Detour Avoided

Several years ago I became interested in traditional oral storytelling.  I thought  oral storytelling would be a natural extension of my writing fiction.  I felt that learning to tell oral stories would deepen and enrich my writing.

A local librarian was working to establish a storytelling group where people could learn the art, be supportive and refine their presentation and stories.  The first meeting included an eclectic mix of people all with different reasons for wanting to be storytellers.  As part of the meeting attendees were asked to volunteer to tell stories.  The first was the librarian who told a story of a family canoe trip.  While she told the story dramatically (read melodramatically) it was neither interesting nor humorous.  A second couple told a story about a trip they took in the Caribbean.  They laughed throughout their own story; they were the only ones in the room that were laughing.  Do you see a pattern? My idea of true storytelling wasn’t about folks sharing their own life experiences;  that should be confined to family reunions or professional comedians.

 This past weekend there was a Wisconsin Storytellers Get Together at a local library.  The cost for the day was $40; I wasn’t sure what the money was to be used for but spending that amount wasn’t going to break the bank.

About 25 people attended of which 21 were women that had been retired for at least 10 years.  Of the four men attending only one looked young enough to still be holding a day job.  In the very first session I learned that most attending performed storytelling for money.  I was shocked and surprised. I didn’t want to tell stories to add to my income, but for the art.  It began to feel bad in my gut.

It became crystal clear that these folks were not interested in stories, they were interested in performing.   I’m not interested in performing; I’m interested in storytelling as an art.  I had a strong reaction in my gut.  That part of you that says:  get out now, this isn’t for you.

After the first session I quietly walked out.  I didn’t get my forty bucks worth, or maybe I did.  I avoided what could have been a major detour on my journey to become a better writer.  I’m a writer, not a performer; at forty bucks I guess it’s a cheap lesson.