I tell stories, and so do you.

I have over a decade's worth of experience as a professional actor. I have worked across TV, theatre, and voiceover, and have lived in the UK, America, and Canada. I have threatened castmates' lives (in character) straight down the lens of a camera as it rotated while being shifted down a telescoping set.

I have narrated the journey of a litany of characters through the arc of novels. And I have implored, through tears, others to stay with me on an island of make-believe, all while a selection of the front-row matinee audience insisted on eating their lunch with the loudest tin foil I have ever encountered. I have gone to the stars. I have slayed dragons. I tell stories, and so do you.

My first memory is of being sat on my grandad’s knee while he told me (what I now know to be incredibly sensationalised) World War 2 stories. I loved them. It’s very clear to me now that stories have always been the bedrock sitting at the foundation of my life. I spent much of my time living in a land of make-believe and, from the age of five, started sharing stories through theatre. And soon thereafter, I was writing my own. When all the other boys were playing football in primary school,  I was off fighting  (and being) monsters and flying X-wings with friends far past the age it was ‘socially acceptable’. Whenever there was a moment of quiet, I would be somewhere else. Imagining, believing, living in a story. 

I’ve never stopped. And I’ve been lucky enough to make telling stories my job. We’re all storytellers, whether we realise it or not. They are important. More than that, they are necessary expressions of the humanity that we share. Stories can unite, divide, compel, repel, raise you up and smash you down. They are powerful. 

Stories have saved me. Inspired me. Shown me that I wasn’t alone in the world. That in all the noise and gathering storms, there have always been others out there holding their lanterns aloft in the dark; the light emitted an invitation to come shelter in shared experience. We, none of us, are alone. 

When I am asked to be part of the storytelling process, whether as an actor or a voiceover artist, I understand the profundity of the request. As a writer, I know what it is to spend countless hours alone in front of a blank Word document. I’ve experienced the polite yet sceptical smiles from others when you tell them you’re trying to create something important. I know what it is to have to put your heart into words and confine them to a page. Therefore, I approach my work knowing that I have an obligation to every expression of heart that someone has forged into a story – a beacon that will hopefully reach the person who needs to know they’re not alone. If I play some part in telling your story, know that I will help support the weight of your lantern in the dark.

And to all the storytellers out there. Whether you’re accepting an award or pouring a latte/pint for someone non ironically wearing a Gillet, please keep going. Please keep telling stories; we need them and you. I offer up my own lantern in the dark, and I hope to see yours too.