Storytelling and Myth: the essence of story & its meaning to life

But what truly is a story, and how can it better us as creators of beautiful things?

“Myths are the clues to the spiritual potentialities of the human life.”

Joseph Campbell

For writers, what would you tell me if I asked you what a story was? Could you give me a one sentence definition? Write your answer in the comment section before you continue reading.

We say we are storytellers, but really, what does this mean? 

The Oxford language definition has a few meanings: 

Story: 

1. an account of imaginary or real people and events told for entertainment.
2. an account of past events in someone’s life or in the evolution of something.
3. a lie or falsehood.
4. a piece of gossip; a rumor.
5. a report of an item of news in a newspaper, magazine, or news broadcast.

What is truly a story, we wonder? Story is the fundamental note connecting all of us as artists in song. We all tell a story through our craft, and for writers, this is one of our strongest tools of expression. We have no aesthetics or tricks or allure; our writing is the madness.

Maturation Shifting What Can Drive Stories: The Literary Elements

I’ve noticed my writing shifting slowly as I’ve matured and began to want different things from people, and from myself. I wanted what most young girls who thought they had high standards wanted, and now I want what my soul wants. My writing reflected that stark contrast, and evolved as I did.

I could never place just how the writing changed, until I came across an article on LitHub that talked about what can drive a story, and I wanted to learn how exactly I had changed as a writer, or how my “drivers” had shifted. It was this idea that any element of fiction could drive a story. Plot, character, symbols, themes, and even settings can take the narrative.

The problem with plot

As a writer and filmmaker, the most fundamental definition of a story that was preached to me was a series of experiences or events that had a beginning, middle, and end. And the story was almost always set off by a particular conflict to drive the story until the conflict was resolved, usually after a climax. This is also known as the three-act structure.

I’ve always thought this definition, although helpful for the beginner storyteller, was quite juvenile for the impact certain literary stories could potentially have on those who cross paths with them. This type of style is what I’ve come to know as plot-driven stories. Some of the most entertaining, drama-filled novels are plot-driven. Plot can be impactful in its own way, but I’ve always wondered if relying too much on plot and not enough on an intention of the story could hinder the writing. Conflict builds suspense and excitement, it keeps people reading to see what’ll happen next. And the beautiful thing about plot is that the mind could come up with exciting events, but this doesn’t always mean something for the story as a whole. These stories were entertaining at the time, but they left me with nothing. 

Should storytelling have a deeper meaning?

Character building and empathy

On the opposing spectrum, there are character-driven stories. With this method, the character and their motivations are what motivate the story to progress, for plot to even exist.

Character-driven can seem extremely authentic and organic with this framework, because you’re pulling from your own empathy by listening to voices outside of your own ego, and following the impulses of what these characters could be feeling. Creating characters that you can relate to automatically makes them empathetic to someone, even if it’s only a select few, and this made it easier to infuse emotion into my work.

In character-driven stories, the characters, or the idea of them, begin and end the work, the same way Morrison started writing Sula because of the image of a woman she knew as a little girl. The characters made this book, not necessarily the plot. Who they are and why they are this way is the basis of character-driven stories. The more dimension added, the more interesting they become, and more meaningful the story becomes as a result. Each layer of them represents a whole of the story.

It’s easy to get lost in the character’s lives, though, and it’s quite possible that I became a bit addicted and lost in fantasies with this particular driver of story. What is their favorite food or political beliefs? What is their biggest secret, and how did it affect how they responded to events in this story?

The character becomes the guide of the story, not the writer [who would construct the plot]. And through the character, important insights and emotions can be discovered this way. Writers can feel as though they are going through a dark path of discovery with these new characters, but that darkness creates something extraordinary, if we allow it to. Grand themes come from characters that become real. 

But there is so much more than just plot and character when it comes to storytelling.

Discovery of a new style through experimentation

As I got older, I still thought characters who felt real were important to story, but I wanted to talk about abstract topics. I progressively stopped caring about my “image” more and more over time, and so characters and their egos slowly became less important as well. What if something bigger than them was guiding them, and how could I showcase it?

This soon led me to an intriguing discovery: language-driven story. This is closely linked to symbolism and themes, but more focused on language that creates feelings around those themes and symbolisms without directly saying it. Using rhythms, word choices, and visuals in the words to bring together a holistic message that showcased deeper meanings, emotions, and multiple interpretations. Where the theme and meaning was “inside” of the writing, not seen from the outside, as with character and plot-driven stories (Michel, 2019). I hadn’t even realized there could be an ideology around the type of writing that I had been experimenting in, but here it was, clear and defined yet so abstract of a concept in itself.

Language-driven stories seem to evoke a certain meaning that could resonate in the reader’s minds long after they’ve read it. “Quiet as it’s kept, there were no Marigolds in fall 1941” [Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye]. So many things being said inside of the language, as if one is searching for treasures and secrets underneath the words, a code that is left for the reader to crack themselves.

I reflected on all the times I had chosen specific words for certain connotation [The way words make us feel regardless of the formal definition], and that idea intrigued me. Because if we were to write creatively, why not let the writing be sexy? Why not call upon the magnetic quality of the reader’s imagination to create fantasies, and allow them to find the meaning in the work instead of telling them?

A work of fiction and poetry served these many purposes, one of them existing to be wildly interesting and even abstract.

Digging deeper into language, what do the words “watermelon, plush, ecstasy, peace, water” seem to invoke in you? Take a second. What about the words “explosion, cage, bricks, disconnected”? Language in this way can bring the reader with you into the experience happening as the events are unfolding. For example, “The water folded over me in ecstasy.” That reads far differently than “The water felt good, and I stayed in it all day.”

And language goes beyond that. What about the rhythm of words, and its poetry? What about how it literally can look on the page, a visual apparatus fiction writers often neglect, but tools many poets utilize when it works for the message. The fact remains though that intentional language turns the creative writing into an experience. It does what I believe fiction should do for a reader: tease the imagination, allowing meaning to slide around the spirit and thoughts of the person reading it.

Though interestingly, every element plays its part. We cannot just write a story with one literary element, or maybe we could, but most stories do not. Character isn’t “better” than plot, nor is language-driven story superior, but they offer different tools to different writers, and it is in those tools that we decide what type of story we’d like to tell, and why. And for whatever reason you decide, what element will be the predominant driver of your story to get to that goal or desire? That is the key to telling a story with these literary elements: the why.

Example of a setting-driven narrative: Avatar: The Last Airbender  

Let’s talk about setting-driven stories for a moment, which can allow for strong creative world-building opportunities. Think of a show like Avatar: The Last Airbender, where the elements of their environment are so vital to the progression of the story. Water benders and their personalities seemed aligned with the calmness of their elements, materialized through their peaceful homes at the North and South Poles. As we go on this journey with Aang, every nation has a distinctive feeling illustrated through setting, resonating into the theme of balance and harmony between all four elements; aligning with elements of life itself. 

Its story is told through the symbolism and imagery of where they reside. This is one of the aspects that made the story of Avatar so great. Although not primarily setting-driven, setting was a driver in some of the major plot points, one being the premise of the Fire Nation attacking the other nations for rulership. Utilizing the setting in this way created a grand sense of story, creating a feeling that the story was for every single minor and major character involved instead of a select few engrossed into the plot. How the nations functioned was the basis of how Aang’s jounrey progressed, and everywhere they went, each experience was heavily influenced on the setting and dealing with the dangers of the Fire Nation.

Using one driver intentionally can focus your story and create freedom within a boundary. In written form, setting-driven would call for a lot of imagery and descriptive language that would eventually become both setting and symbol. Unless the world is complex like science fiction or fantasy, you have to decide if that’ll be the best choice for your own creative work. 

Beyond the drivers 

Seeing all of the drivers in leading different stories shows that creatively, a story could be told in a multitude of ways. Is story just a slew of all of these elements thrown together, then? Plot, character, theme, language, symbolism, and setting? With some more present than others? There is more to the essence of the story. These elements and how to utilize them are just the beginning. 

These drivers are a guide to discover the meanings behind these recollections and stories we tell, but there’s even greater tools at our disposal than just the literary elements. 

Our own lives (& others) are the key to telling stories 

Story is life. Our lives show our transformation, evolution, and emotions. This is a story we all know. We just have to look carefully at our own experiences and attempt to find the meaning in them. So story through a fiction lens is the highlight of major transformations and changes, and presumptions and feelings to why they change – through the recollections and events. It is more than things happening and conflict being resolved, it’s even more than the words that seem to flow like water. It’s a complete transformation, from one set of things to another.

It makes sense then that stories are just a reflection of our own lives, retold in ways we can see and feel more clearly. The more we step away from this sort of authenticity, the emotional resonance is lost. Whether it’s our own life or lives we can empathize with (hopefully as a writer this can be everyone; you’ll have more writing material), story seems to give us something more than just a one-off experience. It seems that stories told from this idea of transformation can transcend borders and push people to act. Or at the very least, inspire them to create, and create some form of meaning in their lives forever in the process. I believe this happens because transformation shows the reader that we are more than just one thing, and pushes us to imagine what it could be like to be everything. Potential transcendence awaits in storytelling, or going beyond what we believe to know as true.

And if our life (& others) is the story, what is the narrative? As in, how the story is told? Who is the voice being used to disseminate the information? Is it the open-minded free spirit, or the anxious and sarcastic student? I believe the narrative is paralleled with the perception of how we view our own lives or how we can presume others feel about their own. That sort of perspective is both specific and unlimited, as we and our perceptions are constantly shifting.

Telling a story with a clear understanding of the voice is what translates the story from life to mind to spirit. And combined, I believe this holds the key to the essence of story. Using specific perspectives to translate information – this is how intention finds its way into the literary elements we know in fiction, and the ones we cannot yet name.

Both of these elements of story – life and perception – require a developed sense of empathy, which brings us out of our own world. Building characters that feel real to you can begin that empathy development, but empathy begins in your own heart. Feelings don’t always make sense, so using our intellect of the mind is not a requirement.

Toni Morrison says we should not write about what we know, but I believe we should prioritize what we don’t know and find a home for the things we do without it becoming the basis of our range. Empathy begins in self, and we must acknowledge our own feelings and perceptions before we can acknowledge those of others.

I believe that empathy to understand the feelings beyond the image [what we purely see] is what makes stories so compelling. Could you write about a drug queenpin as the hero and make the audience look into the situation and gain something from it? Could you write about an evil grandmother with cancer as an anti-hero? Because feelings are feelings, regardless of how they look on paper.

The Power of Myth  

Mythology is an original form of story, which are experiences and recollections that attempt to search for the meaning of life through its dissemination to others and oneself. 

As the story is told, the audience is to be left with something profound, but only if they are willing to look, and only if they can actually see it. We cannot say for certain if a myth (or any story) is real or fake, fact or fiction, for these stories seem to be true somewhere to someone, and that duality of realness and fakeness should allow us to just listen without wondering if it’s real or can be “proven.” 

The most popular example of a myth is the Bible. It is in these stories that we are able to find universal truths and meanings that resonate in a very spiritual way, if we let them. Almost every self-help book references the Bible, because the stories are so profound and insightful. These stories push people to action, to understand, to feel something: whether inspiration or excitement. To find answers to why we’re all here.

Myths dig into the topics we have no “right” answer for: love, war, peace, paradise, death and rebirth, universal truths, and so much more. Creative writers can attempt to answer these questions by examining not only their own myths (their lives), but myths that have been written throughout history. The only difference between a myth and story is that the intention of myth is to reflect our lives and spirit upon the other, while a fiction story doesn’t carry that burden. But when it comes to the power of story, as shown through the power of myths (i.e. the Bible), we can incorporate this methodology into our own work to create a powerful emotional feelings in our readers. The search for meaning is a writer’s greatest tool as a storyteller.

African mythology // one of the original storytellers 

Myths holding profound wisdom often began through oral traditions: rituals, songs, proverbs, fables, poems, folklore, and more. Storytelling was a familial, traditional, and community-oriented experience, before writers were alone with their own devices. In every story told, there was truth-telling involved. Truth of wisdom, knowledge, and each other. The audience was key to the transmission of these oral myths. 

West African storytelling, known for its wild exaggerations and abstract nature, has always been laced in truths. We must as a storyteller chase the truth, always. Our values are illuminated through stories that come without thinking, the way the oral storytellers used to tell them. A common African myth is that of Anansi, the Spider. A trickster who in a particular tale (there are several different versions) was gifted by the sky god a great storytelling ability, so he could weave his webs all over the world. Anansi was the holder of all stories.

Storytelling was an essential part of life in West Africa, and have been linked with traditions of music and dance as well. With the beating of the drums in traditional, ritualistic rhythms and a fire burning beside them, stories were told to their villages and families. Sometimes there would be dancing to accompany the song as someone spoke the words.

So there is an intimate understanding of how the arts connect in a way that spreads truth. Dance, writing, music – this is all story; it is all truth within it. Culture is preserved through story, and through the entertainment comes education. These stories are then passed down from generation to generation, until there is one heartbeat, mind, and spirit. West African storytelling culture can be an incredible guide to look at our own work, and to share our wisdom and insights with our communities and families as well. This is a beautiful way of preserving and contributing to culture. Story could be of dialogue instead of just talking at our audience, or preaching at them, but including them in the narrative, giving them just enough to fill in the gaps themselves – with their own lives, perceptions, and projections. Perhaps this can be done with any literary element or style, so as long as the writer can exercise resistance in revealing too much.

Ultimately, African mythology served its purpose: to explain why things are how they are, and to find its deepest meanings. Stories then lead to understanding, compassion, empathy, and wisdom as a result. 

An observation of myth and especially that of West African mythology that I’ve had is its ability to become one with Nature, and see the divine parallels between the storms in the sky and the storms of our own lives, how trees grow from darkness and so does our own greatness. Everything is connected, and that is an important theme of this particular myth of Anansi and his webs, but also of story itself. 

“As above, so below.”

Recognizing our weapons: The power of story 

In Power: Book IV: Force, people cried when Lilliana died. But in the original Power – in the very first episode – they wanted Lilliana dead. Why is that? Because we were able to understand her more clearly now, watch her life, see how she felt. She helped the story by pushing the narrative (of the perspective a drug dealer trying to survive) while her life became testimony that she was in fact a survivor by things that happened to her that were out of her control and some that were [i.e. getting cut in the face while on the job, the risk of her chosen career, etc.]. And since this show was on the side of this narrative, we as the watcher rooted for her now, as she stepped from a potential destruction of the show’s beliefs [the drug empire and its power that helped them survive] to supporting it. But logically, we had no reason to cry for her when she died. But we did, and this is what story can do. She was the same character, in different situations framed in a different light, and so we began to see her differently. 

If story can do that, what do you think the media can do to you, and to your mind? Think about this power as you write and create stories. Think about this power when you read them. This innate power of storytelling over emotions shouldn’t be driven by our own egos, but rather the fabric of a continuous story throughout the times. When stories gets too involved with the ego, its power becomes a one-off experience at best, and negatively impactful at its worst. 

The spirituality of writing and storytelling 

Let the work speak to you as you let your technical facility as a writer/artist be your tool. This is why writing everyday as a ritual is a must, even if it’s only for five minutes. Writers have heard this a million times, but we should continue to hear it a million more, because it’s that important. Writing in the same place at the same time in the same clothing and other rituals of repetition. [Life does not always allow for this, but striving for it is better than not doing it all. Do what you can, nothing less.] This becomes meditation, and soon, the writer taps into the unconscious mind by having every other element be a constant of the brain, no longer requiring conscious thought.

Every writer knows that words seem to come from nowhere physical. That is because they do not; writing is inherently spiritual for this reason. And when writing creative work from this place, it becomes meditative. When you write purely from your mind, the story can seem contrived. When it’s too “clever” for its own good.

We must let the stories breathe on their own, and be simply guides to disseminate its knowledge and gems. I believe that art is a connector of the spiritual to physical, and artists are the mediums. So I think going inward has all of our answers to story, as stated earlier with pulling from human life and events. 

Going even deeper, this is why journaling or free-writing is so key, along with making an intention to begin to listen to your intuition. It is not enough to write everyday if you do not know why you write, or why that particular story has flowed out of you. Introspection is key to telling stories, as it gives you the silence and perspective to understand so you gain something from these stories as much as those who will read them. 

The Universal Paradox 

Universal tales form from the specific. Why mythology seems so tied to its respective cultures is because it is. As humans, we cannot initially conceptualize that we could be everything. So religion and myths of different cultures manifest the universality of myth and bring it into the realm that people can culturally and mentally understand, digesting the same universal messages with different specific nuances and perspectives. I.e. using drums and dance in African mythology to spread oral stories, but using songs in Greek mythology – both with strikingly similar messages.

Those specific nuances are what reach humans in all of the diversity that exists in this world. Universal messages tend to happen organically when you focus on specific situations of culture, race, gender, nature, etc. This is a powerful tool in storytelling. One can only relate to someone, maybe a few people, but not everyone. Don’t try to write for everyone. People can only hear what they know. Your universal messages get lost in trying to intentionally make them universal. Imagine explaining what it is like to be a woman while explaining what it is like to be a man at the same time. You can’t, and that is the same with story. Be specific; not everyone needs to be included. This is the same as being exclusive. Story almost requires it.   

Another form of specificity is the idea of “coded language.” Whether writers use this intentionally or unintentionally is something I cannot definitively say, but looking at the intimate intermingling of colloquialism and references to Black culture throughout Toni Morrison’s work – and her sharp analysis of the invisibility of Black people being “coded” into William Faulkner’s work/language – is a testament to our sharp sights of our own worlds. Could a white person, from a racial perspective, digest Morrison’s work the same as a Black person? Would they catch the nuances of language, and then if they didn’t, would the work mean as much? Even if they did [after researching them presumably], could the material resonate the same way, or would those mythic [universal] messages get lost in translation? 

Myth needs translation; that’s how polytheism (and eventually monotheism) was formed. The sects resonate with different people. Argued most notably by late philosopher Joseph Campbell, all messages contained strikingly similar messages. Whether or not people believe this is up to them, but as a writer, we must understand these things. We must understand that what we are saying is nothing new, but only how we say it in the framework of the world we are currently existing within. 

Although it is very possible for a white person to understand The Bluest Eye with the same intrigue as a Black person reading Faulkner, the codes are simply not as accessible. There is something intimate – the essence of story – that happens when cultures cross into each other to tell stories within themselves. This is what I am getting at: the message is the same for all of us, but first we must be able to hear it, and tell it to others. Key takeaway: Know your audience and know the nuances of the world and characters you’re building.

“The impetus for writing The Bluest Eye in the first place was to write a book about a kind of person that was never in literature anywhere, never taken seriously by anybody—all those peripheral little girls. So I wanted to write a book that—if that child ever picked it up—would look representational. And so, what you do is focus on that kind of intimacy. If you do it well enough, it becomes accessible to lots and lots of people. If you’re writing for lots and lots of people, you have these vague, lumpy books.

I was writing for some clear, single person—I would say myself, because I was quite content to be the only reader. I thought that everything that needed to be written had been written: there was so much. I am not being facetious when I say I wrote it in order to read it. And I think that is what makes the difference, because I could look at it as a reader, really as a reader, and not as my own work.”

Toni Morrison, Byrn Mawr, Spring 1980

When we have stories that are both universal and specific, then it transcends, With these stories, we truly can be everything, and the idea is to make people that read it feel like they can be everything too. 

Stories that have this transcending effect: 

Sula by Toni Morrison – fiction

Moonlight (Dir. by Barry Jenkins) – cinema

Black Panther (Dir. by Ryan Coogler) – cinema 

Becoming by Michelle Obama – memoir 

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe – fiction 

It even helps to dive further into the minds of these creators, to see where they were pulling from when they made this work. Tracing their mythologies and how it connected with a work that touched so many people is great storytelling illumination. Many books on storytelling don’t talk about that enough: the concept of Universal Consciousness, and that we are all in tune to some of the same stories – that just look different physically. 

What you’ll see is that the creators’ inspirations and their lives directly influenced the work in different combinations, connected curiously by some unseen thing. Art inspires art; stories inspires stories. It’s the how and that specificity of the manner the story is being told that resonates. The what it is about or what happens within the story is the least important aspect of storytelling. So as Toni Morrison said, don’t be afraid to write a story for just yourself.

Last Words 

“People say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning of life. I don’t think that’s what we’re really seeking. I think that what we’re seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances within our innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.”

Joseph Campbell

It seems we’ve taken the wisdom out for just entertainment, and this does nothing for story long-term. With its great history and abilities, entertainment is the fun part of it, but myths, teachings, values, culture, and truth are the much more crucial part of story, as it shows us what it means to truly be in this world, and not simply distracting ourselves from it. 

More on writing here.

Cover photos by SIMON LEE on Unsplash