A storyteller’s guide.

Hey! I honestly don’t know if it’s a guide from a storyteller to us normal people about life or it’s a guide to storytellers, so I decided to let it be both (Like Theon was both a Stark and a Greyjoy – Game of Thrones reference). I hope you like it! Do tell me if you do. The comments section is all yours. Show some love?


Hidden in the blankets of old streets in Paris was a blue house. A story-teller lived in this house that smelled of the ocean. His name was Zale.

Zale’s house was filled with objects that he’d collected over time that represented different story-telling principles. A black toy gun from when he was eight was framed in a glass box to remind him of Chekhov’s Gun concept. His (now dead) bird’s cage hung from the fan in his living room but its tiny gate was open to suggest artistic license. A ball-pen placed on his first ever tablet to characterize Juxtapose.

Zale, himself, represented the most important principle of story-telling – every story has a beginning, middle, and end. Not just in a very life-death-human way but in all sorts of ways.

“Happiness, pain, memories. Beginning, middle, end.”

Zale was 97 days old when he laughed for the first time. He was in his crib, looking at everything around him as if he’d already started thinking of stories of men who flew using ceiling fans and wore masks of different emotions when his father suddenly started dancing weirdly to the tunes of some ’90s song. It wasn’t the dance that made him laugh, though. It was the sweet way in which his dad giggled as he hopped on one leg and moved his hands around like crazy.

A few months after his eighth birthday, his father passed away. He was studying in school, gossiping with other eight-year-olds about Paris and science and toy guns when his teacher told him. He cried for hours when he found out, hiding his face under the school desk. A little ocean formed on the floor as his tears rained down.

Almost every day since, Zale remembers the little things his father taught him about life and the weird way he danced even when Zale turned seven. His father was the first one to tell him that stories were made out of personal thoughts, life events, and family.

“Happiness, pain, memories. Beginning, middle, end.”

Maybe that’s why his house was blue and smelled of oceans. To remind Zale of the ocean he made on the floor for his father’s death.


Into poetry? – Trigger alert
Instagram – @myspirals

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