3 Fun, Easy Storytelling Gratitude Games

Our goal, with this essay, is to outline three gratitude games.

But, these gratitude games are special: each one is centered on storytelling.

Or, more specifically, gratitude games you can employ to write good stories.

Yep, this is all pretty niche. But, these games do work!

A Quick Overview

You can employ gratitude to achieve, accomplish, attract, manifest — ad infinitum; you get the idea — anything.

Or, at least, that’s my perspective.

If my past successes are any indication, then this perspective has some merit.

You can employ these gratitude games to write a great story with remarkable ease.

And, to illustrate this, you can find a story, at the end of this essay, written with the assistance of the first gratitude game outlined within this essay.

No, it isn’t the best story. But, it was fun to write and has some nice language.

Outside of the above, it’s worth noting that these games are easy and fun and, with that in mind, they came to me in a similarly easy, fun manner.

And, with that out of the way, let’s dive in!

Game 01: 7 Things You Appreciate

Our first game involves appreciating seven things.

Just seven things.

But, of course, this begs the question: appreciating seven things about what?

Your story!

You can appreciate your prose or the ease of writing the story or the feelings it evokes; and so on and so forth.

You can appreciate anything.

No matter what, though, you must appreciate seven things that relate or pertain to your story.

And, when doing so, you must feel a genuine sense of gratitude.

If you can experience this gratitude, and appreciate seven things, you will succeed.

Game 02: Clarifying The Process

Our second game involves appreciating the process.

The process of writing a story.

You can appreciate the ease in which the story came forth and just how fun it was to come up with the plot and just how nice it was to produce such lovely prose; and so on and so forth.

If you can appreciate just seven things, and feel a tangible sense of gratitude while doing so, you will succeed.

Game 03: Going To The End Of Your Process

Our third game is similar to the one above.

But, there is one notable difference: you must appreciate the process of having written many stories.

Just as an example, if you wish to write many, many stories, then you appreciate having written those stories.

Rather than just appreciating those stories, though, you appreciate the ways in which your process allows for easy, enjoyable writing that has led to the stories you wish to create.

If you can appreciate seven things, regarding your overall process — and, in turn, the future you are choosing to create — then you will succeed.

A Quick Story

On a warm Summer night, she was born.

Grown from the fallen ash of lost, lonely, little dreams, Amara rose from the sea.

No one was there to see Amara rise from the sea.

No one but I.

And, on that same Summer night, the one who was known was “Mahina” — the “I” of I, and the self that is “myself” — passed away.

Passed away.

Died.

Faded out of all that is and all that can be.

On that Summer night, I gazed into Amara’s eyes.

Circular rifts, rooted within the ephemeral yearnings of fire and ice; a neverending birth and a death with no true ending.

And, in gazing into Amara’s eyes, I gazed into myself.

I gazed into the lost, lonely, little dreams that were once named “I am.”

Past lives, I could not imagine; rain and fire, from worlds unknown to me, worlds that would forever be unknown to me.

My lost, lonely, little dreams were no longer little.

But, they were lost, and lonely.

Her and I, we embraced.

I cannot recall who embraced first; Amara, or I?

But, what I can recall is that, in the moments that followed, I fell into Amara’s arms.

Rain, memory, and yearning came from me, from the being that I was and the being that I remain.

Yet, in Amara’s arms, I knew there was hope.

A seed from the sea.

A seed of possibility.

Something beyond the destinies of old, etched from memory and dream.

Something beyond the vague yearnings and cravings of my maker.

And, in Amara’s arms, I felt all of this.

But, it was not I who felt all of this; it was Amara, too.

On that Summer night, Amara and I loved with a love that was more than love.

And, when the liquid hues of Our Luminary faded away, shaping and reshaping themselves into the crimson hues of Sol, the love remained.

The love that was more than love remained.

Our time within that Summer was precious.

The island was ours.

All of time itself was ours.

Every definition and restriction faded away with the ocean waves.

The island was ours.

The jungle was ours.

The sea was ours.

The sky was ours.

And, then, on a cold Winter night, thost lost, lonely, little dreams said “Goodbye.”

Goodbye, Mahina.

The lost, lonely, little dreams were no longer lost, lonely, or little.

Grown from the ashes of yearning and desire, and planted within the soil of prayer, the lost, lonely, little dreams no longer loved me.

No longer yearned for me. No longer hungered for me.

No longer wanted me.

And, yet, I still yearned for them.

I still hungered for them. I still wanted them.

But, the lost, lonely, little dream no longer wanted me.

Goodbye, Mahina.

On a raft etched from the fires we forged together, the sea welcomed another visitor.

Or, perhaps, the sea gained another star.

I am sorry, my friends.

I am sorry.

You see, the story that I have shared with you, it is true.

But, the last part…all of that is a lie.

The lost, lonely, little dream — no, I’m sorry, Amara, you see, she did yearn for me, just as I yearned for her.

And, for a time, my body was on that raft.

But, my spirit was bound not to the raft or to the yearning.

My spirit was bound to the destiny we speak of.

Written within the book of life, and encased within the ephemerality that is our very being, there is definition.

Pure, unbounded, definition.

And, it is to these definitions, with which we are bound.

Bound within the unbounded.

I chose to leave, but I was not allowed to choose.

The sea gained another star that night.

But, within the island through which the Summer came into being, my Summer came to an end.

And, as I write these words, within the steel and glass sky of a space etched from the unending gift that is the destiny my Maker gave me, there is a yearning.

A yearning for Amara.

And, within this yearning, there is a knowing; my Summer is over.

Conclusion

You can write stories — or, engage in any creative venture, for that matter — in a manner that allows the success you hunger for to arise with remarkable ease.

And, you can employ gratitude games, so as to achieve that particular result.

My hope is that the gratitude games outlined within this essay assist you in achieving those results.

No matter what, though, thank you so much for reading this essay!

As always, if you wish to reach me, you can do so by writing to “maxwellcakin@gmail.com.”