Glossophobia – one in four folks report having it. All my life, somehow, folks have noticed I do NOT have that affliction. As a result, I’ve been thrust out to be spokesman of one kind or another since kindergarten. . . but that’s another story.
Speaking of “story,” I’m just finishing up my ninth class offered by South Mountain Community College’s Storytelling Institute, namely, Telling Sacred Stories from Around the World. This class was a wee bit different, though, from my other classes, and for a couple of reasons. One: the high caliber of tellers in the class! When a quarter of the class is storytelling teachers, and another quarter seasoned tellers-in-training—watch out! The bar is raised. Period.
Second: in this class, each student was placed before a rustic backdrop, and hooked up to a wireless lapel microphone. . . because each in-class telling was videotaped, and audio recorded, to potentially be placed online as part of “I’m Telling!”, the SMCC Storytelling Institute’s podcast; “Real Stories/Real Students.” Now, I’ve performed live before thousands of people before. . . but there’s something about telling, knowing your tale’ll be in people’s ear buds, and they can listen to your words over and over and over again. . . That kinda made me think!
Funny, though: I’ve also been recording audiobooks since 2011, juggling multiple characters in an isolated sound booth, sometimes without even a full-read through. It is also necessary to make as few stops and re-takes as possible. That’s pressure, too. But, it didn’t make me pause as much as did “storytelling for audio.” Why?
An audiobook has a fixed script, an arched story that the author has – we trust – pored over, amended, honed, and polished over time. That done, all that I, as the professional reader, have to do is pick it up, and pour emotion over the words. The dramatic arc is already in place, and the power of each of my words – and pauses – must be committed to the energy and intent of that scene, as determined by the author’s choice of words, and structuring of the story.
That, too, is true of oral literature. It has its arc, its characters, its conflict and resolution. However, a true piece of traditional storytelling, or spinnin’, is not only crafted prior to its performance in public. Spinnin’ also demands in-the-moment, on-the-fly composition, editing, revising, and embellishing. Why? Because how a story is spun live is based upon, and determined by, the composition of, and interaction of, the listening audience. If you’re really spinnin’, each time you rise to tell a tale, it’s a different - ‘cause the listeners are not the same, and the dance of words, and images, and feelings is forever a give-and-take.
Knowing that power of spinnin’, and being able to raise an eyebrow, or stick out a belly, or lay a finger aside of my nose to finish a thought I’m sharing with the live audience. . . doesn’t help at all the listener in, say, Kyrgyzstan, who has only what they hear, and feel through that hearing.
That is the quandary I felt in my classroom this semester: how to best serve the people before me by spinnin’. . . .and responsibly provide a good experience for the listener miles and miles and months and months away from PAC 739 on campus at South Mountain Community College.
Well, I believe that experience has shown me an answer: courage. If I’m willing to honestly emotionally connect with what’s happening in my spun tale – personal, folk tale, or legend notwithstanding – the faraway listener will be carried along, too—just as is done while reading an audiobook. The difference is choice. You chose to stand up and tell your story for a reason (or vice versa). When you discover that reason, that’s the fuel, the power to spin your tale; no problemo.
So, my in-class, audio- and video recorded telling of Bodhidharma’s years with the Former General, Shen Guang, was a tale of frustration and devotion for the character, but also resonated deeply with my own decades of searching to find a Master.
Oh, yes. Speaking your Truth while sharing your story is frightening – perhaps even glossophobia-invoking. But, at the end, after successfully sailing that sea of emotion, and bringing your audience safely home in resolution and revelation, is the golden gift of spinnin’.
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