“Interesting stories happen to people who can tell them,” Tom Spanbauer always said.
Always.
A quick internet search tells me that Ira Glass said something similar— “Great stories happen to those who can tell them”—and maybe others have said it, too, but Tom is who passed this idea on to me, ages ago, in workshop. The delivery is beautiful, beginning with the “interesting stories” and landing with a focus on the narrator, the craft, the art, getting to the heart of things.
In a related way, Flannery O’Connor said:
The fact is that anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days. If you can't make something out of a little experience, you probably won't be able to make it out of a lot.
―Flannery O'Connor
What makes an interesting story? What makes a story, at all? Is a story just a moment, written down? What does one make out of a “little experience”? What are these writers getting at?
It’s a big question with complicated answers, but there are simple ways to step into the conversation and the craft.
I’d like to share with you one story that I’ve often used in writing classes as an example of story structure and forward propulsion. To me, this work is a perfect illustration of how a story works, the intricacies laid bare yet still carrying so much mystery, so much life, the sum ultimately larger than any of the pieces.
I’ll link the story, along with a brief analysis, behind the paywall as a shout-out of gratitude to those of you supporting this newsletter. Huge thank you!
Hope you’re well and staying healthy, having some fun, doing good work and following your better instincts.
If you have questions, let me know!
M