Writer vs Storyteller
By Jo Eberhardt | April 2, 2016 |
Photo by Flickr user Sam Howzit
There are hundreds (possibly thousands) of essays and articles online attempting to differentiate between writers who tell stories and storytellers who write books. Many people will say that it doesn’t matter; that it’s all semantics. Which led me to wonder…. is it?
As polarising controversies go, it’s not a very big one. I mean, it doesn’t rate up there with “Pantser vs. Plotter” or “Literature vs. Genre” or “Self Pub vs. Trad. Pub” or whatever the cool kids are arguing about these days. Nonetheless, it’s a topic that comes up from time to time.
What are writers and storytellers?
Chances are, when you read the title of this essay, one of those terms resonated with you. Maybe you consider yourself a writer. Maybe you consider yourself a storyteller. Maybe you consider yourself both. Or neither. But before we start talking about the difference between them, what do the terms even mean?
Writer
Let’s move past the simple definition of “a writer writes” and look at what the title of writer actually means. Without going all dictionary-phile on you, let’s define a writer as someone whose purpose is to write books, poems, stories, or articles. A writer is someone for whom the art of writing is paramount — grammar, word use, punctuation, etc — and knowledge of that craft is used to record stories, be they fact or fiction, through the media of written words.
Storyteller
We can define a storyteller as someone whose purpose is to tell stories, whether they be fact or fiction, for the purpose of entertainment and/or illumination. A storyteller is someone for whom the art of storytelling is paramount — character, tension, climax, personal growth, etc. — and knowledge of that craft is used to tell stories through whatever medium will best reach their intended audience. Which, in the modern day, is often writing.
But it’s not that simple…
I would wager that most people here have learned to be both writers and storytellers. To be successful, writers must learn the skills of storytelling and storytellers must learn the skills of writing. So, why does it even matter?
Well, it doesn’t.
And yet…
Understanding your own natural way of approaching this complex, challenging, exciting, soul-destroyingly wonderful writing-thing can be very helpful to understanding your process. And it can help overcome those most terrible of ailments: Writer’s Block and Imposter Syndrome. Self-awareness, my friends. It’s not just for devotees of Dr. Phil.
Historically speaking…
Let us cast a romantic eye backwards a few hundred years; back to when the difference between being a writer and being a storyteller was more pronounced. In a world where your average person didn’t know how to read and write — and didn’t have the time or inclination to learn something that was of no practical use in the day-to-day business of survival.
A writer would likely be found amongst the clergy and the wealthy elite. The ancient 1%, as it were. While there were undoubtedly exceptions, the written works of past ages were either written for posterity or for the consumption of others of their own ilk. Philosophers, generals, priests, rulers, and pre-sociology-sociologists recorded their world and their wisdom through the media of words — and many of them are still recognised as great thinkers even today. Eventually, you ended up with writers such as Snorri Sturluson and the Grimm Brothers, who recorded stories that had been related amongst the common folk for generation upon generation, and thus ensured their continued survival.
Storytellers, meanwhile, were those common folk. You would find the around campfires and hearth fires, telling tales they’d learned from their parents, and others they’d invented themselves. Storytellers existed to amuse and inform; to sing songs or tell stories of love and mystery and horror and heroism. They told tales of what happens to villagers who wander into the dark woods alone under a full moon, and how excessive pride will fell even the greatest of men.
But now…
These days, reading and writing are accessible to (almost) everyone. Writers are no longer writing for the cultural elite, and storytellers can reach a bigger audience by putting their stories into written words. The distinction between the two literary traditions has been eroded by progress.
But when you look at the writers you love (and hate) it’s still possible to see that distinction.
There are modern writers who clearly cleave more strongly to the writing tradition. When you read their books, you are transported by the language as much (or more) than by the story. They have a way with words that can leave you breathless. They record the world — any world — and the people within it in a prism of language that is a thing of beauty, and make us care about the story in the process.
There are modern writers who seem to have no idea how to write well (from an undefined “objective” perspective), and yet reach hundreds of thousands of readers with the power of their characters and stories. These are the authors about whom people say, “The writing is terrible, but I couldn’t put it down. I just love this book.”
And then, of course, there are the people who can do both. But I would argue that they started in one tradition, and learned the art of the other.
But how does that help me?
Good question. See how these ideas float your boat.
- You will be more naturally adept at the skills that belong to your more natural tradition. If you’re a writer, crafting beautiful sentences and flowing narrative will be easier to learn. If you’re a storyteller, the distinction between adverbs and adjectives might be muddy in your head, but you’ll find it easy to craft authentic characters and a satisfying narrative structure. Revel in your natural talents. Keep learning about the things that come naturally, obviously, but be aware that you will need to put more effort into learning the skills of the craft you are less comfortable with.
Note: This is note a Literature vs. Genre thing. I know plenty of storytellers who write literary fiction, and there are some amazing writers who write genre fiction. This is simply about knowing your own natural strengths and weaknesses, and working to improve your abilities.
- Writer’s Block. We all know it. We all hate it. But, chances are, when writer’s block rears its ugly head, it’s because you’re struggling to operate in a way outside your comfort zone.
- If you’re a writer at heart, stop trying to force the story and just write some beautiful prose. Give yourself a break and just write what you want to write without worrying about how it fits into the story. There’s always revision.
- If you’re a storyteller, let go of wanting the perfect sentence, and just tell the story. Tell it out loud if it’s easier. And then just write down what happens without worrying about how the words sound. There’s always revision.
- Imposter Syndrome. You know how it feels — you’re sure that at any moment, everyone is going to figure out that you’re a fraud. Well, here’s the thing: you are. But, then again, you’re not. Instead of getting caught up in the angst of feeling like an imposter in a world in which you don’t belong, remind yourself of what you are.
“I’m a writer.”
“I’m a storyteller.”
Take it from me, acknowledging your own specific path does wonders to reduce the fear that you’ll be found out not to be a real part of the other group.
Whether you’re a writer, a storyteller, or someone who has managed to read this entire essay while secretly thinking that everything I wrote is complete bollocks, we’re all in this together. So go forth, writing storytellers and storytelling writers alike, and create words and worlds of wonder.
Do you think of yourself as a writer or a storyteller? Do you think there’s a difference, or do you think I’m lost in semantics?
[coffee]
Jo Eberhardt is a writer of speculative fiction, mother to two adorable boys, and lover of words and stories. She lives in rural Queensland, Australia, and spends her non-writing time worrying that the neighbor’s cows will one day succeed in sneaking into her yard and eating everything in her veggie garden.
Hey, Jo,
Thought-provoking article. Even as I sit here making a comment, I’ve already rewritten the first sentence and part of this one. Now I’m on a flow. Why? Because at first, I was spending too much time trying to find the perfect words — getting caught up in the writing part of it, rather than the storytelling. Now I’m writing as if I were talking…telling a story. Even in a comment, I tell stories.
I think we all come into this world as storytellers…you know, when we’re kids and don’t even know how to write. We run to our folks or siblings or friends and tell them what we’re doing and make up fantastical events to capture their attention because our imaginations are running wild. For some of us, it came more naturally…we were engaging, entertaining, and informative. And people listened to us.
Perhaps for some others (and this is getting into psychology that I probably have no business getting into…speculation, really…thus the “perhaps”), they were more reserved — introverted, or something of the like — and couldn’t express themselves as well orally as their storytelling counterparts. So they learned to express themselves well on the page.
As we entered adolescence and adulthood, the storytellers remained good storytellers, but unless they wanted to pursue writing, didn’t really have to concentrate on making their point on paper. You know, other than normal business correspondence and such.
But those who, early on, used writing as the main means of relaying information — of telling their stories — they continued to hone that skill. They became adept writers.
Now, the perfect fusion of the two produces your Hemingways, Fitzgeralds, Angelous, etc. But it’s an art.
I consider myself to be a storyteller becoming a writer. In person, I can craft a tale from everyday experiences that can really hold an audience, but it’s not only the words that do it, it’s the way I tell it. The faces I make, the widening of my eyes or raising of my eyebrows, the change in the timbre of my voice, my wild gestures. If my words themselves don’t do the job, my point is made by all the other stuff in play.
So in crafting a novel, I have to translate all that to the page to get the same effect, which, quite frankly, is a bitch. And that’s where the art of writing comes in. Change this, add that, pick the perfect word, clear that up because nobody can understand what the heck I’m talking about…well, you’ve seen my junk in the raw. Wait. Let me clean up that sentence. On second thought, nah. It tells a good story. ;)
Great musings for a Saturday morning. Thanks!
I love Jo’s post, because I think it offers an interesting and useful framework for how to think of craft. Another spectrum that we can place ourselves on to better understand our process, our strengths and weaknesses. That’s always valuable!
I also love your comment, Mike, because it got me thinking about what my natural inclinations as a child were. And though I was not introverted, I was also not a naturally gifted storyteller, lol. Oh, I talked plenty — my dad nicknamed me Chatterbox — but I lacked focus. I rambled. Eventually my dad would say, “If you can’t tell this story in two minutes, then I don’t want to hear it.”
And perhaps that’s part of what drove me to the written word. On the page, I can see what I’m doing and where I’m going. It’s not improv; it’s design.
I’ve often wished I were a more natural storyteller… but like Jo advises, I’ve learned to embrace my leanings and my gifts, and I’ve worked to improve the skills that don’t come as easily.
Kristan, it’s great to hear from someone who relates as a natural writer. I like the way you describe the way you come to the page: You can see what you’re doing and where you’re going.
It’s very easy to feel envious of people who seem to be naturals at things we struggle with — whether it’s storytelling or writing, but I really do think that we don’t spend enough time appreciating our own natural talents. Kudos to you for learning to do so. Happy writing!
Hey, Mike. Yeah, I think what you’re saying there is very true. And no doubt there’s some “nurture” as well as “nature” to the writer vs storyteller thing. We all tend to keep doing the things that work, so when telling stories works for us as kids, we keep doing it as adults.
It may also be why so many people say some variety of: “I hate writing. I love having written.” The writing part is much harder than the storytelling part for many of us.
Happy writing. (And next time you tell me you’re going to send me a file of your “junk in the raw” I’m going to be WAY more cautious about opening it!)
In its simplest form, a writer is someone who writes. Many people use the word, Writer, as a general title, especially when the specific title isn’t known.
Novelist, Columnist, Blogger, Poet, etc.
A storyteller tells stories, but they’re not always writers. Writing has been one of the best ways for a storyteller to share his/her story, because it can be recorded and remembered with a little more ease.
I am deficient in both areas but better at telling stories. I am a storyteller first (or a liar) and a writer second.
I do not believe you are arguing semantics, but another could contest my statement.
I always find it interesting to hear how many people who now call themselves either storytellers or writers were called “liars” in their early years. Clearly the storytelling urge starts early. :)
Happy storytelling!
Interesting stuff, Jo. And something I’ve thought about. For a guy who’s been critiqued quite a bit, for quite a few years, here’s the rub: I’ve had critiques that opened with something like: “Well, one thing’s for sure, you’re a natural storyteller.” And I’ve also had sentiments like this lead the way: “I can see that you put a lot into the fashioning of your prose. You should really let that all go and just tell the story.”
Both conclusions remind me of that famous Pee Wee Herman quote: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FaVFuX8z26c
So I guess all of those big buts I’ve accumulated lead me to one conclusion. I’ve got to work my but(t) off. I need to keep striving for balance between the two.
Thanks, Jo! Happy storytelling… or writing… or balance-finding, WU!
Juicy stuff, Jo. I really enjoyed your take on this topic. I also relate to what you’ve said above Vaughn. I think I approach my writing today from two almost separate parts of my becoming. I’ve always loved and had facility with language and putting my thoughts on a page. And I’ve approached storytelling from a more emotional and philosophical perspective. I love stories. Love them. Period. I imagined it would be easy to bring the two together… until I tried! For me the work and learning comes in finding the best way to bridge these two traditions or urges. Finding the best words to express the story the way you would experience it first hand (in your head) or around the camp fire – conveying action and thought, emotion and tension, taking readers on a compelling ride through your made up world. That’s the challenging bit for me, and I think where the art really happens. It’s certainly where I have to put most of my effort.
“I imagined it would be easy to bring the two together… until I tried!”
Never have truer words been spoken, Mary Ann. Or written. Or whatever. This whole messy business of story writing seems so easy until you sit down to actually do it.
I love your perspective on bringing the two traditions together seamlessly, and the art it involves. That’s the challenging and yet fun part.
Hey, Vaughn. Yeah, balance is a big thing. Like all things, I think it’s a bit of a pendulum effect. If you’re naturally a gifted storyteller, and you put a lot of effort into mastering the craft of writing, it’s easy to swing the other way. I know I’ve seen that in my own writing from time to time.
Either way, I have complete confidence that you’ll find the perfect balance and have all your readers in awe of both your writing AND your storytelling.
I’d have to say I’m a story teller by nature. I started young. I want the stories to entertain and have apoint of some kind.
Loved the article. I hope soneone coveŕs the imposter syndrome at the Uncon. It seems to resonate with all of us.
Thanks Jo!
Ah, Imposter Syndrome. My old arch-nemesis. It’s definitely a topic that I think a lot of people would like to hear more about at UnCon. I’m on board for that.
Happy storytelling, Sis.
Jo, I try (unsuccessfully) to shun labels most of the time because it’s limiting in thought and deed. I suppose I think of myself as a storyteller. Writing is how I do it. But honestly, aren’t we all “authors”?
You’ve brought up a very interesting point, Paula. A couple, actually.
I don’t generally like being labelled, either. Especially by other people. They do feel limiting in thought and deed. And yet, to name something is to have power over it. (Any magical or religious tradition will tell you that.) It’s the reason that people who are sick like to have a diagnosis — even if naming the condition doesn’t change the treatment. When we name our process, it helps us understand it. It doesn’t mean we can never change or grow or adapt, but it does help highlight our strengths and weaknesses, which makes changing, growing and adapting easier.
As for whether we’re all “authors”…. Well, that’s just another label, really, isn’t it? And that particular label is generally used to apply to people with published books. So while it’s a useful title, it’s unrelated to process or natural aptitude.
All that being said, there’s no rule that you have to be labelled as anything other than yourself. Go forth and be the best Paula you can be! :)
Hi Jo — thanks for taking up the pen to attack this question… which is in fact among my least favorite questions, because its answer tortures the bejeezus out of me.
I think I write pretty well, and am guilty as charged of the sins of my clan: laboring over words and sentences and phrases, wondering what it is that makes a paragraph so ick and realizing that I didn’t word that one tiny little metaphor just so… It’s a wonder that I’ve ever gotten to “The End” in a single story!
When I read the work of someone who on the other hand “storytells” first, you would not believe how much envy it stirs up. Well damn, I think, how did they pull THAT trick off so easily? (“Trick” being loosely defined: plot twist; specific element of a setting which practically requires something specific to happen — the gun-hanging-on-the-wall-must-go-off thing; casually mentioned character flaw that later blossoms into a show-stopping character virtue; etc.)
The skills of “writing” (as we’ve been using the word here) seem to me like parlor tricks, sleights-of-hand, splashy special effects…
But the skills of storytelling are at a whole ‘nother level — practically supernatural. I frequently get to a denouement, say, or the flat-out end of a “storytold” novel, and I am dazed. The author has somehow managed not just to transform their characters’ lives, but to transform mine. And I can’t help but wonder: how in the hell am I ever going to learn how to do that?!?
You know, John, that’s exactly how I feel when I read a particularly well written novel. Or paragraph. “How the hell did the writer manage to make that metaphor so damn perfect? And how can I ever learn to do that???”
I tell you this simply to illustrate that while you may on occasion find yourself suffering storyteller-envy, it works the other way, too. You’d be amazed how often I feel like what I’m doing when I’m telling a story is nothing more than a string of showy parlour tricks held together with duct tape and shoelaces.
But, as my children remind me daily, practice makes perfect — or near enough to perfect that the difference is negligible. Happy writing, my friend.
Thanks Jo for the great post. I’ve never really thought of the two in separate terms. Perhaps this is why I struggle with not only putting a story together but expressing it in an entertaining way through writing.
Thanks for reading, Bob. So, does it help for you to think about the two different skill-sets?
Hi, Jo:
I always love your posts. My grey matter always stirs into color.
Speaking as a teacher, not a storyteller/writer for a moment, I’d say the difference tends to show up more in students who have great ideas for a situation (women during the gold rush, pacifists during WWII) or great descriptive skills, but have an aversion to or are as yet unskilled in the messy business of “torturing their characters” — creating story by making things worse, creating surprise, moving things forward in the face of fierce conflict. They think statically, like a poet or a painter or a descriptive historian (What it Was Like in King Farley’s Court vs. How did the Plot to Depose Him Go Wrong?), capturing the moment with little regard for drama.
On the other end are those with a ripping good yarn, but who do indeed rip through it so briskly they disregard the physical and sensual details that bring a scene to life, or move the story forward not through fully realized characters but “plot-puppets” who serve the story –or rather, the author’s designs — too mechanically.
But in searching to rectify our limitations, I think we could all benefit from your advice: don’t neglect your strengths. Random House editor Mark Tavani often advised writers not to suffer over their weaknesses but rather emphasize what they do well. Elmore Leonard used dialog and action to draw his characters because he didn’t feel particularly adept at description. His characters are some of the most memorable in fiction.
Especially in those first drafts, when doubt lurks everywhere, it’s important to trust what we do well so we can keep moving forward. We can work on those weaknesses in revision.
Thanks for the meaty food for thought. Have a lovely weekend.
Thanks for your comment, David. I like your description of the students who think in static terms in particular. You have a great weekend, too.
Excellent post. I would add that it’s best to be both–storyteller and writer. I always tell students that writing is art and craft and to write the first draft fast-get the story out there—that’s the art-then edit it to make it publishable–that’s the craft. Don’t let the craft get in the way of the art. Be a storyteller first. Or as Hemingway said–write drunk, edit sober.
Absolutely, DP. That advice works wonders for storytellers — including me — but if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that t doesn’t work for everyone. Those people who are writers first and storytellers second can really struggle with the advice to write a fast first draft and fix the writing later. I think it’s important to put the two processes out there as equally valid, so that people can experiment with each and see what works for them. Happy writing!
Jo,
Good old Snorri Sturluson ! How I miss him. Did I tell you about the time we were drinking around a campfire in Iceland? I asked old Snorri, what do you think is more important, style or story?
And Snorri said…
Oh wait, I’m not that old. I made that up.
Which I guess locates me in the camp of storytellers. I agree with you and everyone that the ideal is to be both stylist and storyteller. However, I think there’s a middle ground where those values meet.
That middle ground is where we experience human growth and change. Keen style makes it real, plot makes it dynamic, but change sends an arrow straight to our souls. Our human need is to sing poetry or recount the hunt, but more than those our need is to become more like the gods.
That’s what Snorri said, anyway.
Well, if Snorri said it, I’m totally on board. Man was a hero.
“Our human need is to sing poetry or recount the hunt, but more than those our need is to become more like the gods.”
You’re speaking my language, Benjamin.
zzzzz
This hits me right where I live right now. My strength is writing — absolutely — but my passion is storytelling — absolutely. Should I play to my strength or my passion? Please oh wise Jo, straighten this poor foole out.
Strength + Passion = Excellence. I happen to be revisiting the book The Element by Dr. Ken Robinson and this is a perfect example of what he teaches. The intersection of these two attributes is where we find ourselves and realize our potential. I’m not ‘wise Jo’, John, but I would say “both”. You’re on the right road.
I’ll also offer another quote I have stuck to my laptop at the moment (probably a FB meme): “Happiness is the joy you feel moving toward your potential.”
Happy story-writing!
Always trust your passion, JV. Always.
I worked as a technical writer for 17 years. I developed my writing skills long before my storytelling skills, and I still publicly call myself a writer. But I’ve come to think of myself as an artist who creates elaborate conceptual models.
I love hearing the different titles people give themselves when the standard “boxes” don’t apply. Happy conceptualising, Angraecus!
Jo, I never thought of it before, but I am a writeoryeller. (This means the erasure end of my pencil is a Three Musketeers plume, but the business end is all business: sharpened to a grammarian’s bite.) Now that that’s settled, where’s my tie? Oh, it’s under the shot glass…
So, basically, what you’re saying is that you’re the writing equivalent of a mullet: business at the front, party at the back?
You know, that makes a hell of a lot of sense.
Thank you for this article, Jo.
I’d describe myself as a storyteller who is in love with fine writing. I think some writers are under the false impression that fine writing is the overuse of $50 words. I firmly believe in the principal of leaving no reader behind. And I’m not referring to dumbing down, but rather to writing that is both clear and entertaining.
And, I must add, as a Icelandic-Canadian, I was overjoyed to see Snorri mentioned in your article.
Ah, yes, the old $50 word ploy. It’s so frustrating. I’m all for using the most appropriate word — and sometimes a four-syllable word is the best — but it drives me crazy trying to read something where the author seems to have made a conscious decision to eschew all simple words. Always feels like over-compensating to me.
I’m a big fan of Snorri. My dream it to get to Iceland one of these days — but it’s an awful long way from Australia. Here’s hoping!
I fulfilled that dream in 2007 and highly recommend the visit.
Jo, I was drawn to your post because I was reminded of my mother. a basically illiterate woman, who was a talented storyteller. She entertained with not only what she said but how she said it. Her eyes would light up when she got a laugh or a sympathetic groan as she related the events in her life or someone else’s.
I wish I had her talent. I try at times, but prefer to sit behind my keyboard and weave tales through writing. Fortunately, I collected her stories on my laptop, Her anecdotes are finding their way into my work.
As for the distinction between a storyteller and a writer, I tend to see the former as using the spoken word and the latter, the written one. They both need a beginning, middle and an end. They both have to incorporate a climactic scene. Story is at the heart of what they do. Without it, they would be hard pressed to gain an audience.
Thanks for the discussion. More grist for the mind mill.
The oral tradition of storytelling is a long and beautiful one. It’s wonderful that you’ve collected your mother’s anecdotes to use in your writing. It’s very akin to the old tradition of passing stories down from generation to generation, and it must make you happy to be able to continue passing down her stories. Happy writing!
I’m a storytelling writer.
Or, a writing storyteller.
For me, the storytelling comes first then I write it. That may mean I’m more storyteller.
Yet, when I write, I pride myself in the precise placement of perfect words. That may mean I’m more writer.
Although, I often have problems noticing typos, such as the only one I noticed in the article: “Note: This is note a Literature vs. Genre thing.” That may mean I’m more storyteller.
Yet, when I do notice a typo, I study it to discover if it is me who does not understand what is written or if it really is a typo. (I once spent half an hour looking for a word in every reference resource I could find before I finally decided the word really was a typo.) That may mean I’m more writer.
I think it’s a yin-yang kind of thing.
(Regarding Imposter Syndrome. Everyone already knows I’m a fraud. I am the only one who does not know.)
Damn it, I can’t believe there’s a typo in my article. I guess the fact that I read it over at least a dozen times and didn’t notice tells you something about my preferred skill-set.
I like the idea of this being a yin-yang thing. Balance, peace, and all that jazz. Happy writing, Lester.
I am a writer who has decided to write a children’s chapter book where the main character becomes a storyteller who records original tales. I guess I’m looking to dip into both worlds.
Sounds like fun. Good luck!
Definitely a writer who is continuing to learn the art of storytelling, and I have a number of glowing rejections to prove it. :) Luckily, storytelling is certainly a skill one can learn and improve every time one sits down to write.
Absolutely. And it sounds like you’re on the right track. Happy writing!
I knew I’d love this post from the moment I read the title. And I was right! I’ve read books that other writers hated, realizing as I read that the writing needed work, but so compelled by the story, I read for hours. Then there were those books that received critical acclaim, and was at the top of everyone’s TBR list, and I read them, admiring the author’s way with words, but didn’t feel connected to any of the characters. I agree that both can be done, and I think that it’s something most writers strive for, but in the meantime I appreciate both.
I often notice the same thing, Grace. It’s one of the reasons that I don’t go down the road of declaring a popular book to be terrible, or throwing up my hands and saying that the reading public doesn’t know what’s good and bad. At the end of the day, there are people who will be drawn to great storytelling, regardless of the writing, and people who will be drawn to great writing, regardless of the storytelling. But striving to deliver on both? Ah, yes. That’s art.
Happy writing.
I absolutely think storytelling and writing are different skill sets, and that novelists have to develop both. I think of writing a novel like making a cake. The story is the cake itself; the prose is the icing.
Some people are naturally great bakers who can come up with delicious cake recipes, but their icing looks like it was slapped on with a trowel. Some people are naturally artistic decorators who can pipe roses like nobody’s business, but they can’t bake to save their lives.
If you want to sell cakes, you have to get good at both baking and decorating. Nobody wants to buy a cake that tastes terrible. Nobody wants to buy a cake that looks ugly, either. The joy of eating an expensive cake is both in admiring how pretty it looks and in relishing how delicious it tastes.
Similarly, the fun of reading novels is in enjoying both the story and the way its told. Some people will tolerate a boring story if it’s told beautifully, and some will tolerate terrible prose if it tells a great story, but everyone loves great stories told beautifully.
T.K., I absolutely love your cake analogy. Everyone does, indeed, love great stories told beautifully. Something for all of us to aspire to. Thanks for the comment. Happy writing!
Jo-
Good piece and I enjoy your responses to the comments. But thought it was interesting that several times you say “happy writing” not “happy storytelling.”
Hmmm… That is interesting, isn’t it? Old habits, I suppose. Now that you’ve drawn attention to it, I’m going to spend far too long over-thinking it. Thanks. ;)
Perfect timing for me to read this article. I’m a natural writer (a poet before I started writing fiction), and my education in constructing plot over the last few years has been a bit like building sand castles when the waves keep pushing in. This morning, I’ve been doing revision on a novel and cutting, cutting, cutting all the unnecessary details that I just found too beautiful to exclude… So, yes, thanks for this. A good reminder.
Thanks, Lauren. Glad you enjoyed it.
There’s a big-time difference.
I’ve thought that Stephen King, for example, is more of a storyteller than a writer, and that someone like James Joyce or Nabokov was more of a writer than a storyteller. King preaches about story above all else; the other two would definitely not.
Of course, I’d prefer to be a storyteller like King who can write like Updike or Joyce or Nabokov, but I don’t think it works that way. So who’d I rather be? A storyteller like King, because that’s where the numbers, sales and movie rights are!
I agree completely, Steven. Actually, in my original article (before I cut it back to a reasonable length), I included examples of storytellers vs writers, and King was my choice for storyteller. Whenever I read anything he’s written, I feel like I’m sitting in a smoky, dimly-lit bar and he’s telling me a story.