Some people are good storytellers, and some people have good stories. Rarely is one person a good storyteller with good stories.
I've always been a pretty good storyteller. But I realized that all my stories are unexceptional recollections of an ordinary life, embellished in such a way that the telling becomes interesting. But the stories themselves? Pretty boring.
The Russian lover, on the other hand, is a decent storyteller - he's never harbored any desire to be a writer, or even a cocktail party sensation. But his stories are absolutely incredible. And it's not just the cultural differences; he's had some truly extraordinary life experiences. Four years later, and he's still surprising me by recounting events that don't so much sound like something my boyfriend did at 19 as a scene from an upcoming 007 flick.
The differences in our life stories can be illustrated by the following distillations:
Me: Eventually, he was so drunk he just leaned over and threw up in my lap.
Him: And on this particular jump, we were instructed to land directly on the surfaced submarine. It's harder than it sounds; I missed by a good meter.
See what I mean? He could just tell the narrative of his existence in a dull monotone, leave out all the adjectives, adverbs, and exclamations, and he'd still have an audience enthralled. I understood early on that if I ever wanted anyone's attention at a party for more than a minute, I had two options: Flash them my boobs, or learn to embellish the mundane for effect.
Those who become the best storytellers, I think, are often those who have the least to say. Good stories work like magic, because they are: They are something literally pulled from nothing-- a rabbit out of a hat, a shiny quarter from behind the listener's ear.