Tuesday, April 7, 2020

Women’s Storytelling Festival

Blog #20:  Women’s Storytelling Festival
Fairfax, Virginia

The first Women’s Storytelling Festival took place March 13 and 14, 2020 in Fairfax, Virginia amid the Coronavirus pandemic.  At that point, people were advised to avoid crowds greater than 250 people. Jessica Piscitelli Robinson worked with the officials in Fairfax to be sure the festival would be compliant with guidelines, should it be allowed to go on as planned.  We got daily emails from Jessica about the status of the festival. 
As of Friday morning, it was on.

So, we went.  We arrived with tempered expectations.  The recommendations and guidelines were changing almost hourly it seemed.  Friday night was held at the Auld Shebeen, which was perfect.  Alas, the crowd was small, and several of the showcase tellers had to back out. That didn’t stop those who were there from taking the stage and giving the audience their best with an interesting mix of material, styles, and stories. I was thrilled that so many local and regional tellers had been included.  It’s so hard to find a way to break out of one niche and leap to the next level, and the opportunities are few and far between.

Saturday, we got a full day of stories, lasting into the evening. Sheila Arnold, Megan Hicks, Jessica Piscitelli Robinson, and Donna Washington, the featured tellers who were able to attend, were glorious.  The size of the audience, which was small, didn’t faze them. We heard historical stories, folktales, and personal stories, each rich and satisfying. There were showcases with different tellers at lunch, and a story swap for audience members who were so moved.   Truly, something for everyone.

It is a relatively small world – storytelling.  The community of storytellers is tightly woven, but never exclusive.  All are welcomed with open arms and hearts. Under the circumstances, we were all careful not to hug and kiss each other as is the way of storytellers.  That part was awkward, and created a longing in me that I hadn’t expected. 
This, too, shall pass.

Here’s what’s really important.  The first, very first, Women’s Storytelling Festival went on as planned and without a hitch.  Jessica Robinson is to be applauded for her vision and her leadership.  I am proud this festival gave the local tellers a bigger audience and a bigger event.  I expect that there will be a second Women’s Storytelling Festival in 2021.

I will be there!

Ben and Lyle

Blog #19: Ben and Lyle

The Ben and Lyle stories are the remnants of a gifted and talented moment I had in between working full time, trying to parent full time, and maintain both a home and a marriage. (I was only successful in three of the four demands on my time and my psyche.) 
One night, when I was so tired all I wanted to do was cry, my younger son, Kyle, pulled out “Good Night Moon” as his story, and the older one, Sven, pulled out “Cat in the Hat.”  While both of these are wonderful children’s books, one can only say, “Good Night chair. 
Good Night noises everywhere,” so many times without coming completely unglued. 
I was there.

The next night, I decided not to read to my boys.  Instead, I told them a story about 2 brothers, Ben and Lyle, loosely based on them and what they had done that day.  Kyle got story time first, being the younger sibling.  The most amazing thing happened.  He was still.  He listened without interruption.  And when I said Lyle was doing or saying something, he would beam and say, 
“That’s me, huh Mom!”

Then I went into Sven’s room, and repeated the same story.  I must admit, the second telling was better than the first, but that’s how it is with storytelling.  Sven figured out right away that he was Ben, and listened as raptly as his little brother. The coolest part of the whole experience was that I could slip in a moral, or a lesson, or talk about hard things without lecturing my kids.
And so began this storytelling tradition in our home.  I enjoyed it as much as they did. We did stories at bedtime almost until middle school, and we all loved it.  When I would go into their elementary classrooms and tell a Ben and Lyle story, they would puff out their chests and announce, 
“I’m Lyle!” or “I’m Ben!”  They were so proud.

 It’s been many years since I invented a Ben and Lyle story, but several of them have survived the test of time.  I tell those stories as the opportunity presents itself.  I have realized that many children deal with the tough stuff in some of those stories.  “Where Did Pop-Pop Go?” is about the death of their grandfather, the first death they had experienced.  “The Other Left” is a story about having dyslexia, and being able to laugh at one’s self. 
And some are just fun.

 In “The Magic Crayfish” the boys have a magical friend who helps them solve problems.
Recently, a book entitled, “It’s Hard to Be a Verb!” was given to me by my daughter-in-law. She found it for her son, who has ADHD.  And guess what! Ben and Lyle have ADHD, too!  I contacted the author, Julia Cook, to see if I might adapt it into a Ben and Lyle story to tell from the stage.  
She replied with one sentence: “I would be so honored!”

Now there will be a new Ben and Lyle story!  Stay tuned!

Wednesday, February 12, 2020

Equipment Failures

I have just completed the 16th session of “Reaching through the Cracks: Connecting Incarcerated Parents with their Children through Story.” The culmination of each workshop series is the recording of the stories that the participants have created for their loved ones and transferring them to a CD or flash drive to send.  Those CD’s or flash drives are then sent to the person for whom a mailer has been addressed.  It doesn’t matter to me who they are or where this final product lands.  It is their creative work and I have no rights to it or any say in where it goes.  I do, however, caution the participants not to send anything should any restraining order be in place.

I am technologically challenged, as are many people over the age of 60.  BUT I have never had such a series of equipment failures stalling the mailing of these stories.
I recorded 9 stories on January 21, 2020.  On January 22, I sat down and proceeded to download the stories from the audio recorder to my computer.  There were only 6 stories that could be retrieved. The other three were no where to be found.  I went through every file on the recorder and…nothing.


I went to my local Best Buy to see if the Geek Squad could help me find the missing story files.  The conversation went like this…
“Ma’am, how OLD is this (audio recorder)?”
“I bought it in 2008.  It got me through grad school and through 15 storytelling workshops at the detention center and the prison. Never had any problem with it until now,” I said with confidence, and a just a chard of attitude.
“Ma’am, you might want to retrieve whatever you can and throw this one away.  It may not be dead yet, but its close.”
“Seriously?” I said.  “It’s never given ME any indication that that it was failing.”  (As in, “How dare this audio recorder die! It’s only 11 years old!!! It still has work to do!)
“Uh…yeah….it’s about done.  Just throw it away and get a new one.”
“What!?! Buy a new one?”  I was not happy.  Did not want to shell out the price of a new one just then.  And didn’t my audio recorder know that it was beloved?  A valuable part of my storytelling venture?  How could it possibly let me down?
Well, I bought a new one.  I went with the newest generation of the same brand and model.  I left Best Buy a tad poorer than I had been an hour before.   While that problem was solved, the problem of the missing stories was staring at me, and left me feeling quite chagrined.  An equipment failure.  Who knew such a thing was possible? Meanwhile, I made the CD’s for the six stories I was able to download and mailed them.
I had to contact the prison and explain the situation.  Fortunately, my point of contact had no problem with my coming back and meeting with the three participants whose stories disappeared into those digital Netherlands. As it turned out, they were actually pleased to have a second chance to record and were most pleased with their performances.  Whew!
I came home and sat down to complete the remaining CD’s.  Downloading from the new audio recorder was much simpler than before which was awesome.  Then I plugged in the external DVD Writer to my laptop.  That funny little noise that says, “I’m connected!” was music to my ears.  I opened Windows Media Player to burn the drive and….
It didn’t recognize the DVD Writer.  My laptop did not believe there was anything plugged into it besides the mouse, and the mouse certainly doesn’t know how to burn a CD!  I was confounded, and not very happy.  We had spent a bunch of money for the Geek Squad total protection so we would have help for just this kind of situation. So, I called the Geek Squad for help. It took an hour on the phone for me to get to the technician who could perhaps fix the problem.  After all, didn’t I know that the DVD Writer could be bad and the agreement didn’t cover that?  WHAT?!?  It took the better part of that hour to convince him that the DVD Writer was working just fine and that it was my laptop that was the problem.  After all, just a week ago it was working just fine.
Finally, there was an agent who diagnosed the problem and fixed it. HURRAY!  Turns out that a new driver needed to be installed, which really isn’t a big deal if you know to look for one. I sat down and quickly burned the remaining CD’s and put them in their respective envelopes.  And Series #16 can be put to bed.
I realize that none of you reading this have ever had such experiences, but perhaps you know someone who has.  Please let them know they are not alone!

Friday, February 7, 2020

Grow or Go

One of the phrases I often heard in my early sobriety was “Grow or Go!”  While I haven’t heard it much in a long time, it is that slogan (or admonition, perhaps?) that keeps me engaged in the recovery process.  It applies to other areas of my life as well.
I have just completed another “Reaching through the Cracks…” storytelling workshop at the prison, my 16th, in fact.  After the 15th workshop, I published and copyrighted the curriculum in the hopes that if I shared it with enough people, maybe some of them would try and replicate the workshop.  Little did I know that I would continually need to adjust and adapt my precious curriculum to meet the participants where they are.
There is research that indicates the majority of those currently incarcerated have a substance use disorder which led to their incarceration.  Whether it is a direct  or indirect cause of incarceration isn’t always clear.  Given that, my own history working in the addictions field, and my experiences with “Reaching through the Cracks,” led me to make addiction and recovery a large part of the course content and story making. Until now.
There is a dreadful lack of addiction treatment services in Maryland prisons.  Only a tiny percentage of inmates receive any treatment at all, so the vast majority of them simply kill time while they are wards of the State, and never address the issues that led to the behaviors that led to incarceration.  Most of the participants in “Reaching through the Cracks…#16” fell into that category.  I was stunned.  They were stunned that I was stunned.  And then several of them dropped out…never to return.
I had to step back and let go of any attachment I had to my precious curriculum that was conceived in love, just like a baby.  When I was able to do that, I realized their defenses were high.  Their definition of an addiction was limited to substances, but did not include alcohol or marijuana.  They did not believe in process addictions like gambling, sex, drug dealing, or the like. Any statement that could be construed as passing judgement on them and the path that led to their incarceration was met with denial and hostility.  I was at a loss.  How to connect with them enough to proceed with the business of story making baffled me.  Finally, I gave in to their positions, and simply asked that they reflect on the path that led to their incarceration.
In the past, those addiction stories were reframed to be age appropriate for their children, so instead of real-life characters, animals could be used.  Sometimes, the language of fairy tales with knights in shining armor and princesses and dragons was used.  Sometimes a super hero motif was used.  I had always been delighted with the end results.  I had no clue how this set of stories would manifest. Would they even craft a story?  I held my breath.
The day that we recorded, we had 9 participants show up and record their stories.  Even the most resistant and defiant participants put their egos in their pockets to create something unique for their children.  And truth be told, each and every story was about bad decisions, bad choices, and having to deal with them.  These stories weren’t so very different than the stories of those who owned their addictive behavior and wanted to pass on wisdom that they had not been given growing up.  I was not only delighted, I was blown away, which I shared with them.  As they left for the last time, I had to wonder how much I had missed by using the research about them instead of responding to them.
As I left the parking lot that day, the slogan, “Grow or Go,” floated across my consciousness.  I had to grow to continue to be successful in this setting with this clientele.  It really doesn’t matter what I know about incarcerated people.  What matters is that I get to know them, and accept them for exactly who they are, and who they are not.  I can continue to pray that they find recovery, and find the sweetness of a life well lived inside the laws of the land.
To be continued. Series #17 begins March 10.

Friday, January 31, 2020

Blog 16: A Story Well Told

Today I was part of the Winter Institute at the MAC, Inc. Area Agency on Aging and it was a delightful experience. The description of my program included, “come experience the magic of a story well-told.”  I didn’t know that would actually happen.
A bit of background. In 1996, I performed as a storyteller for the very first time, ever. A storyteller named Beth Vaughn gave me that first opportunity at a time when everything in my world had fallen apart and I needed something wonderful to happen.  The Potomac Celtic Festival happened in June, in Leesburg, VA and it was a massive two-day festival. Sadly, that festival has gone the way of many such events, but it was a grand affair in 1996. Over the course of those 2 days, I told a total of 4 times, and then closed the festival in an olio with all the tellers participating.
That final olio was emceed by Michael Gaudreau, a storyteller from Baltimore. Michael was not the typical emcee. He was far more creative than that.  He used the Irish folktale, ”The Man who Had No Story” as an umbrella tale. In the story, Brian O’Braonachiain, a basket maker, depletes the supply of rods for basket making in all the surrounding villages. In desperation, he goes to Alt an Torr for he hears there are rods to be cut, despite the warning that Alt an Torr is a fairy glen. Brian is pulled into the land of the fairy and finds refuge in a warm cottage with a kindly old man…until Brian confesses that he has no story to tell. Then, Brian is magically kicked to the curb but once again finds refuge.  This time, he stumbles into a wake, and at the insistence of the woman in charge, does things he swore he could not do with people he swore he did not know. When he is transported back into his own time, he no longer wants to cut rods and make baskets. He just wants to tell the story of all that befell him in the land of the fairy.
Michael wove each and every teller into that story. I didn’t remember how he did that, but that experience was etched upon my heart, to be pulled out 20+ years later.
When I was invited to be a part of the Winter Insitute at MAC, Inc. Area Agency on Aging, I needed to come up with a 90-minute program. Ninety minutes is a very long time to be telling stories without a break, and part of the idea of the Institute was that some kind of learning take place.  After calling on my Muse to help me, the idea for the program emerged.  I would tell stories for the first 40 minutes, have about 30 minutes of interactive, spontaneous storytelling among the audience members to coax the closet storytellers to show themselves, and then incorporate those stories into “The Man who Had No Story” to end the program, just as Michael Gaudreau had done all those years ago.  Once I found printed versions of the story, I began to look for the exact place where Michael had incorporated the storytellers in his tent. I realized that there would be no weaving of storytellers.  There would need to be a substitution.  What part of the story could be cut so that other stories could be added?
I decided to cut the experiences Brian had at the wake were cut from the story, in order to add the stories of the participants…which gave a slightly different ending to the story. I had distributed story prompts from Donald Davis’ gem of a book “Telling Your Own Stories” among the audience members.  They were given time to share the story that the prompt brought to mind in small groups of three. As they were creating these stories with strangers, the energy in the room changed. The room was alive…charged with positive energy…warmth…love.   I then asked for the closet storytellers to come out and make themselves known.  There were three.
I launched into “The Man who Had No Story” trusting the power of story to manifest in these three tellers.
The first story that was shared was the story of a blind chicken that had been brought to her to be rescued. With the help of her 8-year-old grandson, the chick was saved and allowed to grow and mature.  She and her grandson had become most attached to this bird, and when they went out to the chicken coop one morning to visit, this American Beauty chicken laid her first egg.  It was blue. The chicken not only survived, it thrived! There is a photograph of her grandson holding this first blue egg.
The second story was the story of how this woman made her father proud. She talked about his high standards and the feeling that she could never measure up to those standards… until she did.  She broke away from the family business and started her own business. It was the same type of business, but it was hers.  By now her father had retired, so she wasn’t competition for him, but she was still his daughter.  He drove his truck to her place of business every day to watch her progress.  When he could no longer walk, she bought him a wheelchair so that he could go inside and see her place of business. As she wheeled him through, he said to her, “This is the best business I’ve ever seen.”  She had finally won his praise and made him proud.
The third story was about the first major purchase that this woman had every made.  She had wanted to purchase an electric typewriter so that she could more easily type her papers while in college.  It was a major purchase back then.  Her father said that he would pay for it, but she had to pay him back.  At that time, she was working in the library part time making 75 cents/hour.  It took a long time to pay Dad back.  But she did, and it taught her that nothing comes for free. And oh, by the way, she still has that typewriter.
The Muse was in the room. I channeled that energy. Three stories from the heart. Spontaneous. Wonderful. The power of story connected us and made magic.
Tell more stories. It creates the intimacy we crave and it doesn’t cost a thing.

Thursday, September 19, 2019

If Not Now, Then When, Beth?

If Not Now, Then When, Beth?

I have been performing since I was 7 years old, playing Gretel in a musical version of the fairy tale. I know
the safest place on the planet is a stage, because the audience is waiting for you to be wonderful. I
know that leaping from the local arena to the national arena is a huge leap, and that opportunity comes
rarely, if ever. When I was directing shows on a regular basis, I wanted to make the leap from the local
theatre community to regional theatre. Couldn’t figure it out. Couldn’t find the opening, which I found to be frustrating and disappointing.

When I shifted from theatre as my creative outlet and expression to storytelling, I was content to be a
large fish in a very small pond. I was content to teach storytelling and facilitate workshops because of the difference it made to the participants. And then I entered Act III of my life.

I am 69 years old. If not now, then when, Beth?

I finished my Master’s degree in storytelling when I was 61 years old, in 2011. To celebrate that
milestone, Mylinda Butterworth and I traveled to Utah to the Timpanogas Storytelling Festival. I had
never been west of the Mississippi River. I was mesmerized by the enormity of the mountains and the
vastness of the landscape. We challenged our bodies (that live at sea level) to climb the mountains to
the Timpanogas Caves. And then we went to the Timpanogas Storytelling Festival.
Mylinda and I had just completed a 5 day intensive workshop with Antonio Rocha and Milbre Burch at
ETSU, and both were performing at Timpanogas. We felt privileged to know some of the tellers
personally. loved every minute of the festival. We laughed until we cried, and cried until we laughed.

And we said to each other, “Someday, I will tell at this Festival.”

For several years, I had visited the Timpanogas Storytelling website, and thought about applying. And
then that little voice inside said, “If not now, then when?” The audition process included having a
professionally recorded story – either audio or video. I had made the Distilling Hope CD in 2017, and finally had that professionally recorded piece. I applied.

I was accepted.

I was one of 2 tellers chosen for the TimpTells Teller slots. When I received the letter inviting me to
come as a teller, I had to give the letter to my beloved to read…just to make sure I was reading the black parts on the page…not what I wanted to read. It was real.

“I am not giving away my shot!” which is the opening line from ‘Hamilton” became my mantra. I had
this one shot on a national stage. It was an honor and a privilege to be there. I wanted to give it my best shot. So I asked for help.

Asking for help is not my strong suit. I did it anyway. In a workshops at the National Storytelling Summit,
I had discovered 2 personal stories. I asked Andy if they were worthy of the Timpanogas stage. “Oh
yeah!” was his reply. I asked Donald Davis for his advice. He said, “Tell original stuff. That will make you
stand out.” Donald also encouraged me to have 4 stories prepared just in case one that I planned
wouldn’t work following another teller. I arranged for Andy to coach me. In a weekend intensive, I
road tested those stories. We realized that one of those stories would work, and one would not. I had
to find another story. I searched my repertoire for another original story that I knew like the back of my
hand. I agonized over that choice. Finally I settled on a ghost story I had created for Furnace Town, a
living history museum, and a Scottish legend. I prepared all 3 and worked hard. I had a dress rehearsal
at my home with 15 friends. I called another storyteller shared my stories, and got feedback.
We flew to Utah for the festival. I was giddy with excitement. Finally, I stepped onto the stage, and I
was home. I remembered the feeling of being onstage and giving my best to an audience so that they
may be temporarily suspended in time, transported to another realm, and dancing with me as audiences
do. For the first time in a long time, I trusted my preparation and my talent to make the experience memorable. I succeeded.

Back at home, the Timpanogas Storytelling Festival seems like a dream, a fairy tale, a silver box
experience. The memory is stored in the silver box in my heart. The coach has turned back into a pumpkin. The dream recorded on this page.
Many thanks to everyone who made this dream come true.

Monday, September 16, 2019

Recording for Race Bridges Studio

Blog 11:  Recording for Race Bridges Studio

I had just finished a story that had been cooking for several years. It began in a workshop with Megan Hicks, and went to subsequent workshops with Donald Davis. It captured a painful memory for me about wanting to date a black fellow student when I was a senior in high school is 1968, and the serious fallout that occurred when I broached the subject with my parents.
Several months before the National Storytelling Summit, Sue O’Halloran sent all of the presenters an email asking if we had stories about civil rights that we would be willing to share on the Race Bridges Studio website. If so, would we please send her a copy?  Sue is part of this non-profit organization that provides free resources to educators, leaders, and parents to “explore the challenge of creating bridges of cooperation and community in a very diverse and often polarized world.”

The timing of her request was not lost on me. This website gets tremendous traffic, and I couldn’t purchase that kind of marketing. Was the Muse rewarding me?  Maybe my story was worthy of being posted.  Self-doubt is often a companion of mine, but despite all doubt, I sent the story off, thinking, “If not now, then when, Beth?”
Susan loved the story and wanted me to record it for the website.  And what an opportunity!  There would be a professional hair and make-up artist, a professional photographer, and a professional videographer at the NSN Summit to record our stories.  AND…the photos and the video would belong to the tellers.  The tellers would give Race Bridges Studio permission to use them! I was beside myself with excitement!
The taping was Saturday of the Summit. When the make-up artist was finished with me, I burst into a chorus of “I feel pretty! Oh so pretty!” from West Side Story.  I was giddy with excitement.  In fact, I was so flustered that the initial recording of my story was 11 minutes.  Susan was concerned.  “If a story is longer than 8 minutes, people don’t listen.  Let’s record this again in a bit.”
The second time we recorded my story, it was exactly 8 minutes long.  I was elated!  Susan was as generous as she was professional.  I am so grateful to have had this experience.  Thank you, Susan!

RaceBridgesStudio.com is a communications ministry of the Chicago Province of the Society of the Divine Word.  The Society of the Divine Word (S.V.D.) is an international religious Order of the Roman Catholic Church. The materials on this site are nonsectarian in content and are meant for wide use by people of faith or no formal faith in the common task of building bridges of understanding and cooperation between very different peoples.
Please visit their website: RaceBridgesStudio.com