I heard a curious story on NPR about Nigerian writer Teju Cole, who crafts daily stories he calls “small fates” that capture a quotidian news article in the space of a mere Tweet. The examples were captivating. Each word was poised to deliver just the right impact at just the right time.
Prosper, of Houston Street, didn’t. His wife is dead, and he cannot afford to bury her.
Trial lawyers are frequently told that winning a case is all about storytelling. I believe this is mostly true. However, it is not because it is particularly true of law.
Much of life is about storytelling. We most adore our companions who weave the tallest tales or embroider their most embarrassing moments with easy charm. We awkwardly attempt to avoid those relatives who laboriously recount each plodding moment of some mundane event. We give our money to the organizations that hook us with the heartrending story of a child we’ve personally helped through our donation, or to the company whose marketer conjures up a vision of our future selves that we immediately seek to underwrite.
I am a rotten storyteller. Happily, I have many great stories. Perhaps I will do injustice to fewer of them as I go along.
Gnomenclature 