THE ART OF STORYTELLING: PART II: A BRIEF HISTORY OF ORAL STORYTELLING by Penny Hutson

Storytelling is one of the oldest art forms. Historians believe people told stories orally long before the invention of written language or any writing instruments. The earliest stories were likely simple chants and myths created to explain natural occurrences. Over the years, more intricate stories of gods and goddesses, monsters, and people with superhuman qualities emerged, creating the hero tale.

During the Middle Ages, oral storytelling became a favorite pastime. Minstrels, bards, and troubadours roamed the countryside in Eastern Europe. They knew all the popular tales, noteworthy university theses, scandals of the royal court, and the healing power of herbs and simple medicines. Many learned to play whatever instruments were in favor at court and compose verses at a moment's notice. In a way, they acted as modern-day journalists keeping society informed of local and world of affairs; but they were also entertainers, which is likely why they were welcomed at the royal courts, villages, and marketplaces alike.

With the invention of moveable type and the printing press, however, interest in oral storytelling declined as more people learned to read. By the 1800s folktales became popular with the publication of the Grimm’s Fairytales, Hans Christian Anderson folktales, and other collected regional stories.

By the early 1900s, there was a rise in oral storytelling again thanks to Marie Shedlock, a schoolteacher in England, who became the first professional oral storyteller. She toured in Europe and the United States and proposed oral storytelling as a natural way to introduce literature to children. She’s also credited with inspiring the first storytelling organization, The National Story League, created in 1903, which is still in operation today.

Then, with the invention of the television, oral storytelling declined again until the 1970s when other storytelling organizations formed. In 1973 the first National Storytelling Festival was created in Jonesborough, TN, and is still held annually. Similar scenarios began happening in England and other places around the world. Currently, there are dozens of storytelling festivals and hundreds of professional storytellers around the world, including an international celebration on World Storytelling Day every March 20.

Since the early 2000s, the internet has connected storytellers from all over the globe and helped to increase interest in telling stories, both written and oral. Ordinary people’s personal stories, true crime, and the lives of famous people are particularly popular right now.

There are many online sites, as well as television programs dedicated to storytelling, such as the Public Broadcasting Service’s (PBS) “On Story” and Music Television’s (MTV) “Storytellers.” Currently, people’s personal stories – funny, sad, scary, and just plain interesting ones are very popular.

I don’t know what storytelling will look like in the future, but I am certain it will still be around in some form or another. Storytelling has stood the test of time and appears to be endemic to the very fabric of humanity itself.

So, when’s the last time someone told you a good story? If it’s been a while, tune into a radio station like the Moth Radio Hour, find a storytelling program on TV, listen to a podcast or Utube channel, or check out an audio book from your local library. Experience the magic and power of the spoken word. It may surprise you.

THE ART OF STORYTELLING: PART I: THE CONNECTION TO CHARACTER By Penny Hutson

Have you ever wondered what makes readers like some stories more than others or why some stories last for ages and others do not?

Just as Robert Ripley's famous series dares us to "Believe It or Not!" I assert that while all good stories contain many of the same elements, to create a riveting tale that readers can't put down, there is one simple yet powerful tool you can use to create such stories. 

Common Elements in a Good Story

First, and foremost, a story must entertain. I don’t mean it can’t be serious or important, nor am I suggesting stories should all be amusing or light-hearted; but a good story is engaging, interesting, or enjoyable to its audience. This may account for the popularity of the traveling troubadours and bards of the Middle Ages. They knew all the popular tales, as well as the noteworthy theses from the universities, the healing power of herbs and simple medicines, and the scandals of the royal court. Many also played one or more instruments and could compose poetry at a moment’s notice. Essentially, they knew what their audience wanted to hear, and they delivered it. 

Believing in Things by Judy Fowler

  

 

                                                As a kid, I believed I could save Tinker Bell’s life by clapping. I tried it during a televised live broadcast of Peter Pan, and it worked. I’ll never forget the tingling sensation at the back of my neck when I clapped my hands in our den on Long Island, and she revived onscreen. 

When my Sunday school teacher taught us the song “Jesus Loves Me,” I believed every word and enjoyed the positive feedback. 

When I pledged "allegiance to the flag, and to the republic for Richard Sands,” I believed he must have been one of my country's founding fathers. 

Five nights a week, my tired commuter dad descended from a sooty Long Island Railroad train out of New York City. My mother taught me a bedtime prayer, which included a request that God “deliver us not into Penn Station." This prayer made sense.  

Some beliefs involved nuance. The fine print about believing in Santa Claus meant that I also had to believe he had some frightening means of tracking my behavior for 364 days and nights before deciding if I’d been good enough to get presents. 

Did you, as I did, believe that a tiny fairy lifted your head, as heavy as a bowling ball, with one hand while she deposited money under your pillow and removed the tooth you'd put there with her other hand, all without waking you up? Sure you did. The appearance of cold, hard cash was all the proof one needed.  

Proof also existed that an Easter bunny entered and left my parents' house once each spring to deposit a load of multi-colored eggs in the living room. Wasn't I standing there each year with a basket of evidence? In the excitement of the hunt, I never asked how the rabbit got in or why a rabbit laid chicken eggs. 

I felt skeptical about some things, like how my father could find Jones Beach without a map.  I remember leaning forward from the back seat of the station wagon to ask him about it. “But Daddy, how do you know where it is?” 

“I just do,” he said. Dad believed in knowing without any training delays. And he did play the piano by ear. When he gave me a bike, he believed I'd know how to pedal it. One surprise push downhill made me believe that not all adults are gifted teachers. 

There are moments when faith fails us. Before I believed I'd ever climb the apple tree in my friend’s yard, I watched her climb. 

“Come on!” she’d say. "It's easy." 

“I can’t do it,” I answered day after day. It took weeks, but once I believed I could reach the first branch, I was up there, believing there'd be a way down.

 I was twelve when two scary-looking Secret Service agents pulled me out of the House of Representatives gallery to ask why I’d taken my camera inside and snapped a photo of my congressperson. Worse still, they demanded that I tell them my zip code, which I didn't know. That day, I began to believe in reading posted signs and always carrying my address. 

My last belief before leaving college was that I could audition and get the lead in my senior class musical. Believe me: I still treasure that Playbill!

Most of us sloughed off childish beliefs once we were on our own and independent. I traded mine for one new one: faith that if I held on to whatever job I had, it would pay for my rent and health insurance. Recalling a James Thurber cartoon, I began identifying with the father who tells his child, “Well, I’m disenchanted, too. We’re all disenchanted.”  

In retirement, however, I’ve reaffirmed my faith in the unlikely. Yesterday, I got a preview of my friend Mike Rigg's soon-to-be-released mystery novel, Voices of the Elysian Fields. When he and I met at a writing conference six years ago, we dreamt of finishing and publishing a 2,000-word story. I'd joined a friendly critique group but was so self-conscious that I refused to read them my work. I told myself that maybe in a month or two, just as I'd eventually climbed that apple tree, a day would come when I'd get up and just get it over with. And that day came. After watching Mike edit his book for a year, my newest belief is that a day will come when I, too, am eager to revise.

What belief would benefit you this year?