My name is Greg. I am a storyteller, and I have been fascinated by storytelling for as long as I can remember.
The feature you are about to read is dedicated to authors and books.
The Roman statesman Marcus Tullius Cicero once said that a room without books is like a body without a soul. Centuries later, author Carmine Gallo wrote The Storyteller’s Secret, exploring how sharing stories is intrinsic to human development.
When our distant ancestors roamed the plains, they gathered around campfires to share knowledge essential for survival — how to hunt a woolly mammoth, avoid lions, identify edible berries and fashion stone tools. Storytelling was never just entertainment; it was a survival skill.
My working life has been dedicated to storytelling. In addition to producing this magazine, I freelance for various news agencies and write books.
The book-writing process is deeply absorbing. I have penned biographies, private memoirs, a family history and a book about political assassination. I write books because learning is living. It is how I make my living, and I love it.
I gratefully inherited my beautiful mother’s empathetic ear and my dear dad’s inquiring mind. A lifetime of storytelling has helped me hone the craft.
A story is like an acorn. Properly nurtured, it grows into a splendid oak tree, offering shade and solace in a mad world.
The storytelling process can be cathartic and insightful. The more fulsome the book, the longer it takes. The biographies I write involve months of research and countless interviews. Good storytelling is the product of time.
I feel privileged to be involved in writing and editing books. The power of stories is transformative.
The Bricklayer’s Son was a private memoir for Ivan Clark, the man with the Midas touch at Grindrod. Ivan’s father was a bricklayer for the Durban City Council who could never have imagined how successful his son would become.
If a biography is worth a jot, it has to be probing. The writer must relish the story and honour it. That demands robust exchange, and the people I have written about have been open to that.
Some regard biographies as vanity projects. For others, they are repositories of treasured memories. I hope the books I have written have been enlightening and never fawning. I don’t like hagiographies.
Ivan’s story, for example, was compelling because of its layers. He was honest about his travails. He might have appeared the consummate company man, but he fumbled and failed. He quit accounting to help run a family-owned manufacturing firm, sold insurance and ran bookshops as a side hustle.
He had the charm and charisma for the boardroom, but his story came alive in the awkward moments when he spoke candidly about his mistakes and how they shaped his success.
He asked me to write his story for his family. He said it would be worthwhile if even one of his descendants learned something from the book.
I’m sure they will. I certainly did.
