sea of stories

“There was once, in the country of Alifbay, a sad city, the saddest of cities, a city so ruinously sad that it had forgotten its name. It stood by a mournful sea full of glumfish, which were so miserable to eat that they made people belch with melancholy even though the skies were blue...

And in the depths of the city, beyond an old zone of ruined buildings that look like broken hearts, there lived a happy young fellow by name of Haroun, the only child of the storyteller Rashid Khalifa, whose cheerfulness was famous throughout that unhappy metropolis, and whose never-ending stream of tall, and winding tales had earned him not one but two nicknames. To his admirers he was Rashid the Ocean of Notions, as stuffed with cheery stories as the sea was full of glumfish; but to his jealous rivals he was the Shah of Blah.” 

Rushdie's known for being obtuse and top-heavy but this tale is one of my favorites and is reverberating with me right now, when I think of him being unable to speak and tell stories when his subscription runs out, and I was stupid enough to sign up for my first creative writing workshop ever and now I can't think of anything to write which is absolutely terrifying. I have three days and shards of ideas that I know I can't spin into anything worthy of being ripped apart. I'm probably my own harshest critic as it is, I wouldn't want to write something I wouldn't read or play in a band I wouldn't listen to. OH THE AGONY.

"'Anybody can tell stories….Liars, and cheats, and crooks, for example. But for stories with that Extra Ingredient, ah, for those, even the best storytellers need the Story Waters

If only it was that easy, because right now I feel more like the Shah of Blah than the Ocean of Notions.