Reader's Bill of Rights

I can never be reminded of this enough.  We have these posted all over our house.  It helps to remind the parents that it is okay if the kid is reading the same book for the fiftieth time.  It's not like the grown ups aren't guilty of this.  I reread the books I love all the time. It is like spending time with an old friend.

Daniel Pennac's

The Reader's Bill of Rights

1. The right not to read.

2. The right to skip pages.

3. The right to not finish.

4. The right to reread.

5. The right to read anything.

6.The right to escapism.

7.The right to read anywhere.

8. The right to browse.

9. The right to read out loud.

10. The right to not defend your tastes.

A Walk Through A Graveyard

The best part of my job is the travel.  The worst part of my job is the travel.  Long ago, in some other part of my life I was a good sightseer, not any longer.  Now, when I hit a new town, I often see none of it.  Not because I don’t like to see new things, but because I am bone weary.

In my youth, I walked the streets of Boston, reconstructing Phyllis Wheatley’s journeys through the city, even visiting her church and sitting in her pew.  I’ve walked through Seoul, and Tokyo, Hamburg, Brussels, Honolulu, Lima, Huanchaco, and any number of other cities around America, in Japan, Korea, Canada and Mexico.  I’ve stood on the edge of the Grand Canyon, stared in fascination at the mountains of Arizona and Utah, gaped in wonder at the redwoods, and looked at enough ruins and mummies to last me a lifetime.  I’ve walked into ancient temples, scaled step pyramids, felt the reverence of ancient churches and been honored to sit in silence in the presence of the Buddah.  That was years ago; these days, when I swan into a city I see very little of it between arriving, performing, trying to get some sleep, and maybe getting a little work done, but that’s not always the case.

I’m in Charleston, Sc for a new festival called Charleston Tells.  I had a whole day and a half off.  Yes, I know, shocking.  I went to one of the museums and toured a one hundred year old mansion.  Of course, if you’ve seen one ancient mansion from the pre civil war south, you’ve seen them all.  (Just kidding).   It was nice to get out. 

The mansion was fabulous and the stories were equally fabulous.  I told the docent I was a storyteller and I made several jokes about ghosts in the old house.   I was out the door and on the stone porch, preparing to go back to my hotel, when she looked out at me from a crack in the door, and asked me if I believed in ghosts.  She told me she’d recently lost her mother and she wanted to know if I thought she had some hope of seeing her again.  I stepped back into the house, closed the door and gave her one of those ‘storyteller’ answers.  She clearly hadn’t liked whatever it was she’d been told at church…either that or she didn’t believe it.  I assured her that I believed we are all part of each other and that what comes after this is a continuation of our own story.  She asked if I thought her mother would know her, or if her mother even knew what was going on in the world.  I told her that I believe that those who love us are always part of us, and they live so long as we remember them.  They are not with us in body, but the spirit of who they are is always part of us.  She got misty, thanked me and I went on my way.

Perhaps that is why I was drawn to the graveyard today.  I am often drawn to graveyards.  The only thing I am certain of is that when I no longer have any need of my body, I don’t want it to end up in a box six feet under the ground.  It is uncomfortable for me to think that I am standing on a piece of ground full of decaying, mummified, or desiccated bodies.  Despite that, I can’t pass up a graveyard. 

Staring at weathered tombstones is a strange way to meet people.  Some have their names boldly carved in metal, declaring, ‘Bird’ or ‘Lucy’ or ‘Charles’.  There are pithy sayings on the newer ones, but devout quotes on the oldest.  Bible verses were much in evidence, especially on the gravestones of children.  I walked down the large gravel paths and read the names on the tombstones.  Many were weathered beyond deciphering.  Some stones were carved with long verses or perhaps thoughts or memories, but they were beyond my ability to decipher what they said; wind, water and time made them illegible. 

The bodies were buried in family groups, and there were many young women named Eleanor who died in their early teens or twenties…It would seem to me that women should have been more wary of naming their daughters ‘Eleanor’; though I understand they were just trying to honor the president’s wife.  My favorite tombstone in the whole of the place was not one of the lofty spires, or crowded with angels, or given a lovely verse, or blessed by some saint; no, my favorite tombstone was one in which I could make out neither the woman’s name nor the man’s below hers.  Between those names was a phrase I had never seen on a tombstone before…’Consort of’.  I admit to stopping at that point.  It was preposterous, and for a moment I was certain I’d read it wrong, but, no, there it was ‘consort’.  There were many titles given to the women buried around me; wife, of course, mother, certainly, beloved, sure, but ‘consort’?   I attempted to figure out the names, but unfortunately, whoever engraved this tombstone seems to have been less excited about engraving the names and much more enthusiastic about the word ‘consort’.  That is the only word clearly distinguishable on the stone.  I stood there, wondering what that funeral might have been like.  Curious as to which member of the family decided to have that word added to the tombstone; trying to imagine the distinguished, wealthy members of upper crust Charleston, SC gathered in shock and titillating wonder at the words on the stone.  As they stood around trying to be unmoved by the audacity, or pretending they were above the scandal of it all, they most probably thought this would be a thing that lived in infamy.  Perhaps that was the whole point.  Who knows?  Maybe this ‘consort’ was black, which really would have been a controversy in 1835.  Probably not black, but goodness, just the thought of her being a ‘consort’ was enough to conjure amazing images of societal horror.  What would those long dead people think if they knew that in 2013, a woman roaming through the ancient tombstones, unable to read anything but the word ‘consort’ would have a bit of a giggle at how ludicrous it seems.

That was the moment I started talking to the people in the graveyard.  I thanked them for putting up with my visit and my prying eyes, for it is certain that in their day, privacy and keeping one’s secrets close to the vest was the only policy they knew.  I apologized for reading their stones and imagining them in their best and worst moments.  I wished there were images engraved on the tombstones so I knew what they looked like instead of pulling up the most ridiculous stereotypes I could conjure.  Captain Joe Keynock must have cut a grand figure with a full beard and some iteration of handlebar mustache.  His waifish wife, perhaps with pale eyes and even paler hair all piled up on top of her head, as was the case of ladies of her day, stood beside him despite the drinking, gambling and wenching that was the common past time of upper class men in the 1800’s.  What of the large stones dogged by the tiny tombstones of deceased children, following like little ducklings, how had they all died?  Smallpox?  Measles? Flu?  How?    I turned and looked back at all of the white, granite and weathered stones, many turned gray or black with age and I thought, “Dead as these people are, they are still shouting, I WAS HERE!”

Then, I considered it and I realized that none of them were shouting.  These folks had gone to meet their maker before any of these stones were erected.  It wasn’t them; it was their loved ones.  The people who had come after, the people left behind who were shouting.  The richer they were, the louder they were shouting and all of them were saying the same thing, “WE WON’T FORGET!  YOU WERE IMPORTANT!  YOU ARE LOVED!  OUR LIVES WERE BETTER BECAUSE YOU WERE HERE AND WE WON’T FORGET!”  They’d gone through lots of trouble to remember.  They’d gone through lots of trouble to make sure that nobody forgot, but in 2013, when a middle aged African American woman walked through that grave plot, the only thing she left with were the words, ‘Consort Of’, and what might have been the most talked about funeral of its day.

For all of us who have loved ones who are flown and gone, never let them forget that you love them, and miss them, and treasure them and honor them, but let us always remember that the place they inhabit more than anywhere else is in our hearts and minds and souls and stories. 

Grandma Esther, Grandpa Terry, Grammy, Grampy, Great Uncle Eddie, Great Uncle Raymond, Great Grandma Tospey, Aunt Evetta, Great Uncle Mitchel, Great Aunt Ruby, Zachary, Rogie, Aunt Bert, and Gramps.  I didn’t forget.

Jackie, Katherine, Doc, Diane, Ray and all of you who are telling in the great beyond…we can still hear your stories.  Thank You.

Storytelling and the Three Levels of Language Development

There are lots of theories about language acquisition and what is the best way to achieve it.  This post is about the three types of language

The man who first postulated this idea was E. D. Hirsh Jr.  He is a controversial person in some education circles, but regardless of that, this idea makes sense to me.

There are three levels of language.
-Aural
-Oral
-Experiential

Aural Language is all the language you've ever heard.  If you've heard a word often enough, it is stored there.  You might not know what it means, but you know the word.  This is the sort of language that starts the day we are born.  We have quite a vocabulary of language that means nothing, but it is in there.  The more language you hear as a child, the more language you have at your disposal as you grow.


Oral Language storage includes the language you use in every day life.  Most people do not plumb the depths of their language storage for words, they use the ones that are most readily available to them.  Any word that is not in your aural language storage, cannot be called upon for oral language.  An example of this would be the word Octogenarian.  Most adults have heard that word, it means an eighty year old person.  There are probably enough words in your aural storage to be able to work out the meaning of octogenarian even if you are hearing it for the first time.  The truth is, most people don't use that word in conversation, even if they know it.


Experiential Language is the synthesis of your aural and oral language.  Any word that is not in your aural or oral language is not available for experiential synthesis.  Experiential language is the ability to encounter a word or phrase that you know in one context that is being used in a different context and be able to figure out the meaning of the new usage.  Example:  Let us say a child is reading along and they encounter the sentence: The old man was bitter.

If a child has never heard the word 'bitter', then that old man is a 'biter' as far as that kid is concerned, and that is a completely different thing.

If, however, the child has encountered the word 'bitter', but only in the context of seeing an adult taste something, make a pinched face and announce the concoction is bitter, then the child knows that bitter is something that puckers your face and does not taste good.  The child can make one of two conclusions.  Either somebody licked the old man and discovered he did not taste good, or perhaps there is something about the old man that is akin to a puckered face and a bad taste.  Only experience will help a child or any reader make the proper connections.


All of this reminds me of being in AP English one million years ago.  Every week the teacher would put ten words on the board we had to spell correctly by friday.  We didn't have to look up definitions because she assumed we knew the words, she was just tired of having them spelled incorrectly.  One week,  she put 'epitome' on the board .  On friday, she read the words out for our spelling test and when she came to the word e-pit'-o-me, we were confused.  We had no idea that word was on our test and we all spelled it incorrectly.  it was only after she wrote it on the board did we realize we'd thought it was e-pi-tome'.  Despite knowing the word epitome, we did not recognize it simply because we'd pronounced it incorrectly.  We did not find the word in our aural storage and we were to snotty and full of how smart we were to look the word up if we didn't have to.  If we'd been forced to define it or use it in a sentence, we would have figured it out...at least, I assume we would have!

So, three  types of language.  The beauty of storytelling is that it is an art form that synthesizes all of the various levels of language acquisition.  It improves vocabulary by exposing children to language in conjunction with images, it improves oral language through modeling and call and response, and it models experiential language with similes, metaphors, and descriptive language.  Storytelling is a treasure trove of language building and development.

Happy Telling

Motivations and Meaning- What is your best possible world?

I have been home most of January writing and hanging out with my family.  As I get ready to go back on the road and start a mega tour, I'm sure my mind will be more attenuated to the work of storytelling and I will have something or other to say.

I have a show for adults today.  I often have adults in an audience, but I am not typically a storyteller people hire for straight up grown up shows.  It allows me to pull things out of my repertoire that don't get a lot of air time.  It is always fun.

Today, I put up a piece on my Facebook page about motivations and choices.  I wasn't going to post it here, but it seems like perhaps I should.  It is more about philosophy and politics than storytelling, but I think it articulates ideas I have about education, parenting and art pretty well.  So, here it is.

 have had a theory rolling around in my head for a while that has finally found its way onto paper.  It is not a new idea, by any means, but it is a simple one. 

In order to figure out why an organization does what it does you need only ask one question:

What is the best possible world for this organization?  Once you understand their best possible world, examine what they are doing and consider how close they are to achieving that.

In the best possible world for an insurance company, everyone would pay really high premiums and the company would never pay a dime of it out in claims.

In the best possible world for a for profit prison, lots of people would be locked up all the time, even for crimes that wouldn’t seem to carry a need for a jail sentence.

In the best possible world for government, every citizen would be productive, safe, healthy and law abiding.  (How to achieve this is the basis for the turmoil all governments face)

In the best possible world for professional athletes, they would play in state of the art facilities, make gobs of cash, be showered with adulation, play until they drop dead and never get hurt.

In the best possible world for artists, they would be compensated for their art such that they didn’t have to do anything else, they could set their own schedules, their work would always be universally acclaimed, and they wouldn’t go through dry spells.

In the best possible world for gun manufacturers, there would be no rigorously enforced regulations on guns and people could buy as many as they wanted.

In the best possible world for corporations, workers work for the absolute smallest amount of money for as many hours as possible without guarantees of any kind about employment, safety, or sanitary conditions producing something that the public pays top dollar to have.  (I base this theory on third world countries and America and Europe at the start of the Industrial Revolution)

In the best possible world for workers, they are compensated enough to live comfortably alone, with a single partner, or to raise families with healthy food, good living conditions, good schools, a vacation every now and then, access to good healthcare, the ability to send their kids to college if they can, and all while living in a safe place.

In the best possible world for teachers, every student comes to school fed, well rested, cared for, prepared for the day and not only willing, but eager to learn.   Educator’s needs are supported by the administration: local, state and federal.  (I’ve never met a teacher who requested to have thirty kids in a class)

In the best possible world for the anti choice crowd, all children are brought into this world because every child is a blessing that is loved. 

In the best possible world for the choice crowd, women only bring children into the world they plan to care for.

In the best possible world for a child, they are loved, cared for, kept safe and prepared for the world.

The list, of course, is endless.  When you see something that makes you angry, think for a bit about what is at the heart of the motivation.  What is the best possible world in that group’s opinion?  Who is that best possible world serving?  How close are they to achieving their best possible world?

 

Care and Feeding of the Voice - Powering It Out

I always use a microphone.  Always.  I have a pretty strong voice for speaking, and I can fill a space pretty well, but there is no need for it when we have such technological marvels as microphones.

I often encounter people who are a bit annoyed by my request that the forum offer a microphone.  If they do not have a good sound system, I will bring my own, but I always ask for one.  There are some general responses when I ask for amplification.  They are as follows.

The space is not that big.

Our last performer didn't use a microphone.

There aren't that many children.

You have a pretty big voice.

None of that has anything to do with why I want a microphone.  The fact of the matter is that a storyteller only works so long as their voice is intact.  If you over stress your vocal chords, you can cause yourself months of hurt.

I am a trained speaker.  That means I have years of vocal training to help me get through a show if the mic should fail, but it is never my desire to power through forty five minutes of intricate vocal work while still being loud enough to be heard by two hundred people in a gymnasium, which was surely never built with acoustics perfect for a single performer.

So, with this in mind, here are some tips for those of us who work in the telling fields.  This is mostly beginner stuff, but it sometimes helps to be reminded.

1 - if you are doing something with your voice and it makes your throat a bit sore...stop.

2 - if you drink water during your set, room temperature water is best.  Your vocal chords are at their ease and move freely when they are warm.  Hitting them with cold water means you are straining them until they warm up again.  Don't fight yourself.

3 - For most people, eating dairy is not a good choice before going on stage as it encourages the production of mucus.

4 - Only you know how long it takes for your voice to recover after you hurt yourself.  Don't push it.  If you feel like you have to pull back from a story because it requires a bit more than you have, tell something else.

5 - If your throat is sore after a performance, unless you are ill, it means you are straining your vocal chords.  Get yourself a good reference book.  Better yet, contact Doug Lipman.  He should be able to point you in the right direction!

6 - Don't let someone talk you into hurting your voice.  Just because you can bring the power to fill a room doesn't mean you should.  Voices need a rest.  The older you get, the more that is true.  The microphone gives your voice more running time.  It also means you are directing less energy into the level of sound and you can devote that energy to the craft of the tale.

Like I said, much of this is obvious, but every now and then, it is good to be reminded that if someone gets testy with you about amplification, it is okay to remind them that they are only getting one or two shows from you, but that is not the end of your obligations.  if you blow your voice out on Tuesday, is that fair to the four shows you have on Friday?

Happy Telling -

Telling Folktales in Schools

I am spending the week in Mesa, AZ telling stories to wonderful groups of students.  Yesterday, after I arrived at the gig and before I'd done any sets, a woman came up to me to find out what I was doing there.  She was the curriculum coordinator for the school.  I told her I was a storyteller and she asked if I was going to be doing original pieces or if I was going to 'read' folktales.

I explained that when I am in schools I always tell folktales.  I never do original stuff except with middle school.  I tend to tell seventh grade family stories, but there is a developmental reason for that and I inevitably end their sets with traditional material.  She was interested in that idea, but I must confess, her response was something I rarely find.

Normally, after I tell someone that I am committed to doing folktales in schools, they assume this is because I lack the creativity or writing skills to come up with my own stories.  I am sometimes dismissed by the person I am speaking to as 'less than'.  It is not uncommon for the person to mention one of the many tellers who tells personal or original tales and insinuate that I ought to be living up to their example.  I've learned to smile at people when they respond to me in this manner and go on about my business.

You can't please everyone and I don't intend to try.  No matter what anyone else says or thinks, when I look in the bathroom mirror in the morning, I'm there by myself and it is that image I have to face everyday, not the folks who disapprove of the choices I make.

Of course, that begs the question I am often asked.  Why don't you tell original tales in schools?


I am a big believer in telling stories in schools that will drive kids towards books.  I want them to find the 'original' of the story I told or at least try.  I want kids to run across references to the story I told them or find different forms or even see them referred to on their cartoons and say, "Hey!  I know about that!"

Much of our culture in terms of entertainment be it story lines on television, commercials, video games, and literature of all sorts have a basis in basic folklore.  The ideas in folklore permeate our culture, but many of us are not literate in the basis of these tales.  Most people have no idea that the phrase, 'You have to pay the piper' comes from the Pied Piper of Hamlin.  When I was a little girl if I woke up with dried slobber on my face, my grandmother would say, "A witch rode you around last night!"  She knew this small bit of folklore, but she did not know it had anything to do with the tale called The Boo Hag which originated in the swamps.  Nat King Cole sang a song about a buzzard giving a monkey a ride and trying to throw him off his back.  Most people don't know that story is based on an African folktale.  Occasionally a politician will come out with the phrase, 'slapping the tar baby'.  It is a phrase from one of the most famous Brer stories, but most people have no idea why they would use that saying.  I suspect they got the phrase from their grandmother or mother depending on the age of the politician.  Sometimes they don't know where that phrase came from or why people might get upset if they use it.  They also don't know how to explain what it is.  Most storytellers do.

Our kids know even less about the folktales that pervade our society than most.  We don't tell them these stories anymore.  If it is not written down in a picture book, or Disney didn't make a big deal out of it, then for many kids it doesn't exist.

So, when I go into a school...they're getting folktales.  I want them to soak in the stories that are the building blocks of so much of our day to day lives.

After I leave a school, I want to get one of those emails from a librarian where she has run out of tongue twisters, Brer books of all sorts, stories from India, Africa, China and anywhere else the tales originated.  I like to get emails from parents, bewildered as to what I might have done to their kids to make them beg to stop by the library to see if Tiki Tiki Tembo is there.  I love it when I get to a school a year later and the kids are still quoting my stories, singing Sody Saluradus or telling me they've read books with the stories I introduced to them.

So, to everyone who has wondered why I am a big stickler for folktales, this is the answer.   We stand on the shoulders of giants and see far beyond every horizon, but unless we know what is beneath the feet of those giants, we move forward without understanding.  We might as well be blind.

In other words, if you don't know where you came from, how can you truly know where you are going?

6th Grade Tales – Stories for the nonhuman

Sixth grade is a funky year for most kids.  It is a transitional year from childhood into the first blush of the teenage years. 

Sixth graders are going through a hormonal obstacle course on the inside.  Some are changing drastically on the outside, others aren’t changing at all and everyone is noticing.  All sorts of things that never bothered them before become of paramount importance.

For some, their arms and legs outgrow the rest of their bodies, leaving them awkward and clumsy.  Girls tend to sprout up, often leaving many of the boys behind for a couple of years.  Everybody starts developing towards full maturity and the blessings and curses of that tend to make pretty much everyone wish they were in someone else’s body.

This is the year some parents notice that their child is getting a bit more ‘sassy’.  These tweens need more space and less space and they vacillate between young people and children. 

Their friends change as well.  Many become concerned about being ‘cool’, not fitting in properly and what their peers think about everything.  Their friendships often change and they start finding a niche where they can fit.  Some kids don’t go through any of this at all and remain untouched by such concerns until they are older.  All and all, it can be a maddening year.

I’ve often said that sixth graders do not belong with elementary kids and they have no place as of yet with the seventh and eighth graders.  In fact, most of them should be buried beneath the school.  The good news is they only stay sixth graders for one year.

What on earth do you tell this transitional, morphing group of people?  Most think they are too old for stories and the stuff they think they want to hear is way too old for them.

The answer, for me, is push the boundaries just a bit. 

The set I offer for sixth grade is called ‘Hormonal Boys and Hyena Girls’.  It goes into the crazy stuff that happens behind the scenes in sixth grade, from the boys who think it is funny to hurt each other and don’t seem to understand how their rough play turns into an actual fight, to the girls who end up crying in the bathroom because somebody didn’t like their haircut.  The kids are always amazed I know what they are dealing with.  It never occurs to any of them that we old folks really were in sixth grade once upon a time.

This is the first group I tell really scary ghost stories.  The caveat being that I gauge the students who seem to be the most freaked out and I ease back a bit so that things don’t get too scary.  Why do I tell these kids really scary stories?  This is the first age where none of them will be willing to admit to their parents they are scared.  This means no aggrieved parents are going to call the school and complain.  Besides, they like these stories.

The second category of stories I tell to this group falls under the heading of gory and cerebral.

Morgan and the Pot of Brains is a good example of this.  A kid who is picked on until he shuts down completely goes on a lifelong quest to achieve his brains by cutting out the hearts of the things he loves best in the world.  It turns out all right, but the very graphic, funny, sad and interesting twist to the ending is right up the alley for these emerging people.

The Debate in Sign Language is also a favorite of this group.

Once I lead them through a really dark story, I can tell them fun folktales and they love it.  They don’t even remember they are too old for stories.  The truth is this group will love anything as long as you package it right, but going at them through the truths of who they are is also a good way to get them to reflect, even if only cursorily, on their own situation.