It’s not only that there is more to us than the best or the worst of our stories.
It’s not only that there is more to everything than our strongest or weakest stories.
It’s not only that the structures of stories can twist themselves between and away from our concepts and intentions.
It’s not only that stories do this because they are partially constituted on the structures of language which must depend upon its own inherent, contrived, or random sequences.
It’s not only that language is loosely but treacherously entangled with concepts and images that resist our formal notions of sequence and sense but still have their own grammars for emerging, blending, combining, dividing, and dissipating,
It’s not only that our stories, our language, our concepts & images, and our intentions are not purely ours, but represent also the infections, intrusions, blessings, and curses of others who surround us: supporting, mocking, undermining, manipulating, inspiring, ignoring, helping, hindering, giving to and and taking from us just as we instrumentalize, influence, uplift, denigrate, and abandon others.
It’s not only that our symbols and images, concepts and intentions, fears and longings are partially shaped by family entanglements, but also by traditions extending outward and backward into histories of religions, empires, systems of oppression, and struggles for liberation, escape, empowerment, and non exploitative mutuality.
It’s not only that our stories, symbols, intentions, fears, and longings extend outward and forward into our future selves, predicaments, and then into generations to come who will be weighted, tainted, confounded, agonized, and inspired by our struggles and our failures, our victories and our compromises.
*******
Our best stories would interrupt themselves, mock themselves, interrogate and dissolve themselves so that their readers or hearers would stay on edge, enlivened and alert to to the dangers and limits of stories, others stories, and their own stories.
Be suspicious of names and labels. In stories they are as arbitrary and contrived as timelines, arcs, and artificially concocted sympathies.
Be wary of endings and beginnings, especially when they are made to seem “naturalistic,” “quirky,” “outlandish,” or “seductive.”
Be on guard about style, polish, symbolism, allusions, “‘character’ development” and plot — or any other intrigue to control or manipulate your sentiments and attention.
And be careful about how you (or what passes for you) intrigue to do any of this to your “self”. The better stories you take in or generate might help you here because you cannot be the author or your own story because you do not have “A story” and the storieS that might seem to have you are not only yours.
We are NOT the stories we tell ourselves we are.
We are NOT the stories others tell us we our.
You are NOT the stories you tell yourself you are.
Not just because there is always something else.
Not simply because there is always something more.
Certainly not only because every story has gaps and falsehoods.
Simply not because faith and imagination are always somewhat betrayed by stories
But also because faith and imagination will never stop crafting, repeating, recycling, deconstructing, exploding, or escaping from our stories (best or worst).
You are not the stories you tell yourself you are.
You are not the stories you tell yourself.
You are not the stories others tell about you.
We are not the stories we tell ourselves.
**********
It’s not only that there is more to us than the best or the worst of our stories.
It’s not only that there is more to everything than our strongest or weakest stories.
It’s not only that the structures of stories can twist themselves between and away from our concepts and intentions.
It’s not only that stories do this because they are partially constituted on the structures of language which must depend upon its own inherent, contrived, or random sequences.
It’s not only that language is loosely but treacherously entangled with concepts and images that resist our formal notions of sequence and sense but still have their own grammars for emerging, blending, combining, dividing, and dissipating,
It’s not only that our stories, our language, our concepts & images, and our intentions are not purely ours, but represent also the infections, intrusions, blessings, and curses of others who surround us: supporting, mocking, undermining, manipulating, inspiring, ignoring, helping, hindering, giving to and and taking from us just as we instrumentalize, influence, uplift, denigrate, and abandon others.
It’s not only that our symbols and images, concepts and intentions, fears and longings are partially shaped by family entanglements, but also by traditions extending outward and backward into histories of religions, empires, systems of oppression, and struggles for liberation, escape, empowerment, and non exploitative mutuality.
It’s not only that our stories, symbols, intentions, fears, and longings extend outward and forward into our future selves, predicaments, and then into generations to come who will be weighted, tainted, confounded, agonized, and inspired by our struggles and our failures, our victories and our compromises.
*******
Our best stories would interrupt themselves, mock themselves, interrogate and dissolve themselves so that their readers or hearers would stay on edge, enlivened and alert to to the dangers and limits of stories, others stories, and their own stories.
Be suspicious of names and labels. In stories they are as arbitrary and contrived as timelines, arcs, and artificially concocted sympathies.
Be wary of endings and beginnings, especially when they are made to seem “naturalistic,” “quirky,” “outlandish,” or “seductive.”
Be on guard about style, polish, symbolism, allusions, “‘character’ development” and plot — or any other intrigue to control or manipulate your sentiments and attention.
And be careful about how you (or what passes for you) intrigue to do any of this to your “self”. The better stories you take in or generate might help you here because you cannot be the author or your own story because you do not have “A story” and the storieS that might seem to have you are not only yours.
We are NOT the stories we tell ourselves we are.
We are NOT the stories others tell us we our.
You are NOT the stories you tell yourself you are.
Not just because there is always something else.
Not simply because there is always something more.
Certainly not only because every story has gaps and falsehoods.
Simply not because faith and imagination are always somewhat betrayed by stories
But also because faith and imagination will never stop crafting, repeating, recycling, deconstructing, exploding, or escaping from our stories (best or worst).
You are not the stories you tell yourself you are.
Is this... writing advice for something I wrote when I was fifteen years old?