The Storyteller

I was crushed in a circle of kids, huddled in the children’s section of Border’s. Most of us had barely brushed our teens. The shelves glowed warm and yellow. The carpet, thin as it was, felt like the most comfortable carpet in the world. I would have sat there forever.

My insides tingled with anticipation as he came into view. His black eyes twinkled and he stroked his trimly bearded chin. I felt like a mere mortal, brushing by Zeus in a crowd. Convinced that none of the other kids knew the significance of this moment as much as I and my family did.


My first encounter with The Storyteller.

His deep, throaty voice sounded just like in his audio tapes. Just like I imagined it would.

He read for us first – a description of the villain from his first book. He didn’t rush over words. He savored them, played with them. His voice was an instrument that could both sing and growl.

I realized then what you don’t realize when you’re reading something. The meaning of “voice” – the elusive fiend – becomes clear.

“The best writers know how to make pictures with words,” he said.

It stuck in my mind, like the composer who wakes with a new melody in his head. I thought of it again this morning. He may never know how much that moment, that bit of advice defines me. Sometimes, when I’m trapped in the midst of a particularly stilted, draining, and unproductive writing session, I can still hear him say it.

Since that day, I’ve been told “Show, don’t tell” a hundred times. But no living author or instructor has since captured the essence of the writer I want to be, more than Brian Jacques.

Thank you, Mr. Jacques. I hope to one day repay you for your inspiration, or at least to tell you fully what that brief moment in a crowded chain bookstore meant to me.

Huzzah, Storyteller. Huzzah!