I love stories. They seem so magical and in an incredible way, can take me to another time and place, or, if I’m the one writing, help me to process the events and observations from my daily life. I have also loved storytelling for as long as I can remember, and through the prompt inspiring this post, I’ve had the opportunity to not only write and tell a story, but to also reflect on my own relationship with storytelling.
A few years ago, a friend of mine hosted a birthday party where we spent the afternoon drinking tea, catching-up, and making buttons with pieces of fabric, bits of paper, and meaningful words. I wanted to make one for myself that incorporated my love of stories, and I wrote-out the letters of “storyteller” for this button. However, when I started to lay-out the pieces, I paused. Within the society I knew, wouldn’t calling myself a storyteller suggest that I was stretching the truth? Or, perhaps, a liar, if that was what the storytelling implied?
I still have that button I made that says story lover instead of storyteller. Writing this post prompted me to reflect on this memory and to question: what are the relationships between storytelling and “lying?” What powers are contained within stories? What kind of stories do we tell ourselves and how do these stories affect who we are?
I’m lucky that I get to tell stories regularly to the children I work with. However, I found it different experience consciously telling a story to adults. My story changed each time I told it, and depending on how busy, or interested, or curious my audience was, I elaborated, or shorted, or summarized various parts of the tale. I was also acutely aware of how the stories I’ve heard and know affected my own storytelling—both the story itself and the way I told it.
The following story, inspired by Thomas King’s retelling of Leslie Silko’s story of how evil came into the world (9-10), is a version of the one that prompted these reflections, and the one that I shared with my family. In short, I have a great story to tell you; it goes like this:
***
Once there was magic throughout the world.
It flowed from the earth, it whispered in the winds, it lit-up the skies, it shimmered in the water. The magic was powerful, and it was abundant. It pulsed through the world, and created things of beauty—and destruction.
In fact, things were getting out of hand. The fire dragons were having far too good a time burning forests, which was causing the other forest creatures and spirits to become rather annoyed. The selkies were breaking hearts left, right, and center. Some creatures were using the magic to change the minds and behaviours of others. And the magic itself was bursting at the seams, increasing with each new life, it was literally shaking the earth, and breaking apart the land and the beings living there. (The humans, in case anyone was wondering, were not doing so well with their limited understanding of magic and imagination and their minimal amounts of claws, teeth, and other protection.)
Not only was the usual level of chaos at work, but things were beginning to escalate. Magic can become a rather unruly thing, especially when it is so prominent in the atmosphere, and a number of the earth’s inhabitants started to discuss how it would be good to meet and collaborate on working things out and soothing the magic’s unease.
So the witches decided to get together and have a conference. Actually, it wasn’t only the witches; everyone else was invited too, witches are just good at having conferences. Now, to put this in perspective, this was not an unusual occurrence; in fact, it was a rather regular thing. The witches just enjoyed getting together, playing games, and sharing magic. And that was pretty much what happened at this conference. Witches came from all around the world, along with any other beings that wanted to join. Witches of all genders, of all backgrounds, of all stories, of all places came to conference (witches generally enjoy conferencing); while a variety of other magical beings came to join the conference too.
Trying to calm this shock of magic, to make the it a bit more ruly, a bit more manageable so things could more easily live on the planet, was one of the conference’s themes—in addition to the usual shenanigans. And so the conference started.
Some witches began brewing, others began dancing. Some made faces, some made potions, some made mistakes. Some did magical tricks. Many worked together and tried to sooth the magic in the world; many didn’t. The magic continued to pulse dangerously.
By the end of their conference, almost every creature in attendance had done a trick, played a game, or at least tried to sooth the world’s magic.
Except one: the quietest witch, who had been observing the conference and the tricks and discussions of the others.
The others approached them asking: “Can you work the magic? Can you channel it and do something exciting, or scary, or both?” The quiet witch quickly opened their mouth, as if to reply to these questions, and… started to tell a story.
This story enfolded the dragons, dove with the selkies, and spoke of myth and legend. It included beginnings and endings and terrible, nearly unspeakable things, and things so beautiful, they nearly leapt beyond words. It told the listeners what to believe and what to disbelieve. It ensnared the imaginations and beliefs of those present and when the quiet witch-storyteller stopped, those present agreed that it had been a good story, an enjoyable story at least.
Yet, the witch should take it back. That story took its listeners to another place and suggested that the magic and magical things they knew did not exist; should not be believed in. The other witches and attending creatures wanted their magic back, along with their whole-hearted belief.
But the witch couldn’t. Not only had their words been a story, but it had captured their listeners’ imaginations; it had captured their belief.
It was magic.
It was a spell.
And once a spell is cast, there’s no taking it back; once a story is told, it is loose in the world (King 10).
The magic that had seemed so abundant and accessible before, started to fade away from the form it had shook the world in before. After the conference, as the effects of the story spread, the magical creatures and blunt forms of magic started to fade from the belief and sight of the common world.
Sometime later, one of the witches who had been at that fateful conference came across a number of people gathered around someone. Watching the group, they realized that someone was telling a story—someone familiar, telling a familiar story. They approached this storyteller and were struck by the way the imagination and belief of those listening was being captured… and smiled as they realized where the magic, and its power, had gone.
***
As suggested by another kind of witch in a story I know, “Careful the tale you tell / That is the spell” (“Children Will Listen Lyrics”). Thank you for listening to my stories.
—
Works Cited
Almond, Steve. “Why Talk Therapy Is on the Wane and Writing Workshops Are on the Rise.” New York Times Mag., New York Times Co., 23 Mar. 2012, http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/25/magazine/why-talk-therapy-is-on-the-wane-and-writing-workshops-are-on-the-rise.html?pagewanted=all&_r=1. Accessed 23 Sept. 2016.
“A Short History of Pin-Back Buttons — The Button Guy Blog.” People Power Blog, 1 July 2011, http://peoplepowerpress.org/blogs/news/3506742-a-short-history-of-pin-back-buttons-the-button-guy-blog. Accessed 23 Sept. 2016.
“Children Will Listen Lyrics.” AllTheLyrics.com, All Lyrics, http://www.allthelyrics.com/lyrics/sondheim_stephen/children_will_listen-lyrics-1242795.html. Accessed 23 Sept. 2016.
Kaylie. Story Lover. 2016.
King, Thomas. “‘You’ll Never Believe What Happened’ is Always a Great Way to Start.” The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative. House of Anansi Press Inc., 2003.
Mora, Celeste. “What Is the Singular They, and Why Should I Use It?” Grammerly Blog, Grammerly Inc., 1 Sept. 2016, https://www.grammarly.com/blog/use-the-singular-they/. Accessed 23 Sept. 2016.
Hey Kaylie! You did an amazing job at writing your story! I like how you incorporated a sense of surrealism and magic! It’s interesting how each time you told your story, it changed somewhat even though it’s the same story. That’s the magic of storytelling.
Hi Danielle,
I’m so glad to hear you enjoyed the story! Thank you for your kind words and encouragement 🙂 I agree that it’s really interesting how stories change when they’re told, even if it’s the “same” story (this ability to change and adapt does seem magical).
Anyhow, thanks for the comment! 🙂
– Kaylie
Testing – Hi Kaylie – a great story: thank you. I hope this comment works and does NOT need moderating – let’s see 🙂
Hi Erika,
Thank you for your encouragement and for your help checking if the post needs moderating! I hope that we’ll be able to figure-out why some comments keep ending-up in the spam folder.
Thanks again 🙂
I also found myself changing parts of my story depending on who I was telling it to, where I was, how much time I had etc. I think this supports the idea from unit 1 that stories change depending on their context. I’m wondering, how did storytelling change for you when you were speaking with adults instead of children? Was the change on you as a storyteller, your actual story, or your listeners’ relationship with/reaction to your story?
I really liked your story by the way 🙂
Hi Marissa,
Thank you for your comment! It’s really interesting that a number of us (i.e. other classmates who reflected on the storytelling process in our blogs) seemed to have had our story change throughout the various tellings; it’s cool that you experienced that too!
In response to your questions, so far I’ve only told this story to adults (and an older teen). However, in my experiences telling other stories to both adults and children, I’ve found that all of the things you mentioned—the story, my listeners’ reaction, and the way I tell the story and interact with it—change. To expand, when I work with younger audiences, I might tell stories in a more animated way: exaggerating the smaller steps in the story and including details that older audiences might not have the patience for. Also, I may simplify the language or alter the content or pace of the story itself, depending on the audience (and how engaged they are with the story).
Along these lines, I could relate to Thomas King’s reflection in the middle of the story about Charm in “The Truth About Stories” when he suggested that the adult audience would have already figured-out what might happen to Charm (and would want to know the actual outcome immediately), while a younger audience often enjoys savouring the story and taking the time to hear what happens by hearing every little bit of the story (King 13).
In terms of their reactions, I’ve found that children tend to be more outwardly enthusiastic, curious, and engaged, and seem less concerned with the “point” of the story than older audiences. (These are all generalizations, of course, but it’s what I’ve noticed so far.)
Anyhow, thank you again for your comment and for the positive feedback — I’m glad you enjoyed the story 🙂
Hello Kaylie,
I was quite impressed by the way you complicate the conference as well as the participants comparing to King’s version. I see the story as communicating your idea of chaos and order. You seem to suggest that imagination and beliefs are the key for restoring order and peace, which is the power of stories or story-telling. I was just wondering in what way the experience for you to create and tell story has affected who you are? Have you figured out yet the difference between story-telling and lying with this experience? In addition, I am curious to know that when you told this story to your family, were the audience children or adult and would you have to change the way you told the story according to individual listeners?
Regards,
Patrick
Hi Patrick,
Thank you so much for your comment! I just wanted to let you know that I’ve received it and will reply more fully in the next few days (when I have a bit more time to write and stew-over your note).
Thanks 🙂
Hi Patrick,
Thank you so much for your encouragement, patience, and for the thought-provoking comment!
It’s really interesting to hear your interpretation and insights into this story. To be honest, when I was writing it, I was more thinking of ways and justifications for the characters to channel the magic into the story; I didn’t even notice that it also comes across as a means of restoring order and peace (although I totally see that now and agree that stories can, and often are, ways of making sense of the world and giving it an “order”).
In response to your questions, I think I’m still processing the differences and intersections between “truth,” “stories,” and “lying” for me, so while I don’t have a definite answer in terms of figuring this out, reflecting on the memory above, I feel like I have a different relationship with and understanding of stories now than I did then, and this relationship continues to change and grow (especially with every story I write, hear, or tell). To connect this to your first question, I think the process of creating and telling stories has helped me to navigate this concept, although I think it’s something I’m going to continue to reflect on. In addition, I think this process (in general; not only this instance) has helped me to realize that I have a voice and something to share, if I feel comfortable to do so — and to realize that I narrate my own life in certain ways (even if I never write it down).
Finally, the audience I told this story to was adults and older youth (e.g. teenage family members). Similar to what I mentioned to Marissa, I think this changed the way I told the story in terms of what I emphasized and expanded-on or shortened. For instance, I imagine that if I told the story to a younger audience I might be a bit more animated in the telling and take more time to draw-out fun, but less critical parts, like the happenings at the witches’ conference.
Anyhow, I hope this answers your questions; thanks again for the comment! 🙂
— Kaylie
Hello Kaylie,
I actually had to re-read your story a couple times and think about what you wrote (which is a testament to a good piece of literature I think? haha). One idea that I’m not sure if you purposely tried to convey or whether it’s just my take away, is the power of a story that was illustrated in comparison to other activities at the conference. With more excess overflowing of magic that the creatures and witches knew what to do with, it was the story that used it all up. A story told in the correct manner, at the right time, to the right ears could ring on for millenniums, with stories we’ve all heard as proof of concept. And if a story is revitalized each time it reaches new years, and when it’s retold. I think your story demonstrated that nicely, and it’s one I’ll keep with me for quite some time 🙂
Cheers,
Lucas
Hi Lucas,
Thanks for your comment! Hopefully your rereading is a sign of a good piece of literature (and not just a confusing one 😉 ).
In response to your point, when I was drafting the story, I was initially thinking that the story the witch told would actually change its listeners’ perspectives and beliefs so the magic would not be recognized in the same way. I guess one could say that my initial idea was for the magic to be “inserted” into stories and words so that it would seem like it doesn’t/didn’t exist, but that the magic couldn’t entirely be destroyed and so it would exist in the form of stories and language that can still capture that belief instead.
I really like your insight and perspective on it though and one could say that what you mentioned is another way of saying the above because as the story absorbed and included all the magic, it also became very powerful and, in a way, used the magic that was flowing in the world. I’m glad to hear that the power of sharing stories came across in the piece and that you’ll be keeping the story with you for a while 🙂
Anyhow, I’m loving getting to hear the different interpretations and reactions that people had when they read my post; I really appreciate you sharing your thoughts. Thank you! 🙂