ever really safe.
My world has always been terrifying, right from the very beginning. It is an awful and foolish thing to spend life expecting things to get better. The fact is that things are more likely to get worse first. This is why I write. To document. To heal. To remember. To survive.