I have a great story to tell you.

Once, there was a boy who wanted to be class president. He would stop at nothing to achieve this. He wanted the position like a miser wants gold – that is to say, he wanted it for all the wrong reasons. He did not care about helping his peers; he only wanted admission to the top Ivy League schools, and he thought being class president would make him a shoo-in.

There was one thing standing in the boy’s way. Another boy, a small, mild boy he saw sometimes tutoring younger students in the library, was his opponent. Our boy wasn’t worried, though. He knew he could crush his meek competitor in an instant, as he had a secret weapon in his arsenal.

Both boys campaigned as hard as they could. Each time the mild boy put up a poster, our boy papered over it. When the mild boy handed out buttons in the cafeteria, our boy made bigger ones. Everything the mild boy did, our boy did one better.

Finally, the day of the final speeches came. Both boys took to the podium. The mild boy went first. He spoke of new vending machines, improved tutoring programs, and more funding for student clubs and dances. By the end of his speech, the entire auditorium was clapping and cheering in a frenzy.

But our boy was still not worried. He adjusted his shirt, waited for the applause to die down, and then began to tell a story. He told the most scandalous things about his opponent he could think of, weaving tale after tale about how he had seen the boy doing the most disgusting and cruel things imaginable. As he told his story, he could feel it picking up momentum in the crowd. The story had taken on a life of its own – even our boy realized that he had taken it too far, but he could not stop himself. His story slithered into the ears of his audiences, and they turned, horrified, to the mild boy. The mild boy could do nothing but gape, his eyes welling up.

Finally, our boy’s story ended. He had not said a word of what he would do if elected. He stepped off the stage, trembling, and left the auditorium.

That afternoon, results were read. Our boy had won, of course.

But being class president was not at all what he had expected it to be. Pretty soon, he was floundering – missing meetings, losing budgets, forgetting to do important tasks. The school descended into chaos. The boy was miserable. The student body was miserable.

So he took to the PA one day and said, “I am sorry. I lied during my speech. Everything I said about my opponent was not true. He deserves this position, not me.” But the students did not hear him. They had accepted his story as true. Fabricated evidence to the boy’s claims had appeared. The story was no longer under the boy’s control – it never truly was.

And so, for the whole school year, the student body was miserable. Our boy did not get into any of his chosen schools – they took one look at his track record as president and denied his application. There were no dances. The vending machines were always empty. And, perhaps worst of all, students began to fail because there were no tutoring programs.

And the mild boy? Rumour has it that he switched schools. He couldn’t take the ostracization from his once beloved peers. He never ran for class president again.

And that is how one story unleashed evil on an entire student body.

END

Writing this story was a very different experience from my usual writing, and this is because I had in the back of my mind that it was something I would have to memorize and speak aloud. This significantly altered my typical writing style. For one, I was conscious that my words would have to be simple and economical. If the plot was too complicated, or if I gave myself too many details or descriptions, then I knew that I would have difficulty memorizing it. For that same reason, I also knew that it would have to be relatively short.

I also wanted to avoid getting too specific with my story. I wanted it to be something that my audience(s) could follow without having to revisit past events, like you might sometimes do with a written piece of literature. It needed to have an easy flow, and also be general enough to prevent confusion. This is why I decided to call the boys “mild boy” and “our boy” to distinguish them – there are no names to get mixed up.

When I was telling the story, I also noticed a few things that are specific to oral storytelling. The exact words of my written story did not matter as much when I was telling it; the important part was making sure I was remembering the plot points. In fact, sometimes new words sprang to mind that actually worked better or felt more natural than what I had originally written. I really appreciated this aspect of oral story-telling; it felt more spontaneous. I could also respond better to the needs of my audience; for example, if I noticed someone having a stronger reaction to a certain part of the story, I could pause for effect, or say more about it. Conversely, if a moment did not have the impact that I wanted it to, I could change the wording the next time I told the story and experiment with different language. I will admit that I wrote down a few of the plot points for reference the first time I told the story, just to ensure I did not miss a crucial moment, but when I started actually telling the story I found I did not need it. The story came to me instinctively, as if it had always existed and just needed a vessel to manifest in reality.

Doing this exercise made me more aware of the fact that oral story-telling is not the same as reading a written work aloud. The fact that the story is not written down (I suppose it is in this case, but traditionally it would not have been) gives the story a fluidity that is not really available with the literary tradition. Also, writing for oral story-telling does not just mean writing a story. It is a different medium altogether, as it does away with the more decorative aspects of literary writing and focuses on simplicity. This is not to say that these stories are worse; any embellishments can be added spontaneously, if the moment calls for it.

I will admit that I enjoyed this exercise more than I thought I would. I was dreading it at first, but once I started writing I realized I was having a lot of fun. It was also nice that the assignment gave me an excuse to call a few people; I suppose it goes to show the connectivity of oral culture!

I have really enjoyed learning about oral cultures and the power of story-telling, and have been doing some of my own research about it. I wanted to link some resources I’ve been looking at if anyone else is interested! This one is actually a UBC website that provides more information about indigeneity and oral culture. And here is a TEDx talk given by Trent Hohaia that resonated with me, in which he speaks about his life, his identity as a Māori person, and the power of oral story-telling.

This above story is a retelling of a story reproduced in The Truth about Stories by Thomas King; it can be found originally in Leslie Silko’s Ceremony.

Works Cited

Hanson, Eric. “Oral Traditions.” Indigenousfoundations, UBC, indigenousfoundations.arts.ubc.ca/oral_traditions/.

Hohaia, Trent. “Making Connections – The Power of Oral Storytelling.” TEDx. TEDxUOA, 2021, Auckland, New Zealand, University of Auckland, www.youtube.com/watch?v=uh_9H93MACA.

“‘You’ll Never Believe What Happened’ Is Always a Great Way to Start .” The Truth About Stories: a Native Narrative, by Thomas King, House of Anansi Press Inc., 2010, pp. 1–29.