Q is for...quiet

I have a great need for quiet in my life if I am to be creative. I need time and space around me within which I can think. I certainly need to be listened to, need to talk and think things through with friends, but quiet is where it starts.

That quiet can actually be quite noisy. It could be the rumble of a coffee shop, the crash-and-hiss of the ocean, the wind in trees... any kind of white noise works as well as quiet. What doesn't support my creative process is interruption, directed noise or voices I need to attend to. I don't work well if the music around me is in English, for example.

It's important that we figure out what kind of environments support our creativity. I know I need quiet, I need blocks of time, I need good light and a comfortable place to curl up. What do you need?  What fosters and supports your creativity?

And if you are in the position of helping others be creative, what do they need? Do cubicles and florescent lights really support their creativity? What might help?

Put some thought into your environment. Find the quiet and space you need to listen to the still, small voice inside. You might be surprised by what it has to say.

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

The Storytelling Alphabet, k-p

As you know by now, I'm blogging the storytelling alphabet daily through May. You can see Part 1 here and Part 2 here. This week we covered k-p; here is a summary.

K is for Karma
What goes around comes around. When storytellers are good listeners, help other tellers and behave ethically, it helps them and their communities. There is abundance for all. You can read K is for Karma here. 

L is for Listening
Storytelling starts with listening. Storytellers need to listen to the world around them for material. We need to listen to other tellers to learn more about telling and to support each other. We need to be listened to, in order to hone our craft. The world is a better place when we listen more. You can read L is for Listening here. 

M is for Monsters
As storytellers, we are intimate with monsters. Not only the monsters that haunt any artist, but the monsters in our material. When we understand our monsters better we can build more sympathetic characters and a better relationship with the audience. You can read M is for Monsters here.

N is for Nonsense and News
Some tips and tricks on the value of nonsense in stories.  And some thoughts about what to do when the news intrudes on our storytelling life and how to accept and incorporate outside events into our arts. You can read N is for News here. 

O is for Opportunity
We never know when we'll have the opportunity to tell a needed story, hear the right tale or get a gig. We need to be open to opportunity and accept it in all its guises. You can read O is for Opportunity here. 

P is for Practice
Storytelling is like any other art: We need to practice. It can be hard to remember this in the drunken moment of performance, but everything we do is part of our storytelling practice. Some tips and tricks for practicing stories. You can read P is for Practice here. 

We're on the downhill side of the alphabet now. Stay tuned to find out hos I handle Q,  and Z!

(c) 2013 Laura Packer

P is for... practice

You know how to get to Carnegie Hall, right? Practice.

It's easy, in the first flush of falling in love with storytelling and the audience, to forget that we need to apply as much time and practice to our art as any other artist does. Because so much of we do is about connecting with the audience, many novice tellers pretend we don't need to work, craft and practice before we get up on stage. But we do.

The best storytellers I know are diligent about practice. They work on their craft like they're building houses, starting from the foundation up, paying attention to each and every corner and window. It's work. It takes practice.

There are many ways you can practice your craft. I do all of these.

• Write an outline. Remove all the excess and tell only from the sparse notes.
• Find a trusted friend and tell your story to them. Ask them to tell you the things they love the most about the story.
• Tell your story to a tree or the ocean. You might hear things you didn't notice before.
• Hold a small house concert. Invite people who will be happy to hear a practice run. Wine might help.
• Video yourself telling. Then watch, so you can see what body language worked and what didn't.
• Hire a story coach or director. They have experience and an eye that might be quite useful.
• Go to an open mic and tell part of the piece there. Nothing like having a live audience to help you along.

You story may very well change as you practice. Let it. These changes might be great new facets you never before explored. And don't be afraid to let parts fall by the wayside. It doesn't mean they're bad, just that they might belong somewhere else.

Remember that each telling experience is a chance to practice. Because storytelling is such a flexible art, your story will change with each telling, but practice means you know the rhythms of the story. You know the hard places. You know how audiences tend to react and you're prepared when they react in new ways.

And besides, practice is really just a chance to tell your story again. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy your storytelling practice. And isn't it grand that we can always learn more about our art and craft!

I'd love to know what practice techniques work for you.

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

O is for... opportunity

I love the letter O. I love its openness and roundness and the possibility it suggests. O is for optimism and opportunity. 

We never know when a chance to tell stories will come upon us. I have found myself unexpectedly telling stories on public transit, in business meetings, in hospital and to random strangers on the street. We never know when the universe will say here. Now. Tell a story. Here is an opportunity to share. We need to pay attention for these opportunities and be ready when they arise. Don’t be afraid.

What’s more, we never know when we will be given the gift of story fodder, the opportunity to craft a story out of the world around us. It might be in the overheard conversation, in a moment inspired by a book or movie, in the time spent with strangers or loved ones. We never know when the universe will say shut up. Listen. Here is an opportunity to hear something magnificent. We need to pay attention for these opportunities too, and remember that storytelling starts with listening.

Beyond opportunities to remember we live in a world rich with story that needs ours as much as anyone else’s, we also never know when we will have an opportunity for work. It could arise out of a casual conversation, a referral, almost anything. We just need to remember to be grateful and to be ethical in the work we do. But really, we never know when the universe will say try this. You’ll be great. We need to pay attention for these opportunities as well, strive to make them and accept them when they arise. And, because the universe sometimes needs a bit of help, carry business cards. 

All of this reminds me of a joke. 

There was a great flood and a man found himself stranded on the roof of his home. He began to pray, asking God to rescue him. After a few minutes some people in a canoe came along and invited him in. “No,” he replied, “I’m fine. God will take care of me.” 

He kept praying. The water kept rising. It lapped at the edges of the roof.

Soon some people in a rowboat drifted by and asked if he needed help. “No,” he replied, “I’m fine. God will take care of me.”

He kept praying. The water kept rising. Now the water was as high as his toes.

Soon a helicopter hovered over him. They threw down a ladder and called out, “Climb on!”

“No,” he replied, “I’m fine. God will take care of me.” 

The helicopter roared away. He kept praying. The water kept rising. Soon the house began to shudder and then it collapsed underneath him. Try as he might, he soon drowned.

The man found himself in Heaven. He asked God, “Why didn’t you help? I prayed!”

And God replied, “Hey, I sent two boats and helicopter, what more did you want?”

The storyteller’s work fits in just about anywhere. We just need to pay attention and the opportunities are there.

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

N is for... nonsense and news

We're over halfway through the storytelling alphabet journey! To celebrate, we'll cover two topics today, nonsense and news, though the two are often indistinguishable.

Nonsense is delightful, regardless of the age of your audience. A bit of nonsense can be inserted into a tale as a kind of repeating chorus. It can also be a touchstone that identifies specific characters or places. I tell a series of stories about Crazy Jane, a holy fool. These stories are generally told to adults, though kids like them, too. Most Crazy Jane stories include some kind of nonsensical event or language early on, because Crazy Jane is crazy - she revels in nonsense, in rhymes and riddle and things that are just silly. The story may eventually go in a much more somber direction, but the silly start lets the audience know that this is Crazy Jane, she is crazy and wild and unpredictable.

Other storytellers have used nonsense to great effect. Brother Blue would routinely insert scat into his stories. These nonsense syllables were punctuation, a way he could give both himself and the audience a chance to pause and think about the story. It was one of his signature storytelling moments.

Even business speakers might find a bit of nonsense useful; you can use it to contrast your real facts and figures or to poke fun at the seriousness of the moment.

It's worth playing around with nonsense and seeing what you make of it. You might find great sense hidden there.

A less intentional kind of nonsense is the news. We are surrounded by a steady stream of current events coverage, making it very hard to escape the challenging events that seem to occur daily in this world we live in. As storytellers, we can talk about news events in a variety of ways.

• We can tell personal stories about our reaction to the news. This could include recollections, stories about people we know or have created who were present during an event, or other realistic stories. These stories help us all remember we're not alone in our reactions to these difficult times and can bring new information to your listeners.  The danger is that the storyteller must be able to tell the tale without falling apart. You don't want your audience to have to take care of you, instead of being immersed in their own response to the story.
• We can tell allegories. Many traditional stories can easily be recast into responses to current events. This lets us think about the tough stuff through metaphor. Just make sure your audience has room to come to the metaphor on their own terms. Equally, understand what your story is about. I recently retold The Abduction of Persephone from her mother's point of view; this was a week or two after the shootings in Newtown, CT. It was only midway through the story that I realized I was telling a story of parental grief, so we could all grieve these lost children. It was a hard moment in the telling, when I had to rely on all of professionalism to keep going. I've written more about that experience here and you can see the performance here. 
• We can acknowledge the event and move on. Sometimes we just need to move past something and proceed as we originally intended. If the event is big enough, it becomes another presence in the room. Acknowledging it means your listeners know that you understand why they might be distracted. They know you are, too. And they know that together perhaps you can escape for just a little while.
• We can use the event to create a new story. How many of us have stories about where we were when we heard about 9/11? The Challenger explosion? The King and Kennedy assassinations? What about a story of foreclosure or marching for civil rights or watching the moon landing? We can take those moments after they've had time to crust over, put them in a personal and historical context, and build something new. We can share our lives and our history with each other, using those moments as a way to talk about something else entirely.

Every storyteller will have to contend with the world beyond their performance. We are lucky, our work is about connecting with other human beings. When we remember we are of the world, not separate from it, even the most difficult moment can be wrapped in story.

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

M is for... monsters

Oh, but there are monsters in the world! As storytellers, we can talk about monsters, real and imagined, in safer ways, venturing to the edge of the world and back. We can conjure kraken and werewolves and vampires and ghosts, just as easily as we talk about real life monsters.

Whenever I tell a story with a monster in it, I ask myself:

• Who really is the monster? Imagine how that poor hungry wolf felt, being denied a meal by those greedy pigs. And maybe Goldilocks is really a story about a home invasion. If my monster is the expected villain, I still try to understand them. Are they simply evil? Are they angry? What's going on?
• What is the monster's point of view? It can be very interesting, exploring the story from the other side. Telling the story from the monster's POV but letting it remain monstrous is an interesting challenge, one worth exploring if you have the time.
• Where does the monster belong? Maybe my listeners never need to really see the monster, the threat might be enough.
• When do I want to reveal the monster? And how terrifying is it once revealed? 
• Does the monster change as the story progresses? Do I want to build sympathy for it or do I want it to remain terrible?
• And ultimately, why is the monster there? What would happen if I told the story without the monster in it? Would it still get my point across?

When I tell a story with a real-life monster, I may need to do some internal work to make sure I'm ready to tell it. It doesn't help if my fear of my third grade bully is still making me shake. I need to make the bully terrifying, sure, but I also need to make the bully as real for the audience as the fear is. If the monster is a subtle one - say a problem at work or an intractable situation - then I need to make sure I set it carefully in its context.

There are certainly standard monsters - ghosts, goblins, ghoulies, giants, (and other things that don't start with g) etc - but I also sometimes consider if there might be a hidden monster in a story. If I'm telling Demeter's story, is her grief monstrous? Does it drive her to do terrible things? If I think of the grief as its own monstrous character, how does the story change? What if I'm the monster?

We are surrounded by monsters. We often are monsters. As storytellers, we explore the darkness with narrative as our torch. If you know your monsters inside and out your telling will be richer, more believable and your audience will more willingly venture into the unknown, here-there-be-monsters places with you.

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

L is for... listening

This post was originally published back in 2011. It still captures much of what I want to say about Listening.

There is a wonderful program called This I Believe, in which various people, some well-known and most everyday, wrote and read essays on their core beliefs. These ranged from forgiveness to science to faith and more. I would listen to these essays on NPR, transfixed. I was moved to write my own This I Believe essay; I ended up writing more than one, as I found I have several core beliefs. But I kept coming back to the same thing. 

I believe in listening. When asked to define myself, I often start with, “I am a listener.”

This may seem like an odd thing for a storyteller to say, after all, my craft requires people to listen to me, do I have to listen to them? Yes. When you think about it, storytelling starts with listening. Without a listener, the storyteller, no matter how superb, is talking to the wind. The wind may be an excellent listener, however because storytelling is an experience based on relationships, and most of us don’t have two-way relationships with the wind, we need active and engaged listeners. Storytellers listen to their audiences while they tell their stories and shape the tale to meet the needs of the audience. It’s a relationship, a dance, not just a rote performance.

Storytellers who listen to the world around them in their daily lives can craft stories that are more readily recognizable, where the audience can find themselves and their own story with more ease. These stories, where the audience doesn’t have to work as hard, give the storyteller a way to reach their listeners and connect with them more deeply, thus creating a more satisfying experience to all. We’re more likely to remember a story where we found ourselves, in some way, than a story we found completely alien. We’re all Luke Skywalker, Little Red Riding Hood and The Big Bad Wolf, after all.

But there’s more to it than that. We all need to be listeners to the world. When we listen intently to those around us, we have a much better chance of understanding them. We also model for them the way we want to be listened to. Have you ever had a conversation with someone where you were interrupted constantly? Where that person kept diverting the conversation to themselves? Where your experiences were only launching pads to their own stories? We have a chronic listening deficit in the western world (maybe globally, I don’t know). We are taught from a very young age that if we shut up and listen we’re passive, giving up the advantage, that we won’t gain anything from the interaction. I disagree. By listening to those around me, by giving those with the greatest need to talk a chance to be heard, I have forged deep and meaningful relationships, helped people find their place in the world and ultimately had opportunities to express my own ideas in a wider range of forums than I would have otherwise. 

Listening is the base of every workshop I teach; it’s inevitably the hardest part for participants. Being still and listening to others is harder than standing up and telling a story, harder than finding a new company vision, harder than working through your own life for your next story. Without listening, without being listened to and listening to others carefully, all of these tasks become much more challenging. 

We can learn to be better listeners, it’s a skill like any other.

Next time you’re talking to someone you love, just listen to them. Don’t interrupt with a question or your opinion, just pay attention and listen. Wait until they wind down before you praise, ask or empathize. You may learn something you never knew.

Try sometime just letting the interrupter talk. Listen to them. You may find they wind down after a while and become your ally because you are the person who took the time to hear them. 

Listen to those whose views you oppose. You may find they have the same basic concerns that you do. They love their families, care about their communities and want to be happy just as much as you do. By listening to them you may teach them that the enemy isn’t so frightening after all. If you can extend them that kindness maybe they can extend it back to you.

Leaders need to be great listeners. They need to remember that everyone in their organization has their own measure of wisdom as well as opinion. By listening to them you may learn things you never knew about process, engagement, success or failure and potential improvement. But you need to be willing to listen.

It’s not easy. We want to share our own stories and have our own voice. You will have that chance, but if you can listen, you may learn more about the world and yourself than you ever expected.

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer