The story of how to make an omelette.

Eggs, butter, salt; three ingredients that are most familiar to anyone who’s eaten anything. Three ingredients; and umpteen ways to create an omelette. Slow heat over high heat makes a difference, salt before or after cooking makes a difference, butter whisked in or browned on the pan makes a difference. In all his wisdom, the chef puts them together for you to savour. To the chef, it is of utmost importance that the he be content with his creation, and equally so should the people savouring this delight be. Similar is the art of telling a story.

I may have the same ingredients for a story as anybody else, but how I piece them together comes from all my life’s experiences. The more ingredients I add, the more the story — like an omelette — can be complicated. A good storyteller knows how to create an experience out of all that he encounters. But what is his purpose? Honestly, I cannot say for certain. Perhaps it is — to educate. Perhaps it is — to entertain. Perhaps it is to document for posterity. Or perhaps it is just his need. Like the need to eat that omelette, for example.

A good story — I think — should make you want to listen. To keep you throughly engaged in anticipation of that final pay-off. Whether or not that happens, and how it happens — for a brief while — only the storyteller knows, and then everybody else does, little knowing that in their ensuing affectations lies a secret.

That the real pay-off is knowing his story has resonated with someone. In one way or another.