It is that simple. 

When any of us recount our day to day happenings, do we think about it deeply? Do we mull over our minds exactly word for word what we wish to share with our family and friends – or strangers – as though we are writing an essay? A speech? Do we question our validity and at this point, even our capabilities to tell this new story, this experience, very well? No, we don’t. Quite simply. (Well, if you’ve answered yes to any or all of these circumstances, in layman’s terms, you’re doing it all wrong.) 

Just let yourself be, and in turn, so will the story.

When we tell stories in real life, we allow them the freedom to flow, without the overbearing uncertainty that comes with the need to impress. Word vomit. And not the nice flowery kind. It is unnecessary and removes the excitement that comes with spontaneity. In the end, our goal of engagement is lost, tangled in the warfare that is bad storytelling. 

Naturally, first-hand accounts rely on getting to the point. Of course, detail and wordplay in literature is what separates a good piece of prose from a bad one, however the ultimate key is timing and execution. It should never be forced, or without reason. Or to fill up the endless holes that arise in creative writing, due to an overstimulated and passionate imagination, (which is not a bad thing! We have all fallen prey to this, and continue to do so, perhaps, some more than others.) Ultimately, the goal is to balance. 

Effective writing is when the writer, in spite of knowing the defects in their work, rather than trying to compensate for it by adding thoughtless and disconnected nuances of characters, events, and information, instead, a confident writer will approach these holes and consider the application, why they thought to include such facets, and measure its impact and significance on their overall work. They will further question whether their work requires redrafting, and should they acknowledge this, they will be determined to attempt, and hopefully to succeed, at the task. 

But let’s return to our main focus of freedom and being. For ultimately, what else are stories other than the emulation of real life? So, why not let life do the talking? 

Think about our emotions. Why are they so effective in manipulating our stories?

Our feelings – whatever they are – surmount the genre, the tone of the anticipated story, (hopefully, there exists anticipation at all). Our emotions set the overall impact of our story, its premise, and the anticipated connection that fellow readers will form with it. Certainly, writing comes from the heart, oftentimes, the deep, unexplored thresholds of it, no matter how bright or dark; so, if our internal state is detached, then it is apt that our story will read the same way. It is therefore understandable that our feelings are, and will, become the driving force, the unwavering backbone, of our story. So we mustn’t break it!

Written by Marisa Paulson, London.