We live and operate within our own constructed realities. And our current (which often means “future”) constructions of reality are influenced by reconstructions of our past.

*A story in mind | Created by Jay W. Austin & DALL•E*

How much of your present moment is thinking about the present moment? Maybe not much.

Don’t be surprised if you notice that most of your present moments are filled with thoughts about the past and the future.

There are times when you’re really present; really there.

Like when you’re engrossed in a current task—especially a creative or meditative task—or when you’re taken by a compelling story.

We are all storytellers.

Those reconstructions of our past are stories. The constructions of the future (so frequently based on those reconstructions of the past) are stories, too.

They might not be crafted as masterfully as a script from Jordan Peele, follow a five-act structure like a Romeo and Juliet, or seem as terrifically inventive as a Cixin Liu sci-fi, but these stories are stories nonetheless.

What’s happening when a great story captivates us?

The most common thing you’ll hear is that the story transports people to a new world. Fiction or non-fiction, that’s what it feels like.

But we can think about it from another perspective.

While it might feel like the storyteller is taking us somewhere out there, they might actually be taking you somewhere in there. Into the audience’s construction of a reality.

When a book with a fervent following gets optioned for a film, a large portion of the book-reading audience will walk away from the movie disappointed, disillusioned, and sometimes offended.

What they saw on the screen didn’t match what they saw in their minds when they were reading.

It’s not enough to say that the film “didn’t meet their expectations.”

What happened was that the author and them built a unique world that just wasn’t what they saw on the screen.

If everyone who read the book transported to the same place, then this wouldn’t happen. But they had all built their own worlds. The author didn’t take them anywhere other than deeper into themselves.

They became co-authors. Co-storytellers.

To my professional storytellers reading this, we might want to think about our storytelling in this way.

Rather than aiming to transport our audience somewhere else, how do we invite them to join us in constructing their own internal reality?

How can we invite them to become co-storytellers?

Aye, I’m Jay. You’re on my personal site where I post things I make about interrupting mass incarceration, protecting migration, environmental justice & sustainability, language, communications, storytelling, creativity, and tech.

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