I have a sound recorder in my hand and I’m pointing it into empty space close to a train track. This space will be filled with thunder within a few moments. I maintain my posture like a statue waiting to be woken up. Noise creeps up from a horizon, escalating like a tsunami towards me and my recorder, except the birds in the trees, don’t budge.
I’m standing close to a train track, if my sound recorder could speak it would say to close for comfort. But it can’t speak, sound only goes one way into a recorder. Then we’re hit with a bang of wind and noise as the train passes.
This train isn’t real, but it feels real. You and anyone who has birthed an attempt to create an original story is on board. The train is an opposite of a story, it’s linear, straight, smooth, and secure on its tracks. The cargo, you, and your idea are non-linear, but to get your story into the real world, you’re going to have to take this train.
A story is water without gravity, you can’t carry it into the real world, for that, you need a vessel of physical proof, a manifestation of a beginning, middle, and end.
Funny thing is, when I come home later that evening and listen to the sound recording, I won’t hear a train passing by. What will I hear?