Story design principles and techniques

¶ … successful Storytelling?

There are so many things that make successful storytelling. One of the major components that stick out is the events in the story. Selecting and arranging the events is highly important in the process of composing the story passage. Without the events, there really is not kind of story. Brainstorming and writing down an important list of the things that have gone on is something that is very vital. The more ideas a story has the better it will be to the reader. What makes good storytelling is the fact they a writer knows how to capture the reader's attention without having to go back and repeat themselves over and over. It is also important to make sure that the story has a lot of detail and also the links that are between them. The details make a story really good because it draws the reader into the world of the story teller. Being specific and not vague is another thing that makes successful storytelling. If the story is vague, then there is not much for the reader to get out of the story. Having good details give it meat and also make it fascinating because the reader will not have to worry about what the person who wrote the story was trying to say. Easy writing makes good story telling because when something is hard to read, it because of a bit of a challenge for the reader and could cause them to not want to finish up with the story. An easy read gets the ready in tuned and actually will keep them from laying the story down. Keeping the reader's attention is a huge part of storytelling because the reader should be able to walk away from the story wishing that they could have more. The introduction of the story is what will grab the reader so it has to be really good. If the introduction is not good, then there is a slim chance that they will be able to reach their reader.

Overview

My story is a story travel that outlines events that took place in Italy a few years back. The story involves me my cousin, David spending time Italy with our grandmother. The story centers visiting grandmother while waiting on other relatives. This happens not long after the Amanda Knox trial had just ended and the nation was still upset about the verdict. Who was Amanda Knox? She was the American woman that was accused murdering her roommate Kercher. The story starts off waking up in the grandmother's home awaiting the footsteps of the nosey relatives. Everything is going great, meeting nice people going to interesting cafes and restaurants. Life could not have been any better. However, events start to change when Amanda Knox is found not guilty and rumors of a missing American girl in Italy goes viral. There were rumors that there was actually a slave trafficking man that was in the area looking for American Girls. Of course we shrug this off because this sort of thing only happens in the movies right? I am writing this story to talk about one bizarre summer in Italy that turned out to be interesting. This story was written on true events that happened about a year and a half ago. In the end, nobody was hurt but is worth writing about just to warn others of just to make sure people are more conscious when traveling by themselves or even if they are in groups.

First Draft Partial Version

The window appeared to always be left half closed permitting any kind of cool breeze to work its way through the interlace, to try at any rate to untangle the envelope of heat that enclosed each of us, the interesting nights would from time to time comprise of a long chain of sleeping, turning, and thinking. Many times, I did nothing but just lie there staring blankly into the dark, recollecting upon the events that had taken place during the day, in fact as the holiday progressed the thinking session filled more time than the sleeping did.

Always so still, the world outside felt to us, but a single boring moan permeated the silence of the room, my grandmother snoring enormously until the second her eyelids come wide awake. It was impossible for the room to become quiet enough for me to move into a deep dream leaving with me with a considerate trance in its place. Interesting enough, my feet would seem to slip in and out of the sheet as my concentration did with reality and dreams; it would over and over again be the sharp feeling rolling crudely around the center of my feet that stirred me from my sleep - beach sand from the beach which had been visited early that day with my cousin. It actually found a way that was driven all the way into the cracks of skin and evaded the lure of a shower. Not to mention, that there were the nights where I would just sit there and long for nothing beyond an icy cold cup of water and outcome in several minutes of frightening myself all up right before I was able to stumble around the trullo for the canteen of iced water that would refill me and send me into a state of pleasure. And of course I would steal back to the room almost fluctuating as I strived to make not an ounce of noise, simply to be challenged by a wall.

Draft Paragraph

We flew to Milan, and then suddenly were in Rome, Assisi, Florence, Bologna and Capri. We went to see a lot of historical sites, as well as St. Peter's Cathedral, the home of Marco Polo and the Statue of David. Everyone on that day ate the best pizza they ever tasted in their lives; the crust on the pizza was very thin and the cheese was oozing out everywhere that it was fun to eat. Of course my favorite city was Venice, the city encircled by lots of water. When we went touring around I was made flabbergasted by the romance of the city. The radio on my phone came on. "Manca American Girl!" which means missing American girl in Itaalian. Fear registered on the faces that were American. Who was she? And what happen? Was the looks on the faces of the relatives. "Gli americani mettono modo per problemi molto qui" mentioned my grandmother. This was her polite way of mentioning that Americans bring too much trouble. First the Amanda Knox trial and now this. What was next?

Draft of Ending Story

Picking up the newspaper was a picture of a blonde haired woman possibly in her mid-twenties that was fairly attractive. She was smiling on the picture so appeared that with all of the fuss and rumors going around about this missing woman finally came to a halt. It appeared that a lot of the Italians felt more relieved than they were elated. Did I spend most of my Italian summer wonder what happened to a missing American girl that may or may not wanted to be found. I think I was more interested in finding out what happened to the blonde haired woman than I was going to look at the leaning tower of Pisa. After this my time in Italy came to an end.

Summary of Research

With putting together this travel story, there was a lot of interesting pieces to use especially when it came to things like tourism. Learning about the historical places of Italy required a lot of research because there was so much information involved that needed to be used. Does not matter if it were from Emiglia Romana in the heart and Veneto in the north, to Sicily and Puglia deep down in the south of Italy, (Kaldjian) each of the twenty districts of Italy is different in its food, history, language, and people. I was able to experience every extraordinary corner of this favorite travel destination in an expensively illustrated volume that was able to bring all of its diversity and richness to life with verve and authority (Miskolcze). I was able to learn and see the Tour thirteenth-century castles hovering on dolomite peaks that are located in the north (Folks). I was able to hear my grandmothers tales a long with hearing tales of life that were among Rome's early milestones and similarly ancient apartments, that manage to appreciate the incredible assortment Sicily has achieved by means of having been engaged by more foreign powers than anyplace else on the Italian neck of land, and of course much, much more. The summer was not just a time of family fellowship and great fun, but also a time of a great mystery that would catch the attention of many Italians.

Section Two: (1250 words)

The window appeared to always be left half closed permitting any kind of cool breeze to work its way through the interlace, to try at any rate to untangle the envelope of heat that enclosed each of us, the interesting nights would from time to time comprise of a long chain of sleeping, turning, and thinking. Many times, I did nothing but just lie there staring blankly into the dark, recollecting upon the events that had taken place during the day, in fact as the holiday progressed the thinking session filled more time than the sleeping did.

Always so still, the world outside felt to us, but a single boring moan permeated the silence of the room, my grandmother snoring enormously until the second her eyelids come wide awake. It was impossible for the room to become quiet enough for me to move into a deep dream leaving with me with a considerate trance in its place. Interesting enough, my feet would seem to slip in and out of the sheet as my concentration did with reality and dreams; it would over and over again be the sharp feeling rolling crudely around the center of my feet that stirred me from my sleep - beach sand from the beach which had been visited early that day with my cousin. It actually found a way that was driven all the way into the cracks of skin and evaded the lure of a shower. Not to mention, that there were the nights where I would just sit there and long for nothing beyond an icy cold cup of water and outcome in several minutes of frightening myself all up right before I was able to stumble around the trullo for the canteen of iced water that would refill me and send me into a state of pleasure. And of course I would steal back to the room almost fluctuating as I strived to make not an ounce of noise, simply to be challenged by a wall.

After Touching on the last link in the chain, the room would gradually start taking the form as sunlight begins creeping silently into the room leaking through each and every hole, spilling its excellent substances, and there I would try to just pull out of my bed with an expressive yawn which contains the notion that I was the first one to join the stemming sun. I started to press my hands in the direction of the now scorching metallic door and then spent my first sensual experience of the day on the ground outside of my grandmother's house.

As I began to walk to the front of the house, I was soon being bombarded by the explosions of life. Watching the dogs barking heavily and the echoing among the trees, unrestrained, mysterious sensations of grasshoppers joining them with great groups of birds sporadically falling into sync, however, that was not even the case. In actual fact when you stepped outside the only thing you were received by were the sound of silence and the first sparkling waves of heat that was responsible for warming up the day. There was unconditionally nothing, a display of the unknown, true you could make out the occasional purring of subtle wind in the trees, but then again that was all. Everyone or anyone could just sit outside at the dining table which was still dispersed with playing cards and leftovers of strawberry sorbet from the preceding night and appreciate the unexpected sensual effect of discretion.

However all that changes suddenly when my grandmother comes out the house speaking in Italian without even taking a deep breath. My cousin and I are worried for the moment. Is she having a heart attack? She pulls us both inside and we watch the news to see a picture of a young woman on the TV set. Since we did not understand a lick of Italian, we just had to stare on with great disappointment. "qualche altro americano fomentare guai" she yells out which means "some other American is stirring up trouble." Who was this American? Everyone knew about the Amanda Knox case which had just reached a verdict.

In 2007, Knox was an American that moved to Perugia, Italy, in order to study German Italian, and creative writing at the University for Foreigners for one year. (Buss) Amanda shared a house with Meredith Kercher, who was a student from England, along with two Italian women. (Folks) however, over time, in mid-October 2007 she started a romantic connection with an Italian engineering student, Raffaele Sollecito, from Bari, Apulia. (Iannone) then on November 1, 2007, Meredith Kercher was slain in the apartment that she shared with Knox. On November 6, 2007, Knox was under arrest by the Italian police and, alongside with Sollecito, indicted with the murder of Kercher. During the subsequent four-year trial and appeal process she was held under cautionary detention (carcerazione preventiva) at the Capanne prison in Perugia. In 2009, Knox and Sollecito were convicted of sexual assault, murder and simulating a burglary at the first level (primo grado) of trial (Miskolcze). However, according to Italian law, she would not be considered guilty until the verdict was confirmed by higher courts. (Manente)All through her appeal at the second level (secondo grado) of trial, which settled on October 3, 2011, the original conviction was reversed, Knox was discovered to be innocent of the murder and she was free from prison. The Amanda Knox case was the talk of the town but know something new was brewing. Not really interested at first I wondered is this going to mess up my summer? After all I came to relax and have fun and see my Old Italian relatives in a land that I had never been to before. I was an American and so was my cousin but were we at the right place at the wrong time? We both decided that the missing American girl was not our business and that we would carry on in our journey. However, there was no surprise that Italy was known for is human trafficking. Could this missing woman be a victim of that? Unquestionable, sex trafficking is running widespread is an issue all of the world, but then again Italy has a unique place in the big picture. Its issue appears to be twofold: It is both an endpoint to be trafficked and a dwelling to be trafficked through to other European nations (Manente). Geographically, Italy is located perfectly. It's an enormous peninsula, giving it profusely of coastal part for individuals to dock. So many coasts, it's almost awkward to monitor it well. Contemplate about how tough the United States has watching a land boarder that's smaller in length. As tourists are having fun with enjoying the good wine and cheese in Italy, they are also loving their concealment as they also relish the sex trafficking, nevertheless it is not just those that are foreigners who are taking part (Folks).

Picture 1 Sex trafficking not uncommon in Italy.

Prostitution has been lawful in Italy ever since 1958. This has had thoughtful outcomes on the cultures outlook towards sex. There are individuals in their 70?s who could have lawfully contributed in prostitution, all the while Italy was trying to recuperate from World War II.

Picture 2 Amanda Knox Accused of killing her roommate in Italy.

To get away from things, my cousin and I decided to head for the Trullo roof which is were. A trullo is an old-style Apulian dry stone hut with a tapering roof (Campisi). Their style of structure is exact to the Itria Valley, in the Murge part of the Italian district of Apulia. Trulli were usually built as storehouses or temporary field shelters and as constant houses by agricultural laborers and small proprietors. Their golden age was sometime during the 19th century (Mukhopadhyay). The following picture is an example.

Picture 3 Row of trullo houses in Monte Pertica Street in Alberobello, Bari Province

Trulli were generally constructed as temporary field shelters and storehouses or as permanent dwellings by small proprietors or agricultural laborers. Their golden age was the 19th century. This was the place where we considered being our home away from home.

Picture 4 Model displaying the usual construction method of a trullo. The cavity between the inside ashlar wall face and the outside covering of stone tiles or chiancharelle is occupied with stone rubble (Iannone). The arch is one of pebble voussoirs.

When we wanted to escape to a place that had no stress from loud mouth Italian old people that talked too fast and too much, thin is where we would go. We loved every minute of it because it was such a peaceful place. The Trullo rooftop was our location of escape and it has been so every time we made our trip to Italy as small children. A place for both of us to go and excel into a dream like frailty nonetheless the mornings were every so often far too hot to permit the brain to ponder; so I would wait for my cousin to wake up most of the time and together we would include ourselves with the environment, sightseeing anything new or different from the preceding day. We had no time to think about Amanda Knox case or the missing American girl. They were not going to spoil our time in Italy. There was always something to do and take our minds off of things! Nearby was a grey stone, rundown structure covered in tow-colored stalks of speckled sunlight that lured us to climb onto; an old Trullo whose inhabitants dispersed into every crevice and crack when we started to get closer?

This was a place to remember because there were large rock fragments which sat insecurely on the walls, sluggish outlines swirled slothfully around the building constructing the natural arc of the structure and several other interesting flora seem to bring some kind of embellish to its base. Did you think my cousin and I were just going to sit there and ignore it? I think not. It was though this place was inviting us to come on in. so who were we to just sit there and ignore such an interesting place of ecstasy? In our eyes, it would make for a perfect area to practice our 'free running' method, flipping around the assortment of levels which really proved to act as a foundation for new and more thought-provoking moves. We notice that round the back of the trullo was some kind of shiny lime green leaves were breaking out everywhere bearing prickly green fruits. There were almond trees in softest bloom and stone walls with lizards fastening in and out of the millions of cracks and fissures. A ponderous olive tree is seen growing out of the hedge in the wall.

Branches were hanging all out like the limbs of an octopus. Its origins, looked like those of a banyan type of tree which was face down everywhere, dropping out, bursting at the seams with their utter willpower to live. They likewise made positions so we could climb up into the elevations. Time flowed lethargically by as we moved around in the scorching heat of the persistently seducing sun. Grandmother would frequently disturb the peace of the area to call us back to eat lunch, and to choose what the day in advance was to include. Slight arguments every so often followed as we all varied on where we wanted to go; a meaty frisson of ants would be round the grapefruit or chocolate cereal that had been unintentionally dropped onto the ground for the duration of our discussions.