Samplings of Stories

Story Paths

(To hear this newsletter with nifty music and sound effects, have a listen to the audio. You can listen here, or look up Story Paths in any podcasting place)

Welcome to the Story Paths Newsletter and Podcast. We Are One Week Out…

Wait, gotta turn off those capital letter before each word.

Not Everything is a Title!

Ahem.

Next week I’ll be launching the first gale in a storm of story-learning goodnesses, the first course in a feast of nourishing and tasty offerings for thee and thine.

Today, for the pleasure of your narrative organ (right beside your third kidney), I offer you a wee sample of the dishes to come.

1. Story Elements

Part One: Journeys

Matriarch of the Desert

Imagine a vast desert. It's not dry all year. No, there are shrubs and tough, scrappy trees. Sometimes it floods, and latent seeds burst through clay soil to spread their seeds upon the wind.

It's not always dry, but it sure is now. And you, as an elephant, need a lot of water. You can conserve and survive for quite a while, sure. But as the sun crosses the cloudless sky, your thick skin is drying out. You lift your trunk to toss dust on your back, deflecting a little of the harsh light. You lead the others, one plodding step at a time.

There is a watering hole. Far, far away. You've been there before, for you are the matriarch, the memory keeper. You lead the others across the cracked ground, trusting your memory, bound in with the land lines and dried river lines. The stony landmarks and the scent of particular trees. Death follows you and your herd, a shadow moving just behind you.

As the shadows of the hills lengthen with the setting of the sun, you move toward water, toward life, and perhaps you will make it before this shadow overtakes you, leaving only bones and tusks to greet the coming rains. You walk. You lead them. You remember.

Well hey there, fellow human. How are you like this elephant? What do you remember, even if you’ve never lived it, that you’re leading others toward?

2. Storyteller's Diary: Tales for the Trees Upon My Trail.

When learning to see stories, it's helpful to take notes. Here in this diary, I scribe the tale of my life.

May it serve to kindle your tales and tellings.

There is where I set out on the ice, when the conditions of the lake's surface were perfect to skate. And there's where I helped my beloved skate for the first time. Her start was wobbly, but she made it all the way across the lake and back.

Then I skated in circles, and even though it was the middle of a cold winter, I had to take my shirt off. I had to sing, whoop and howl.

There now is a pickup truck by the lake, with cattle ranchers getting out, checking on their herd. In this valley of cow-worshipping vegetarians, this truck feels like a fiery skull on wheels, a chariot sent by Hades. The men hold smoldering scimitars, waiting for the right moment to murder the herd. In the long winter, these grazers kept me company in this sparse, arid, wide, broad, stony lands.

Tell me of a land that is dear to you, a land with whom you share memories. Is there a place that, when you go there, even if it has been years since you’ve come, old times become present with you now?

I’d like to hear about it.

3. Everyday Epics

Beneath sea storms, and underneath the deepest divers, ocean bedrock hums.

Are there stories like this, that seep structure up to the storm of the everyday?

Let us peer into the depths together.

Here's a tale.

There was once a monster who devoured entire rivers, and bit deeply into mountains.

A man who loved these lands strove valiantly for many days, and finally managed to complete a powerful fence to surround and protect this beautiful land.

This fence kept the monster out, but it also kept out those who had so lovingly roamed the land. The land sorely missed their touches, songs, and sprinkles of nourishing dust.

Can you guess what this story refers to in real life?

Storyteller’s diary, Story Elements, and Everyday Epics. These are three kinds of foods I’ll be sharing with you, progressively, with a different taste each time.

Here, one week out from the , I would like to offer an invocation.

This is to the universe and the spark of life within us, to the Holy.

I cast out a challenge, and a listening. For 90 days, I will put many creations out into the fire-powered web of magical stone slates. This text is one such signal. If this is pleasing to you, I ask you to feed this endeavour in whichever way you see best.

For my part, I’m welcoming enriching collaborations. I have set up a subscription service, asking five of our common tokens per month, a month being about a 12th of our world's regular pilgrimage around our sun. If 50 of my species choose to subscribe to this service, I will offer them a monthly workshop. If more… well, let's just start with that. But I see more workshops, ones that help people collaborate in different ways. I see people bringing their people along, and using these workshops as incubators. I see that these workshops will help them collaborate with one another, and bring out their gifts in a fun and playful way.

I digress, and you have many more worthwhile entreaties to hear. I have many plans and ideas.

But here is me now, listening.

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