During the first meeting of UF's graduate level Interactive Storytelling course, which began this week, the class hit a brick wall. The group was asked to add to a story that the instructor, an artist-in-residence, initiated. A mysterious river was conjured up with a few words, a male character, the beginning of a plot, then we were jarred out of the new story-spell by one mischievous storyteller who added a wall at the end of the river- just before passing on the story baton to the next in the circle. Those of us who followed this obstacle found a way to guide the character around the wall, picking up the thread of meaning and intent, willing the spell back into place. Though asked to take part in telling this story as a class activity, I found myself drawn into the universe we were creating together, challenging myself to imagine something surprising or which violated the laws of physics. Could he climb onto a cloud? How would he do that? After the story had ended, the instructor, Arturo, observed that it is easy to deny the story idea, to kill off the characters, to construct the brick wall rather than furthering the narrative. This comment reminded me of the image of the Flammarion Woodcut in which a figure's head pierces through the membrane of the sky to peer into the world beyond. As listeners, the arc of a story surrounds us, enclosing us within the story's embrace, and we actively will ourselves to remain there, enthralled.
During the first meeting of UF's graduate level Interactive Storytelling course, which began this week, the class hit a brick wall. The group was asked to add to a story that the instructor, an artist-in-residence, initiated. A mysterious river was conjured up with a few words, a male character, the beginning of a plot, then we were jarred out of the new story-spell by one mischievous storyteller who added a wall at the end of the river- just before passing on the story baton to the next in the circle. Those of us who followed this obstacle found a way to guide the character around the wall, picking up the thread of meaning and intent, willing the spell back into place. Though asked to take part in telling this story as a class activity, I found myself drawn into the universe we were creating together, challenging myself to imagine something surprising or which violated the laws of physics. Could he climb onto a cloud? How would he do that? After the story had ended, the instructor, Arturo, observed that it is easy to deny the story idea, to kill off the characters, to construct the brick wall rather than furthering the narrative. This comment reminded me of the image of the Flammarion Woodcut in which a figure's head pierces through the membrane of the sky to peer into the world beyond. As listeners, the arc of a story surrounds us, enclosing us within the story's embrace, and we actively will ourselves to remain there, enthralled.
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Suresh