The Truth about Stories

In the book, the Truth About Stories, Thomas King sheds light on the power of stories. King explicitly enforces that one must take caution in the way he or she tells a story, since it will shape one’s thoughts, decision-making and future (2). Through the use of literature, King weaves his way through native history, anecdote by anecdote, informing his readers about the importance of storytelling. “Stories are wondrous things,” the author writes. “And they are dangerous.” (9). To prove this, King mentions two creation stories; the differences in these stories is the way in which they are told. The first is a famous native story called, “the woman who fell from the sky”; this story is told in a complex, persuasive way (10-20). This story discusses a society emphasizing the value of cooperation as the animals work together to create a better world (21-22). The second story, a Judeo-Christian biblical story, describes a Western Capitalist society. It is told in a historical, punitive and direct fashion, underlining a society of boundaries and punishment. King highlights that storytelling is not just simply telling a story, rather it is how the stories are told. King uses these particular stories to show how different stories shape people’s perspectives, which impacts their ideas, thoughts and decision making. Therefore he addresses how sensitive storytelling may be, for once a story is told, it can never be taken back (10). This is true in all realms of life, cautioning

My definition of a story is a narrative that is told by word of mouth or written down in spoken language, and has a protagonist (the leading character, may be also defined as the character whose fate is most closely followed by the reader or audience, and who is opposed by a character known as the antagonist) trying to accomplish a certain goal but the antagonist (a character, institution, or concept that stands in or represents opposition against which the protagonist(s) must contend) keeps getting in the way of achieving that goal, causing conflicts or a problems in the story. A story can likewise be a recounting or retelling of events in the order they come about or some form of causally-linked set of events whether imaginary or real. A story can similarly be told for entertainment or to inform someone on exactly how to do something. A story must reconstruct images that re-create life-like characters, settings, or events.

“Hey mom how are you doing today?” I said as I climbed into the four door G.M.C. Fine my mom replied. Wow another bland answer I thought to myself I wonder what high school I got into should I ask her or should I wait I thought to myself. “Hey mom any news?” No, she replied. Wow still I got another plain answer. Man, I still want to ask her about the school because I really wanted to know what’s the deal about me getting into high school or not. I’ve been waiting for a good moment for me to ask here the question as we pulled out the schools traffic

James drags his wounded leg. Trenton stands, James fires, misses. The humanoid returns fire. Blasts James' chest.

“They hope to have the central heating system up by fall. For now, we still have to light lots of fires and keep warm other ways. I warned Lia that it’s a work in progress and that we’ll still be roughing it in some areas.”

The red scarfed girl wanted the girl to try out for a dance team but her grandma dad and mom didn’t want her to do the try out because they think the pressure i gonna make the girl cry but the girl doesn’t care about the pressure after the girl laughed but when she got there she was scared she didn’t want to show her face then the teacher said what’s wrong and she stuttered and said i am not going then she bowed and twisted her hair in her red scarf and someone said what are u crazy?this is a once in a lifetime the teacher was concern why she didn’t want to go she lied and said she tried hard not to cry and she said my father wouldn’t let me…. The girl was

I looked at the dark, blank floor. It seemed to be just as stupid, and empty as I was. This cell was like a cage, and it was uncomfortably cold and wet. I only had myself to keep me warm. I wonder if I'll ever get out of here. All the choices I've made, I thought they were right. Turns out they weren't. I shouldn't of accepted that letter! It has only caused me pain and loss. I miss my family... they're probably thinking I am having the time of my life, at this ”camp”. All of this was a big, old lie, and I wish they knew that...

It was an absolute disaster. I pinch my face in disgust as I pick up one of the gooey clumps that were supposed to resemble sugar cookies.

Jerry came home from work later than usual that Friday night. He didn’t say hello when he found me in our bedroom, but thrust the glittery pink bag at my chest and waited with half of a grin.

Out of breath, her knuckles were bloodied and her throat was hoarse. Pain radiated through her shoulder and toes from the multiple times she slammed and kicked against the bolted entrance.

I woke up. Everything around me was blurry, and dark. I was awfully hungry, and I had a tube in my arm. I had no idea what was going on. All of a sudden, an alarm was going off somewhere around me. My ears rang with loud, annoying sounds. A flurry of lights came on, one after another. A doctor rushed in.

"Why is the knickers on your ankles, and the bra on your wrist? It should be the other way ." Edward cocked his head as if trying to understand the unusual method of entrapment.

“Exactly! Where was your mother?” I asked my question out loud not really expecting her to answer.

It was a cold rainy night. The wind was deadly as sharp blades skimming past my face. The floor was slippery as an eel.

The story I am about to tell you is all very true and is about the story of my life…in a shorter way of saying it. Therefore, my story might motivate you about some things that you will probably have on mind, so read closely. The beginning of my story starts out with the letter “I.”