The power of a new story, or why questing knocks building a business into a cocked hat

O best beloveds, there is power in stories.

I’ve always believed this. (Which is why, despite having a degree that focused on the great literature of four languages*, I still prefer to read a genre novel with a rollocking good plotline and colourful characters over a contemporary exploration of virtuoso prose and modern angst.)

But it’s only in the last few years that I’ve come to recognise that stories have the power not just to transport us away from the mundane detail of our lives, but also to actually influence the way those lives play out.

We don’t have to just tell our story after the fact.

We have the power to make our own story.

When I told you last week that I was embarking on a Quest, I meant it as more than a metaphor for a blog post.

The Quest is a metaphor—a literary device, if you like—to guide me in the next part of my life story.

Why? Because although this is essentially a story about building a business as an artist, the whole idea of business is one that does not inspire me.

I’ve worked in business for twenty-one years, in companies as diverse as international aid consultancies, office equipment sales and service, new technology development, and corporate communications and change management. I’ve worked in sales and marketing departments, as assistants to managing directors and CEOs, and done bookkeeping and accounting.

I’ve prepared management accounts, written internal newsletters, done product launches and sales incentives, written business plans, given presentations, organised archives and set up administation systems. And I’ve attended far, far too many meetings.

I’ve done business, and alas, it doesn’t thrill me any more.

But I’ve never been on a Quest.

I’ve never had a gypsy caravan in which to set off an adventure, exploring the landscape, going to market days where I can display my wares from colourful window boxes. I’ve never kept a ledger of reckonings and detailed steward’s notes of provisions and requisitions. I’ve never used my practical magic to create my wares and to face the goblins that tease and confuse me.

And I’ve never told stories of my questing round the campfire; stories that aren’t just about the time I bearded that terrifying dragon in its den, but also about the darkest nights when I wondered if I would ever escape the tangled maze of the Wild Wood.

But I do—and will—now.

Nothing in this new story is what it was, because I’m looking at it all with new eyes, eyes freshened by the prospect of adventure, challenge and, yes, magic.

This is not a story about goals, missions, targets and strategies. It isn’t about increasing sales or manufacturing product or market research or order fulfilment or even getting gallery representation or solo exhibitions.

This is a story about my art. And about sharing my Quest with you, beloveds.

It’s a story about stories, especially the archetypical, deeply resonating ones like faery tales, folkore and myth. It’s about lost, esoteric and occult knowledge that the modern world dismisses, and how that connects us to the natural—and supernatural—world.

But it’s also about fun. It’s about fun and conversations with goblins and looking for treasure and not taking all this stuff too seriously, while allowing the possibilities of truths hidden within.

This is definitely not the story the experts would advise me to tell.

But it is my story and I get to write it. I’m so glad you’ll be part of it with me.