The Origins of Creative Writing

How did creative writing begin?

Don’t quote me on this, because it’s not gospel.

Anyway, many years a go a little guy, let’s call him Tom, who was homeless and hopeless, spent his time wandering from ancient village to ancient village, trying to scrape a living by selling his labour. But times were hard and Alf found himself on the brink of starvation when he arrived at Betaville one day.

The good folk of Betaville were in an uproar as they had heard of a terrible tragedy in Alphaville the previous week, but no-one knew the facts as no-one from Betaville had been to Alphaville for a while because it was a two day ride to Alphaville and Betaville’s only ass was off her feed.

“But I’ve just come from Alphaville,” Tom cried.

“Really?” the townsfolk said, “Tell us what happened.”

“It was the blacksmith, old Fergus,” Tom said, “He was wild with drink and murdered two men and hurt a goat.”

“Tragedy!” the townsfolk intoned and crowded round Tom for further details, which he was happy to supply. He talked long into the night and when he ended there were many offers of food, drink and a bed for the night. Tom was delighted.

The next day Tom travelled on to Gammaville and immediately announced that there had been a great tragedy in Alphaville.

“What,” said the remote inhabitants of Gammaville, “We never heard about that.”

“It’s true,” Tom insisted, and retold the story as he had told it in Betaville. The residents of Gammaville were as entranced as their neighbours, and once again Tom was plied with hospitality. This is a bit of alright, Tom thought.

The next day Tom moved on to Fourville, which was so named because my knowledge of Greek is rubbish.

“Four men murdered in Alphaville,” he shouted, “A goat hurt and three virgins pregnant.”

“Never,” said the residents of Fourville, and Tom knew he was in trouble because it was well known that there never ever were three virgins in Alphaville at any one time.

“My mistake, ” he corrected himself, “Four men murdered, one goat hurt and three visiting virgins impregnated.”

“Tell us more,” they cried and Tom took the fateful step from a purveyor of news to a fully fledged storyteller.

“It happened like this …” Tom began and as the ale flowed, the tale of Fergus the blacksmith grew to encompass a pack of barbarians, a sheepdog called Corky, the eating of a haycart, and the three virgins had been transformed into an entire nunnery.

But as he lay in his comfortable, and free, bed that night Tom worried that his memory not being what it was, it was more than likely that he would forget the true story and every version that derived from it. Best to write it down, he thought.

Centuries passed and Tom’s work came to a cinema multiplex near you, which Tom had been paid millions of dollars to write down.

So, learn my dear budding writers, if Tom could do it, so can you.