For reasons we’ll cover another time, I wasn’t much of an outdoors child. Actually, that’s not strictly true—I loved the outdoors, but I wasn’t much of a fan of the wilds of St. Mary’s Road and beyond. Home was safe, my bedroom safer, and thankfully, Mum was empathetic enough to recognize the fear that wormed through my insides at the mere suggestion that I go play outside. For me, inside was just fine. Inside was a safe, controlled environment where I made the rules, and no one could hurt me. Sure, inside was smaller than outside, but with a little imagination, inside had limitless possibilities.
Enter stage left: the story, in all its glorious forms
If I cast my mind back to my earliest memories, for every problem I faced, I found a solution in stories. Stories provided the ultimate escape from a reality that wasn’t serving me at the time. I would tip my LEGO onto the floor and construct an intricate narrative where the LEGO people were all stranded on a scrap planet and had to work together to build a base and survive. My dad would lose his mind after the fourth day of telling me to tidy away my LEGO, only to be met with complete and unreasonable defiance. He only ever saw the mess, never the carefully curated narrative—my little LEGO world that could tell a thousand stories in which I could escape from what I didn’t want to understand.
Nightmares are one thing, but have you ever had a night terror? They’re like nightmares on crack, and I used to suffer from them as a child. I remember one evening when my uncle Jack was babysitting. I woke from one of my night terrors, screaming and covered in sweat. I’d also wet the bed. I would have done anything in that moment to stay awake forever in his arms, watching cartoons together, or have him read me one of his comic books.
Instead, Jack introduced me to the Dream Dragon. Jack was an incredible storyteller, he made me close my eyes tight and imagine a ball of colourful light. Once he was sure I had that brightly coloured ball in my mind, he asked me to step inside it. He then went on to describe a world full of wonder and magic. Colour and light lit up every corner of its existence, and it was governed by the Dream Dragon. He continued describing this place until I drifted off into the most peaceful of sleeps.
My uncle Jack would continue to inspire my love for stories throughout the course of my life. He introduced me to comic books, Terry Pratchett, and Dungeons and Dragons. All of these mediums, including film and television, meant that I could escape my reality any time I needed to. And they worked to great effect—until alcohol and drugs came along (that’s another story).
Where’s My Applause?
There was this terminology floating around social media for a little while after Robin Williams unalived himself, called the “Robin Williams effect.” It referred to a person who has been through suffering so extraordinary that they will do whatever is in their power to reduce the suffering of others. I like to think that this is where my love of telling stories is rooted. I’ve witnessed how stories have saved me, provided respite from the raging storm, and I’ve always gotten great satisfaction from doing that for others.
It started with begging my uncle to let me be Dungeon Master for a campaign. It grew into performing magic for a living room full of people, then performing musical theatre, and later singing in a band. I always loved trying to get a laugh out of anyone that would listen by being the funny guy. Interestingly enough, sitting down to write a story has always been something I’ve struggled to do, and if I’m being completely honest, there’s a distinct lack of adulation. I learned from an early age to feed off the applause of others. No matter how low I was feeling, applause lifted me. If eyes were on me and hands were clapping, it meant that I controlled the room and that I was safe. For anyone who has ever felt truly unsafe, safety is more important than water.
Fast forward to 2024
Thanks to a lot of internal work, I don’t rely so heavily on external validation anymore. I feel safe without needing to be in control. As for my inner child? We have a good relationship now that involves weekly get-togethers, regular playtime, and lots of cake. I’m ready to share stories now. I’m ready to build the discipline necessary to sit down and bash the words out. I’m strong enough to override the want for instant gratification so I can focus on those long-term investments.
These weekly blogs are really helping to form those habits I so desperately need to write my stories. And after months of struggling to rekindle my fire, I feel my passion returning.
Thank you for reading. Please don’t forget to follow and subscribe if you haven’t already.
Until next time,
DB