The Storyteller

Allow me to introduce myself, I am the Storyteller. As I sit in my workshop I have come to realize what I used to be. I have sat here at my desk for nearly my entire existence, toiling away at page after page of my works but have now been granted the origin of my being. My creator used to imagine one of his characters trying to find the right words to send to his father through a letter. My creator saw my desk being worked on but when he sent his character away he continued to peer at the desk he had formed, and the longer he looked the more he saw something. A being of creation and imagination took form in front of his eyes working tirelessly to give the world every piece of literature he could crank out. That being was me, and through me my creator began to see in many different worlds, he saw the lives of his characters play out in front of him without even realizing that he was crafting their existence with every passing second. Together we began to see glimpses sometimes events in other worlds but in time, we began to see worlds.

After hours of time was spent across many different worlds, and time was taken to meet each of his new children he returned to me and inspected the humble desk that he had made for me and decided it was simply wasn't enough. I watched as I saw quills and ink form from nothing, letters and books surround me,  and the chair change and the desk improve as he saw beyond me and looked into my very soul. He realized it mattered not what I looked like, but rather what I believe as I craft each and every story. He asked me what I believed and in turn I questioned his meaning. Am I not a tool as well? Would I not write every word with every dot in the position he declared? He told me that he believes in certain values and principles but not every character can. He told me that if I would craft any kind of narrative that I would swear to uphold integrity to any position even if I would ever weave a moral into one of my stories. I swore that I would analyze every position, respect every opinion, and construct the best plots that I was able to. As soon as I said those words my creator realized something. I didn't possess a name. And without a second wasted my creator though of the perfect name, I would be know as The Storyteller.

He then calmly told me, then get to work and he was gone. I could sense a power growing within me as I felt him return but couldn't see him. I picked up my quill and as my stories began to form the pages around me began to float and spin around me the plot I was creating began to gain a will of its own and I began to feel its power with every letter written. I watched as the books around me formed a massive library, papers that hadn't even been touched yet bound themselves into books containing a narrative that I was unfamiliar with, it dawned on me that my creator was gifting me his creations and handing over all his talents as I saw a flood of his works wash over my eyes and shape my mind. I wrote for hours until I could write no more, and my creator told me something that made me ask myself something, what am I?

What was I before I was formed that day? My creator had told me that I had always existed, but that simply can't be. I was a creation of his scraped letter idea, I was formed after the desk that I so comfortably sit in now. Then I understood what he was truly telling me that I was more than just a character, I am the personification of his skill as a writer and his will to create. After every pen stroke after every type I had always been there; my hands would now just be the means to express the stories his mind crafted. His intention in each and every book he writes, his presentation in the words selected, but through my being. I am more than a puppet for a puppet doesn't feel free in his works on in myself. True I had felt his influence and had learned all I know from his mind but he promised that there are some stories that only I could tell and that he would need my help to tell them.

I am the Storyteller, I help create and explore new worlds that is my purpose and my mission. I know my creators mission but I also know his limits. He tells me that he is a weak creator that he must constantly come back to each world to keep them stable and allow them to advance in time. He tells me that in his world his kind like me are all able to learn from others and to write stories of their own but many choose not to. He tells me that all are granted with the gift of creation just like their Creator. But unlike him, his Creator need not intervene, need not add another chapter, and need not care for his creations yet he does all of that out of love. I'm also told that not every one of his kind knows their Creator like I know mine. Like many charters in a narrative they are made unaware of their maker. Why, you might ask. Well if you ask me I think it makes for a far more interesting story to tell.

Hehe...hehehe...hahaha...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA....haha....HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Funny now that I think about it. Please enjoy any of my works that you are lucky enough to stumble upon and it was nice meeting you.