House concert

The house concert of "Queen Berta and King Pippin" went well. About 30 people turned up at my sister's house with potluck snacks and food for the local pantry.  

I had gotten a stomach bug the night before, so I wasn't at my best, but when I'm performing, most physical ailments drop away. I focus so completely on the story and the audience that I override whatever might be bothering me. This has held true for most of my 21 years of storytelling, except a time years ago when I excused myself while telling at a senior meals site, went into the bathroom, threw up, came back and picked up the story at the next sentence--that was extreme. 

Anyway, I did leave out a few details in the story, but mostly it held together nicely. Afterwards, I asked if the audience had questions. While I did record the story (I haven't yet listened), I turned the recorder off for the Q and A. I wish I'd left it on, as the questions were all thoughtful. People asked about my sources for the story, about my process for learning and telling this and other stories, about my repertoire in general. Many people came up afterwards to ask more or to tell me their other insights about the story or about storytelling. 

Of course I love telling stories to children, but it's a treat to tell to adult audiences. Usually this happens at the Going Deep Long Traditional Story Retreat,  in house concerts or in performances I set up myself, such as when I rent a hall, send out press releases, put up flyers, e-mail everybody under the sun and hope twenty people show. House concerts are much less stressful for me.  When it's not my house, I'm not in charge of food or drink or even the seating. I don't have to deal with the invitations (or not much). All I have to do is turn up and do my best work. I love that. 

Thanks, Mary!

Queen Berta and King Pippin, yet again

I'm giving a house concert of "Queen Berta and King Pippin" tomorrow. Am I working on the story now? No. I'm simultaneously stalling and chastising myself for not working on it. This is my pattern. I know it, it happens often with large projects, and yet...

Still, I did work on "Queen Berta and King Pippin," a.k.a. "Berte aus grans pies" or "Berthe aux grands pieds," intensively while I was in Belgium. Because I didn't have performances every day, I set myself the task of translating the story into English. I began this two years ago, working from the Old French (OF). That was before I dug up the Modern French (MF) version (published in 1897, and delivered by mail from Belgium, coincidentally). I read the whole thing several times and slogged through translating about half of the OF. The last time I studied OF was 26 years ago.

I didn't need to prove to myself that I could translate the OF. What I wanted most was the story, so I worked on the translation from MF. Adenet Li Rois, the author of this Medieval work wrote it originally in verse. The MF version was in prose. Much easier. In both, there's lots of repetition, likely because the story was intended to be read aloud and that way the listeners could have a short reminder of where the reader left off in the previous session.

I did it! I finished on the Wednesday before I came home, fortunate as my friend had warned me that she wouldn't take me to the airport if I wasn't finished (my sweetie at home, when I told him this on the phone, said something along the lines of, "Ahem. I'll come get you in that case").

It was incredibly satisfying to get to the last page (165 in the book, translated to 70 in a single-spaced Word document), to chapter CXLIV.

Before I finished the translation, I told it twice in Belgium, also at Marie's kitchen table. You might remember that I told the story last year at the Going Deep Long Traditional Story Retreat, and I told it a few other times. Each telling gets a little richer.

I'm planning to run through it tomorrow morning, possibly on a walk where I can't interrupt myself to do laundry or bake bread or vacuum the living room or engage in any number of other stalling techniques.

Home from Going Deep, part II

After Olga's story, we went back to the house for dessert crepes. Did I mention the food yet? Every meal and snack was not only delicious but imaginative. Thanks to Lee and Mary, who fed us well.

In the morning, we were ready to talk about Olga's story. Though we didn't plan it this way, the morning workshops followed a pattern: the first half was a lively discussion of the story from the night before (process, images, correlations with other stories, metaphors, questions); the second half was about the broader themes or about specific story processes, with participatory exercises. We settled into the story and into our own stories.

It was raining on that second day. I needed to tell myself Queen Berta and King Pippin, so I went for a long walk, mumbling to myself the entire way. Part of my walk was down by the Ohio River. When my sneakers were too wet, I went inside and finished the story in my room, pacing around the bed.

That evening, I wore a red velvet trousers and jacket, a particularly good bargain from the 100 Good Women clothing swap ($1!). Olga and Liz assured me that it would be the right combination of comfort and elegance.

I did my best to record each of the evenings' performances. I did each one differently: with Olga's story I patched the recorder into the headset microphone, with my story I patched into the microphone on a stand, and Megan's story was recorded directly from a spot on the side of the stage area. I'm not sure how they sound yet--one of my tasks this weekend is to listen to these. They might just be our mediocre archival copies.

My performance felt pretty good. I'm trying not to be too critical--there are always parts I wish I had done differently. The audience seemed to like it. It was nice to have quite a few listeners who were not part of the festival workshops. Once again, we went back to the house, this time for cake (dinner for me) and wine.

It can be hard to sleep after telling one of these big stories with a brain full of images. I did eventually conk out, though, and was up early to get ready for my workshop. As Hope mentioned in her blog, participants felt strongly enough about the story that the discussion got really loud in the morning session. We talked, we sang, we told stories, and we wrote.

To be continued...

Home from Phoenix

It's 29 degrees Fahrenheit here. I've got a fire in the woodstove and am considering moving from the cold office to the warm living room (I don't usually keep the front doors open, but it made a better picture). What a contrast with last week in Phoenix, where it was 80 degrees. Not that I'd want to live in Phoenix (think of July!), but it was wonderful to bask in the warmth for a while.

In fact, the whole trip was pretty wonderful. On Monday, I told Queen Berta and King Pippin to Liz Warren's class on long stories at South Mountain Community College. The beginning storytelling class next door came over to listen as well. What a great audience! Afterwards we had a long discussion, with lots of useful feedback. Did I get a recording of it? I thought so, but it turns out I need to reread the manual on my minidisc recorder. Grrr.

I'm so impressed with the Storytelling Institute at South Mountain. If I lived in Phoenix, I'd take classes there to keep my skills sharp. The next day, I told stories to two more beginning storytelling classes, one Liz teaches and one taught by LynnAnn Wojciechowicz, director of the institute. I gave them a mix of stories and puppets, with storytelling tips thrown in for good measure. Very fun! I've had a couple of e-mails from students in LynnAnn's class since then.

The Outside In Storytelling Bootcamp began on Wednesday. That was my original reason for going to Phoenix. LynnAnn kindly gave me a ride over to the west side of Phoenix, as she was also attending the bootcamp. That was after an entertaining morning of hanging around with Liz and her husband Mark.

OISBC is the brainchild of Sean Buvala, director of Storyteller.net. When he called me last fall to ask if I'd be interested in being a co-presenter, I agreed right away. I knew that whatever Sean planned would be well worth attending. His idea is to use a corporate training model to teach storytellers how to succeed. The session last week focused on marketing. While I did give the participants my perspective on being a full-time storyteller, I also learned a ton. Sean has broad experience with marketing and he brought in a CPA to talk about taxes for one session. (More on the bootcamp in the March/April issue of Storytelling Magazine.)

One of the key elements of OISBC was the way the attendees bonded during the three days of intense learning. It was a lovely group. I'm looking forward to being in touch with the others, as we help each other keep on track. Sean blogged about it, with plenty of pictures, most taken by his daughters.

An added bonus was getting to meet and hang out with Sean's family (Kelsey, did you learn to drive yet?).

Stalling vs. hammock time

There's a difference in active stalling on a project or performance and necessary daydreaming time. Today I'm stalling. I have seven hours before my World Premiere of Queen Berta and King Pippin (tonight, Lawrence Visitor's Center/Union Pacific Depot, 8 p.m.). Am I working on the story? Am I thinking about working on the story? Am I kicking myself for not having even run through it once in the last week? Is my stomach in knots? Do I have to answer these completely unnecessary questions?

The story is ready. I know it. Could I do more work on it? Of course. I'll probably be uncovering new information within the story and within myself for years. I've only been working on this one for a little under a year, not counting from the time I first read an English version of it (maybe two or three years ago).

Here are some ways I've already stalled today:

• I had a long leisurely breakfast, then did the New York Times crossword online. I'm not sure if that counts, because I often do that,
• read a bunch of blogs unrelated to storytelling,
• made myself a delicious asparagus-cheddar omelette (have to keep my strength up),
• called a few friends about non-story stuff (dang, they weren't home!),
• looked around on the Internet for French radio stations. Listened to some,
• patted the cat,
• ate some chocolate,
  
• wrote this blog post.
  

It's early yet. There's still time to do a little online shoe shopping, run to the store for something unnecessary, wash the kitchen floor, clean the office, chop some firewood, freak out about not being ready, remember that I was going to make a program for tonight, go look at a house my friend is thinking of buying, talk to more friends on the phone, clean out my e-mail inbox.

I'm a gifted staller. Once when I had a big performance, I took the back off the dryer to clean out the lint. It gets better: I had to go to the hardware store to buy a socket wrench set in order to do that. Aaah, stalling at its very best.

This is different from hammock time. That's necessary daydreaming, incubation time for stories. Maybe that's the difference--hammock time is earlier in the process, before there's pressure. Stalling has much more anxiety to it.

For years I've been trying to find a way not to feel guilty about either of these behaviors. This seems to be how I work best. In college, I tended to write papers the night before they were due. I did the prep work in advance and then let the topic sit, percolating in the back of my mind. Once I decided that I would do a paper right away, as soon as it was assigned. I got a mediocre grade on it, while those written under pressure were much better.

Maybe I'll go for a walk.

The Story Is True

That's the book I'm loving at the moment, The Story is True by Bruce Jackson. Here's what he says in his introduction:

The Story Is True is about making and experiencing stories as something people do, as one of our basic social acts. It's about how stories work, how we use them, how they move about, how they change, how they change us. It is about stories we tell friends, family and strangers, and it is about stories made for us at a distance, such as movies, television programs, newspapers and books. It is about when it is appropriate to tell what kinds of stories, and when it is permissible to tell stories that don't make sense, stories that are crazy or incoherent or disconnected...

One of the reasons I'm enjoying this book so much is that Jackson uses examples from his own and others' lives--that is, stories. Though my work is usually concerned with "stories made for us at a distance," I'm fascinated also by the weird stuff we all tell each other.

Back to performance storytelling for a moment. In the beginning of Chapter 8, Jackson quotes John Barth in On with the Story: Stories. Here's the first part of that quote:

[I]t's in a story's Ending that its author pays (or fails to pay) his narrative/dramatic bills. Through Beginning and Middle the writer's credit is good so long as we're entertained enough to keep turning the pages. But when the story's action has built to its climax and started down the steep and slippery slope of denouement, every line counts, every word, and ever more so as we approach the final words...

This hit home. I've been working on Queen Berta and King Pippin, as I've got the World Premiere (yeah, I know how ridiculous that sounds, but I like it) next Friday. Two nights ago I told it to my friend Mianne, in hopes that it had smoothed out since the last run through. It has. She liked it.

The story fairly barrels along. I was aware the other night of how quickly I told the last part of it. The above quote reminds me to take a little more care at the end. Because I know what happens, I tend to rush. It's important to allow the audience to savor the story, let them enjoy the satisfying ending.

When I tell a story I take the listeners out on a journey. Unless there's a very good reason, I bring them home (yes, there are a few instances where we stay out in the forest, but it's on purpose). That's the piece John Barth is talking about, I think. If I do it right, the audience is pleased with the story, and so am I.


P.S. If you're near Lawrence, KS on Friday Feb. 15, come on down to the Lawrence Visitor's Bureau/Union Pacific Depot at the corner of Locust and N. 2nd (across from Johnny's Tavern, in case you want good pizza and a beer before the show) at 8 p.m. Queen Berta and King Pippin is for grownups and older kids (PG-9). The cost for this Post-Valentine's Day show? I'll pass the hat for a love offering, of course!

Queen Berta at the Depot

The World Premiere of Queen Berta and King Pippin is set! That is, the first public performance will be Friday, February 15 at 8:00 p.m. at the Lawrence Visitor's Center (the former Union Pacific Depot), at the corner of Locust and N. 2nd St. in North Lawrence. You heard it here.

I've done five or six performances at the depot (I can't get myself to call it the Visitor's Center). It's a beautiful building on the outside, a classic old train station, with nice landscaping. Inside, it's okay. The floor is brown linoleum. Very brown. There are various light settings, so it's not stark fluorescent, and I usually bring a small oriental rug and a table to serve as a set and help soften the institutional feel to the place.

Though the trains don't stop at the station, they do go by. Lots of them, mostly full of coal or other heavy freight. I live nearby and every time they pass, the house shakes. I don't know how many per day because I no longer notice them when I'm at home, but the folks at the depot told me there were 50-75. I do notice when I'm performing there or in my backyard and sometimes when I'm on the phone inside the house. When I'm telling Medieval stories, the sound is more than a bit anachronistic. My hope is that this story will be compelling enough that nobody notices.