"I can't write fiction. I'm not a creative writer. I can't just create stories out of thin air" It was a year or more ago when I heard myself saying these words to a writer friend. Even as I was speaking, I recognized the absurdity of my statement. It was founded on an assumption that a clear and distinct line exists between memory and fantasy, fact and fiction.
Of course, there is no such line. Yesterday I was listening to a discussion on the radio about the revolution in Egypt. One commentary said that power used to come out of the barrel of a gun, but in the information age, power is embedded in the narrative. She/he/they who control the narrative, hold the power. The narrative is not fact nor fiction; it is neither and it is both. I turn on the television and I see the master narrative being played out: the people of Egypt are ushering in a new era of democracy in the Middle East.
When I apply this same lens to my own life it is easy to see that there are stories that I repeat over and over again. I use these stories to frame my experience. My life is like a screenplay. Sometimes I play the victim, other times the rescuing hero. Be careful if you wander through my movie set, you will likely get cast in a role of my choosing. If you do something that displeases me, I may imagine you as the villain.
I have been weaving stories for as long as I can remember. I take the artifacts and natural occurrences and circumstances I am dealt and give them meaning through my personal mythology which is shaped by the larger master narratives that are the very fabric of culture. The campfires have been replaced by television sets and our communication is no longer face to face, still we are not so different from our ancestors. We are all essentially storytellers.
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