Cell phone videos

Last week I gave a workshop on story hour stretches, games and songs for the Children's Services librarians at the Kansas City (MO) Public Library. I LOVE working with librarians, partly because I am still one to my core, even though I haven't worked as a librarian since 1994. It's not the diploma that proves it (though I have one). It's in my DNA. You laugh? Here's a quote from a piece my mother wrote about her mother-in-law, not officially a librarian but...

Like her father before her, she chose the books for Bristol's Rogers Free Library, and read most of them first. (Some categories she shunned, letting other Library people choose the romances and Westerns.)

Granny Howe referred to those as trashy novels, my father said. All but those were delivered to the house before they ever got to the library.

Sidetracked. Isn't this post about videos? One of the librarians at the Westport Branch sent me links for four videos she put on Youtube. Keep in mind that these were taken on a cell phone!

You can see another of the librarians recording the workshop on her iPad, so there may be more videos to come. 

Stories with the dulcimer

Last week, I did something new: I used my mountain dulcimer in performances with preschoolers. I've had this beautiful instrument for about twenty years, a present from a friend who used it as a wall decoration. I've played it occasionally for my own entertainment. I don't pretend to play terribly well, but I can pick out a tune if I hear it in my head, in the way I play harmonica and various recorders and folk flutes.

But use it in performance? Nah. Then I was asked to do a series of shows in conjunction with performances by Chiara String Quartet for the Lied Center of Kansas' program, Performing Arts 3 to 5. The quartet played for the children and collectively told a story. My goal in following them was to underscore what they did and extend it with stories, music and puppets.

First I asked the children what they remembered from their field trip. They went to the Lied Center and sat on the stage, not swallowed up by the theater seats, for the show. Most of them remembered that they'd seen violins and a cello (a jello, some said). Some remembered the viola. Some proudly announced that it was a quartet.

I told them I'd brought a stringed instrument, but it wasn't a cello or a violin or a viola. I brought it out of its box and showed them the similarities to those classical instruments. I showed them the pick and the noter (a little stick used to press the strings down next to the fret).

Then I told a story about a boy with a violin. I played songs in the story and the kids called out what I was playing: "Mary had a little lamb," "The itsy bitsy spider," etc.

The next part was magic. I carried the dulcimer to the children and let them strum it, one at a time. The kids were amazingly patient and quiet, waiting their turn, even with the big groups of 40 kids. Gentle, too, in the main.

I put the dulcimer away and moved on to more songs and another story, with help from my puppets.

I visited thirteen groups at five preschools last week. This week I have eight more of these sessions. It's a treat to try something new--a treat for me as much as it is for the children. We all have a good time.

Oh, speaking of puppets, don't you think the inside of the case looks like Elmo?!

Announcing Master Classes

We interrupt your regularly scheduled program for a word from our sponsor...

Storytelling Master Classes*

Ready to move to the next level in your storytelling? In this series of three classes, experienced storytellers will consider aspects of storytelling from the theoretical to the practical. We’ll work on presence, pacing, body language, voices, crafting of language, rhythm, the deeper meaning of the stories we tell and more. These classes are hands-on, so bring a story to work on, please. 

February 18, 2012
9:30-3:30
Beyond plot: discovering the backstory
One of the keys to strong telling lies in knowing the backstory, the unspoken history of characters and setting, as well as knowing our underlying motivations. We’ll also discuss—and practice—unusual ways to work on our stories.

March 24, 2012
9:30-3:30
Making it real: characterization, voice, rhythm and tone
Telling a story is so much more than just the words you say. We’ll push beyond the language, using various exercises to breathe new life into our stories.

April 21, 2012
9:30-3:30 
Pulling it all together: telling your very best
Drawing on what we’ve done so far, we’ll add presentation skills to the mix. You must have attended at least one of the earlier sessions to come to this one.

Who: Participants must have at least 3 years of storytelling experience.
Where: Priscilla's Yellow House (e-mail for directions) in Kansas City, KS
This is in the Strawberry Hill neighborhood, so be warned—there are 12 steps up to the house. Also, Priscilla has a cat. If you’re allergic, act accordingly. In nice weather, the cat is usually outside.
How much: $85 for each session, $210 for all three.

A simple lunch of homemade soup will be provided, or participants may go out to eat. Drinks and snacks will be provided. This class is limited to a maximum of ten participants, minimum of six.

Email Priscilla for more info and to register.

*It's called a Master Class merely to indicate that it is for experienced storytellers. Classes for beginners and classes on using puppets will be forthcoming.

~

By the way, did you notice the newsletter signup in the sidebar on the right? I haven't yet written one, but it's on its way, my friends, on its way.

A headful of stories and a bagful of puppets

I was asked to be a guest blogger on the Novel Adventurers blog, so this is cross-posted there. I decided to write about a performance in Peru.

I highly recommend visiting Novel Adventurers. Great reading and lots of armchair travel.

(By the way, the first picture isn't the one on that blog post. On this one, Blogger decided that picture looked better on its side, no matter what I did. Fie.)

Slow down, I remind myself. I look at the audience in front of me, this time third and fourth graders (eight- and nine-year-olds) in school uniforms. They’ve settled in, sitting in rows, wondering what I’m going to do. I pied-pipered them into the hall with my harmonica. I try to engage them as quickly as possible so we can get down to business.

That is, the business of stories. I’m a full-time storyteller, and this audience is in Peru, made up mostly of kids who are learning English as a second language. At this school, a few are native English speakers. I pull out my map of the United States. This is not just a geography lesson, but a way for the students to get used to my voice and accent before I begin the stories. I show them Kansas, where I live. “But I was born over here in Rhode Island. My mother lives in Maine. My brother lives in Oregon. My sister lives in Kansas. My sister lives in Wisconsin. My brother lives in Kansas.” By this time, the kids are laughing. “My brother lives in Vermont. And my sister lives in Massachusetts. I have three brothers and three sisters.

We’re almost ready for the stories. “I brought a friend with me, in my bag. Do you travel with your friends in a bag?” I reach in and pull out my old lady puppet, Trixie. “Una bruja!” I hear. I answer in English, “She does look like a witch, you’re right, but she’s not. She’s just old. She’s 111 years old.” Trixie introduces herself and she and I discuss which stories to tell. “Can we have a story about hair?” she asks. “Hair?!” It becomes clear that she wants either Rapunzel or Robert Munsch’s story, Stephanie’s Ponytail, (I have his permission to tell this). I sit Trixie on the chair gently, with her head in her lap. She may well fall asleep.

We’re off. I tell stories for about 45 minutes, with puppets and songs in between. My baby puppet is always a big hit—she could pop her pacifier out of her mouth twenty times and get a laugh each time. In this show, she only does it seven times. With middle school and high school students, I tell more sophisticated stories with fewer or no puppets. With this audience, I do a short Q and A at the end. They ask about stories, about puppets, about me.

Photo by Annie Tichenor

Here are some of the questions they ask:

Q. Where do you get your stories?

A. Many are folktales, which I find in books or I hear from other storytellers. Some are from books, and some are my own stories.

Q. How long have you been a storyteller?

A. I’ve been telling stories since 1988. I told stories in my job as a children’s librarian for five years and then in 1993, I left my job to become a full-time storyteller.

Q. What’s your favorite story?

A. That’s a good question. The big rule in storytelling is, only tell stories you love. So I love all my stories. My favorite is the one I’m telling at that moment. The favorite story of listeners is usually The Ghost with the One Black Eye.

Q. What countries have you visited to tell stories?
A. I’ve performed around the United States and in Belgium, Mexico, Bulgaria, Germany, Brazil, and Peru.

Q. Do you have any more puppets?

A. I have more at home. I have around 75 puppets in all. In my house I have a puppet room, where they all live.

Q. Do you like telling stories?
A. I love it. I’m lucky that I get to work at something I love.

"The Ghost with the One Black Eye" on video

I'm home from Belgium, and though I'm not done blogging about the trip, I wanted announce that I've just put The Ghost with the One Black Eye up on the Interwebs, both on Vimeo and on Youtube. This is part of the new DVD, The Itsy Bitsy Tiger and Other Ridiculous Stories and Songs, which I'm hoping will be ready for release in April or May.

Ghost with the One Black Eye from Priscilla Howe on Vimeo.

By the way, this is the first time I've used Vimeo on the blog. Do you have a preference for this or for Youtube?

The seed of truth

All my stories start with a seed of truth. That has been my tagline for many years. It lets me off the hook most often with what I call "personal fiction."

As I was wandering around Louvain-la-Neuve the other day, I thought about a story I wrote that is set here. This is where the seed was planted.

The story is poetically called Blood and is a part of my longer story Blood, Guts, Spies and Fat Naked Ladies, about the year I spent in Bulgaria. Strangely enough, the year in Bulgaria began with the year in Belgium. So confusing, those B-l-g countries...

Anyway, the story begins when I saw a sign for the blood donation center. Here it is:
Okay, it's not the same building. This building above didn't exist at the time,but I gave blood right across the way from here. I saw signs on the street that said "Don de sang,'' which means "Blood donation." I'd given blood at home often, so I went on up.

I met a cute guy named Pedro at the blood donation center. After I gave blood I was offered a huge sandwich, some schwag, and beer or wine. I declined the alcohol--I had to hurry to my Bulgarian class. When I arrived my professor, Mme Staneva, was shocked that I had done something so risky as to give blood.

Later in the story I met Pedro again and started going out with him. We were sitting outside Café Grand' Place one day, having a drink when Mme Staneva went by. I introduced them.

The story goes on from there, and even has an embedded Bulgarian vampire story in it.

Parts of the story actually happened, parts did not. The seed of truth was that I gave blood and my professor was appalled. She said, in her strong Bulgarian accent, "Priscilla, you must not to give blood. Is very dangerous thing to give blood. You promise me you never to give blood again." I did meet a guy named Pedro, and we did go out. I also spent a huge amount of time at that café.

I love the process of finding a story. I knew that I wanted to tell a story that included Pedro and dancing. Then one day I told my brother-in-law the anecdote about giving blood. He laughed just the right laugh, the one that indicated that there was a real story in there. I remembered that Pedro's hair came to a widow's peak. I also remembered that Mme Staneva chastised me the next time I gave blood. When I visited her the next summer in Bulgaria, she told her neighbor that I had given blood. Twice!

I muddled around with that for a while, thinking about the importance of blood in Bulgaria, where there are plenty of vampires in folklore. I went looking for a folktale. Aaah, perfect. How to chunk it in? Oh, right, have Mme Staneva tell it to me as a cautionary tale. Finish up the story with Pedro at the end.

I worked on that story with a class of middle school kids. They gave suggestions. I paid close attention to the parts of the story that worked. Where did they laugh? Where did they look confused? Was there anything extraneous that needed to be cut? Of course there was, there always is. A big part of story creation is paring away the unnecessary bits. Finally it felt ready. Done? No, stories tend to continue evolving. Sometimes the best they can be is ready.

I tell that story a few times a year. It's nice to be here in Belgium, where the seed was planted.

Louvain-la-Neuve

Thirty years ago (yikes!) I was a student at the Université Catholique de Louvain, in Louvain-la-Neuve, for my junior year of university. That is when I first met my friend Marie, with whom I stay when I visit Belgium. I knew Marie from Russian class, but only slightly. She became my real friend two years later when we both lived in Sofia, Bulgaria. Department of Small World. We've been good friends ever since.

At any rate, today I wandered around LLN. Without going into great detail, here's a short history: in the 1960s, there were linguistic differences between the French and Flemish, so the Catholic University of Louvain split in two. The Flemish stayed in the old city of Leuven, with the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven and the French began to build a city for the Université Catholique de Louvain in the middle of some fields. It was designed as a pedestrian city, with parking garages and streets below the buildings, though now there are quite a few cars up above. More than there were 30 years ago, at any rate.

It's strange that this university, founded in 1425 and boasting such luminaries as Erasmus and Mercator, should look so modern. There's constant building, too.

Here is the iconic picture of the Grand' Place.

When I first arrived, I lived in a dorm room in this building:
It was a large dorm where I didn't know anybody (not for lack of trying). I shared a bathroom with a woman who ignored me completely and had frequent loud parties. Here's Rue des Wallons, not far from the dorm.
Soon after, I moved across town to this place, which I shared with six Belgian students: It was much friendlier, and the building had just been built so it was clean. I learned a lot of French from living with these young women. They became my friends.

I also hung around with the other foreign students. My friend Silvia lived in this building, first window on the left, first floor (that's the second floor to Americans).
I'll say more about LLN and how it has changed in another post. Then back to stories.

Spiders

I know, you're wondering when this blog will get back to storytelling. Have patience and read on. I just had to post a couple of pictures of the spider on my neighbor's wall. It may be the largest arachnid I've ever seen.





I tell quite a few spider stories, some about the West African and Caribbean trickster Anansi, one about Robert the Bruce, and one my grandmother told me.

Gran always said that spiders were good luck. One day as she was walking out her back door, she noticed a spider's web across the doorway. She ducked down and to the side so she wouldn't break it. Just as she did that, a slate fell off the roof, narrowly missing her head. If she had not saved the spider's web, she would have been hit. Good luck, indeed.

My grandmother was proud that we are descendants of Robert the Bruce (as are thousands upon thousands of others). The great man had just escaped with his life after a fierce battle. He ran up into the hills. Hiding in a cave, he cursed the English, who had captured his dog and who would surely use it to track him down. He slept, waking only when the mornig sun hit his face. He saw a spider climb up the side of the entrance, jump across to the other side...and miss, falling to the ground. It crawled back up the side, jumped again...and missed again. He watched it climb six times. On the seventh, he said, "You'd better give up, spider. I tried and tried, like you, and look at me now, hiding in a cave. If you succeed in catching hold this next time, I'll take it as a sign that I should try again." He watched as the spider climbed up a seventh time, jumped across the gap, and caught. It began to spin its web. He ducked under it, went down from the cave and gathered his men. They then fought in the Battle of Bannockburn against the English, and won.

Whether this is in fact true is immaterial. It's a good story, and Granny understood the value of a good story. As do I.

Who's going to Brazil with me?

That is, which of my puppets, not which of my friends, will stow away in my luggage next week?



Trixie, definitely. Certainly the baby (no, she still doesn't have a name). Mavis has been begging to be allowed. Those three are shoe-ins. Trixie will take her giant toothbrush and will brush her hair with it. The baby will pop her binky out of her mouth. Mavis will talk on her tail-aphone. The poor little bug on the wall travels well, so he'll join us.



Who else? Kay, a.k.a. the old lady who swallowed a fly? She would be good, but she's big and has lots of snacks in her lunchbag. It depends on how much space I have in my luggage.



The Gunniwolf has been feeling a bit left out (and also slightly out of frame). He'd like to go on the trip, I'm sure. He--and his story--is quite good with young children.


Maybe Stephanie, who is the puppet I use when I tell Robert Munsch's Stephanie's Ponytail. She doesn't look like Stephanie in the book, but she has great hair (ignore my finger in the photo).



Any opinions?