2019 June 23
From my perspective, multiplatform storytelling means exactly what the phrase suggests: telling a compelling story through different forms of media. Writing, photography, film, music, live performance, and video games each offer distinct possibilities. The goal is not simply to repeat the same material in another format but to let each medium do what it does best.
Why pursue this approach? In part because it is enjoyable to create and to experience. More important, audiences respond differently depending on the medium through which they encounter a story. Sound and image can reach people in ways that prose cannot, and vice versa. A song may linger in the mind long after a scene from a film has faded; a live performance can create a sense of shared presence that no recording quite replicates.
These differences raise useful questions about how any given audience meets a story. Did you read the book before seeing the film, or the reverse? Did you attend the live performance before turning to the page? Or did you hear the song first and only later seek out the written version? Which encounter felt most complete, and why?
Such questions point directly to the matter of audience. Some readers and viewers prefer to do much of the imaginative work themselves. They tend to favor forms that leave room for interpretation: the written word, an instrumental piece of music, or a film that withholds as much as it reveals. Others prefer a more explicit presentation, in which context and motivation are supplied clearly and only a few threads are left deliberately unresolved. Most large-scale projects must navigate both preferences at once.
The most ambitious multiplatform projects add another layer. If a story is conceived from the outset to unfold across several media, it becomes possible to create a larger structure that connects them. I use the word “meta” here in its original Greek sense of “above”—a story that stands above and links the individual works. The difficulty lies in ensuring that each piece can be enjoyed on its own terms. When an audience chooses to follow every thread, however, a more expansive narrative comes into view.
Isaac Asimov offers a clear example, though one achieved largely in retrospect rather than by initial design. Over decades he wove his many novels and stories into a single, overarching history of the future. The connections are not always obvious on a first reading of any single book. Only after following the thread through dozens of volumes does the full architecture emerge. The effort required is considerable, but the reward is a sense of scale and continuity that no individual work could achieve on its own.
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