The following column was written by Lowell author Ryder Jones.
“Let me tell you a story.”
A singular sentence that without fail, elicits at the very least a jolt of curiosity, and more likely a compulsive need to know more.
I’ll concede that this may vary depending on the source.
Uncle John, slouched back in his rocking chair after one too many sips of eggnog late on Christmas Eve gearing up to regal the room with the account of his much-exaggerated meeting with a U.S. president for instance, might conjure more stomach dropping dread rather than piquing any interest whatsoever.
If on the other hand, you are entreated by a friend who is renowned for their great gift at storytelling and always has one worthy of being told, whether a harrowing recent happening or hilarious old favorite, your stomach flutters, and already you are rapt at attention.
Then, there is the implied invitation when you sit down to watch a long-awaited or much-lauded film or crack open a book from a prolific and celebrated author whom you’ve read before, and trust that indeed, they have a story to tell. And a good one, at that. Maybe even a great one.
There is an indelible desire and need for story that has been imprinted upon humanity since creation’s dawn. Our ancestors were orators, master storytellers, by necessity. The written word en masse for public consumption, in a word, books, is novel in the grand scheme of things. (Bad pun very much intended) With Johannes Gutenberg’s invention of the printing press almost 600 years ago, the widespread consumption of books was made possible. Still, the percentage of most of the world’s populace left much to be desired in terms of literacy.
Before books then, and with a good portion of people not being able to read at all, the ancient and more recent human histories were the domain of those who memorized, animated spoke out and brought to life the epic poetry of Homer and Panyassis, and before that passed down through the decade’s generational knowledge of the land and of trades and of wisdom, and stories of peoples delivered by the hand of God himself from slavery at the hands of oppressors, and of wars waged against impossible odds.
It’s difficult to fathom, living in a world where more knowledge and written works exist in the eternal codex that is the internet, available all in the palm of a hand. We have digital all-knowing orators–in the form of AI–who are able to draw upon this bottomless well. Readers, listeners, viewers and voyeurs, are fortunate to be saturated by all manner of story and knowledge. Or perhaps, in the minds of those who have been inundated with the overabundance of content created largely for the sake of timely monetization, unfortunate.
There was a time when the compulsion to consume story was solely driven by a desire by learning how to survive in a harsh world. Which routes to be wary of, what plants were poisonous. How best to meet your enemy on the battlefield and what primal impulses to heed and to avoid.
Even though the days of antiquity and those even more distant are long gone, I’d argue this:
The stakes have never been higher. The world needs great stories.
Trouble is, great stories don’t come up out of the ground, like a seed sown and left to grow on its own in the earth. They do not come fully formed, armored, and perfect, like Athena from Zeus’s brow. They are not born from the dust or from drawn out from the rib of a man. They are forged within the crucible of a beating heart, pulsing lungs and flowing blood. Through life lived, and by the soul which flows through it all, divine logos that is in fact a small fraction of God himself.
I’ve heard it said that storytelling is what makes us human.
And I couldn’t agree more.
Everyone has a story, and every story matters.
I’d argue that the sometimes-trite statement tossed out by writers and those who wish to write, that “everyone has at least one book in them,” is in fact, true. It’s just not so simple as pulling that book out of your being like one of the white plastic pieces from Cavity Sam in the board game, Operation. (Admittedly, that was never easy, least of all that oblong piece of bread apparently floating somewhere outside the man’s stomach. Hot take: I don’t think there’s any number of operations that could have saved him)
Despite that digression, telling or writing a great story is just as easy, and just as hard as all that.
Simple in theory, extraneous in practice. And some days its the opposite. Simply a matter of making an angry face at a cloud of nothing above your head or perhaps aimed directly at the computer screen as if it had just said something indefensibly offensive, only to sadly close it because no words would come at all. “That still counts as writing.”, according to screenwriter Taika Watiti.
I am a recent victim of the affliction that is aspiring and committing to writing a book. Or in my case, ‘books’ in the plural. In series. In a connected universe. I tend to take a big bite of something once I decide it looks appetizing, for better or worse.
And while creating worlds and characters, masterminding esoteric magic systems and contriving fictional sciences is an endless stream of ecstatic mindplay, it is not and will never be enough to carry me, or probably anyone, through the hours and tapped keys it takes to write 100,000 or many more words that comprise a modern fantasy or science fiction novel. Just like there ought to be more to a blockbuster than a series of gunfights, explosions, and witty one-liners, any good story needs teach and regale those who are taking it in, with new insight, knowledge, or wisdom.
Enter, Lore.
It’s become my favorite four-letter word. My young children have discovered a couple of others they prefer, by accident streaming through an allegedly clean Spotify playlist, which every now and again they now feel needful of whispering to us, just to ‘get the bad word out.’ Not laughing and giving them a sizable hit of dopamine, encouraging them to repeat it perhaps louder next time, is a herculean feat of parenting, let me tell you.
Back to lore.
It is that which may be learned or known; the knowledge gained from tradition, books, or experience.
In the fictional arena, this is theme, controlling idea, or moral.
For me personally, theme has always felt either too academic or too ethereal, and controlling idea conjures images of Krang, the pink fleshy brain alien from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pulling levers and pressing buttons to control an antenna capped muscle-headed humanoid android body. In a word, I just get wigged out by both of those lenses with which you can look at what a story teaches. What it’s about. Its moral.
Morality comes closer for me, but even that leaves something to be desire, and runs the risk of glazing things on a layer too thick with ideology usurping the magic of a good story, in its ability to make people think about the morals at play without being outright told.
For me, I’ve come to ask myself, ‘What lore lies within this story, waiting to be uncovered?’ What knowledge or insight, wisdom or truth might someone gain or be reminded of when they begin, are partway through, or come to the end of this story?
Folklore is the more widely used compound term, derived from lore. The beliefs, myths, and tales associated with a certain group of people—or folk. Notice, though, that within that definition are stories themselves. Those myths and tales are the stories told, passed down from father to son, mother to daughter, from village sage to passing wanderer, that comprise said folklore.
We all glean and collect more lore each day we live and breathe, because in many ways, we live and breathe story. Our own. The stories of our forefathers and matriarchs. The story of creation and the Creator. Those being written by our children and those yet to be told.
All of this, is the lore of living.
Stories that matter, that change and challenge and breed not contentment, but holy unrest, to move and transform into one more closely aligned with our purpose and our nature.
On this column you’ll be subject to some ramblings on life and working out of ideas within my story worlds, along with glimpses into them, hopefully intriguing enough to be pleasing.
All the while, I’ll be collecting a little more lore, day by day, breath by breath, story by story, right along with you.
Ryder
Ryder Jones is an author of speculative fiction as well as a blogger of creative non-fiction. His current writing projects include an upcoming series of interconnected fantasy novels as well as his ongoing blog. When he’s not writing he can be found serving as music director at Impact Church and spending time with his wife Jess and their three children in and around the Lowell area, of which he is a lifelong resident.
Visit ryderhamilton.com to subscribe to his newsletter and blog, keep up to date on his upcoming novels, and for other exclusive content! You can also join The Loristal to support his work and gain access to a library of lore and short fiction. Ryder has also has a Substack page where you can subscribe and follow his work.
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