The making of a Story

First came the protagonist – with her brown eyes, thick bangs, and winsome spirit.

She was closely followed by a series of bright scenes filled with the sharp sounds of school; children playing, books banging down, doors slamming, feet running.

Chinese was everywhere; so was English.

This character had big feelings, just ones she couldn’t articulate.

So how would I tell her Story for her when she couldn’t even tell it to me?

When all I could see was the look in her eyes?  All I could feel was the longings of her heart?

How would I find out what the Story even was?

That’s when I began to sit.  Let the characters reveal themselves to me one-by-one.  See the scenes begin to flash before my eyes.

Let them gather speed  . . . .

Until suddenly, a story began to emerge.  That didn’t say what she felt at all, but somehow expressed it anyway.

With a central theme that was never spoken; yet preached louder than words.

The making of a Story is a lot like rolling a snowball towards a hill.  Sticky wet work at first, followed by some hard, full-out pushing and the eventual full-scale roll down the hill towards greatness.


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