Stories are powerful. They can instantly endear someone to you or make you hate them. As humans, we’re narrative creatures. We think in stories, dream in stories, live in stories. The devoted wife, the jilted lover, the self-made entrepreneur, the precocious child, and on and on. Stories suffuse our world because they’re our conduit for meaning.
I’m trying to tell good stories. I will be for the rest of my life.
My name is Rhett. Which is always an interesting thing to get across at loud parties. Brett? No. Riet? Try again. Rat?Hmm…what do you think?
While I spend more time writing than I do anything else, I can sometimes be found huffing up mountain slopes or on forest trails. I swear I spend most of that time enjoying nature and only a sliver of it looking for rabbit holes that lead to Wonderland. Occasionally I box, lift heavy things pointlessly, collect sharp or pointy objects, enjoy a good whisky, well, whisky, and obsess about whether I should be writing in British or American English.
I believe that of the ten greatest stories ever told, two were told in video games.
I know that the perfect meal exists; I have had it. I also know I will never have it again.
My to-be-read pile overflows as much as the folder I keep of story outlines and ideas. I used to lament this, complaining that I would never have the time to get through them all, but of late, it brings me comfort. I will never run out of good books to read, and I will never run out of stories I want to try and write.
I hope you will enjoy a story of mine.
I hope it becomes a sentence in yours.