As I was reading my friend Csenge’s blog today, I was taken back to a middle school gig I had several years ago. I was hired by a PTA Cultural Arts Liaison to tell stories to 7th and 8th graders. Based on what she had heard me do, for the 8th graders she booked fractured fairy tales from my “Groundhogs Meet Grimm” collection and for the 7th graders she booked my long story about the First Battle of Fredericksburg, “What Was Civil About that War…” The programs would complement curriculum guidelines for language arts and Virginia history. Public education in Virginia is all about adhering to curriculum guidelines.
This was several years ago. I was still new to freelance performing. I came to the work with polished stories, but I didn’t yet realize that a storytelling concert consisting entirely of stories is a lot like a work of art thumbtacked to the wall. Chances are good that people who approach the work looking for art will see what they came to see; but someone accidentally wandering into the room is likely to miss it or disregard it.
The 8th graders were escorted into the assembly space under the glaring eye of the lead language arts teacher, who told them to be respectful and polite — or pay dire consequences. Then, choosing a seat where she could keep an eye on them and glance occasionally at me, she took out a folder and started grading papers.
No one was there to introduce me. So I introduced myself and launched into my stories. Half of the kids were tuned in. Half were tuned out. Nobody made any noise, though. The teacher praised them for their good manners and marched them back to class.
Time for the 7th graders. Instant replay. This time with the social studies lead teacher.
I don’t remember ever feeling more exhausted as I driving home from a gig.
A few weeks later, the PTA Cultural Arts Liaison sent me copies of the evaluation forms some of the teachers had submitted. All the comments were tepid, teetering toward the “favorable” end of the spectrum, but just barely. Except for one teacher’s, whose comments went something like this: “Last year we had a dance troupe that got some of the kids up onstage with them. The magician who came used kids to help with his tricks. I would have thought a storyteller could have involved them, too, instead of making them just sit there for 45 minutes. Heaven knows they get talked at enough.”
That’s when I started learning just how important emcees are. That’s when I began to see that no matter how strong a story is, not matter how solid a program, sometimes the story, the program needs support — support in the form of a commercial message on behalf of Storytelling.
Now, whenever I address a new audience, I open with a short commercial. I make sure all the grownups in attendance know that what I am about is not passive entertainment. Here’s an approximation of my 45 second spot:
“I’ve brought some stories for you today, but as you can see, I didn’t bring any books. That’s ’cause I’m a storyteller. I don’t read my stories. I tell them.
“Now, let me explain something about storytelling. See, if I’m standing up here telling a story in an empty room, that’s not storytelling. I call that rehearsing. You might call it ‘an old woman talking to herself.’ There’s no storytelling without storylistening. I gotta have you all with me in order for it to work. It’s like magic. When you listen to the words of my story, you start making pictures in your imaginations, and I can see it, I can feel it — we’re all inside the story, together.
“You know, if you were the assistant principal standing there in the doorway and all you could see was the backs of your heads, it wouldn’t look any different than if you all were staring slack-jawed at a TV screen. But this isn’t like TV, because I can see you, too. If your assistant principal came up here where I am and saw your faces — she’d know just how busy all of you were inventing your own story inside your heads.
“It’s something called ‘collaborative art.’”
That’s my frame. Keeps the art from spilling. And you know what? It really works. Teachers will voluntarily put down their grading pencils and let themselves into the narrative.
This is a wonderful page. I’ve been wondering through all of Megan’s web-site, since she is here in Cleveland, TN, right now for our Ocoee Storyfest.
What a wonderful time we are having with her. Not only is she a terrific storyteller and knows how to work with children of all ages, but she’s so much fun. Tonight’s concert is in two hours. Can’t wait. Thanks for all the messages about this subject. You’ve helped me, tons.
Yes! Taking a few minutes to talk with the group and letting them get to know you up close and personal is so important. This holds the same for younger groups who are obviously on the ceiling even before you open your mouth (many times this is one of the few times they’ve been in front of a live performer) In an all school assembly of 300 plus kids this can be a disaster waiting to happen. I had a group like this yesterday. Ten years ago I would have lost all hope and just gotten up there and started to plow through my material. Yesterday when I got up I first peeled them off the ceiling and then spoke about what their part in the storytelling was. This took some time but we all had a really enjoyable and rewarding time together. I was’t able to do all of the material that I’d hoped to do but we both got so much more out of the experience.
You have to ask yourself, What’s the goal here? To get through all your material, or to give the kids something they’ll comprehend and remember. In many respects, every gig is an unknown quantity. Maybe some time you’ll share your peel-them-off-the-ceiling techniques…
Many times I’ll start by singing a quiet song (like they say “music soothes the savage beast”) After singing a short verse or two I’ll stop singing but keep playing softly on the banjo and start talking to them (this doesn’t get them back into the clapping and cheering mode) I’ll start talking to them about what to expect from me and what I expect from them. I have the advantage of the banjo (which is an immediate attention grabber) but the same can be done by singing a quiet a cappella song and then start to hum the tune and go directly into your spiel before they can start to get loud again.
Great post, Megan. When people go to the theater, they know what to expect. That’s often not true when they go to storytelling. I went to a choral concert last week in which the conductor actually told the audience that the repertoire was supposed to make them laugh–she told me later that they’d done the concert previously and had tepid response from people who knew this group for very serious, academic music. The intro clarified all expectation and everyone had a great time. It occurs to me that it’s like each individual story–if the story starts right off establishing where it’s taking place and who characters are, the audience can get right into the story and don’t have spend precious time feeling outside of the story, figuring it out.
Yeah. If we’re aware of the unanswered questions hanging in the air — Who’s in charge? Are we allowed to laugh? Where are the books? — and address them, the audience is in a better position to give themselves over to the experience.
Very wise :) I had a high school teacher once that told the kids to sit down, shut up, and sit on their hands. Then she sat down directly behind me at her desk to read a newspaper.
I sat on her desk, told the kids to relax, and told stories for 45 minutes. Best audience ever. In retrospect, I could have gotten into trouble for it, but I am still fond of the memory.
As for participation, you are totally right. The more I work with a group of kids the more they learn how storytelling works, and the things I mentioned in my blog post start wearing off. That is one of my favorite parts. Active participation depends on the age group, too; if I ask a question from 4th graders I have to be prepared for everyone talking at once. Still, it is absolutely essential for the storytelling experience.
Lovely post! :)
Thanks for the inspiration!
Collaborative art! Brilliant! Much more inspiring (not to mention more important) than my little lecturette about 398.2.
I want to hear your lecturette about 398.2! Not all my stories come from there, but it’s my favorite Dewey Decimal number.
woo — hoooooo!
thanks, Miss Megan
I always appreciate your wise words; this one is especially good!
Thank you, Miss Sue!
Great post. Love the framing example.
When i do school shows I carry an index card in my merch case. The card has items for the emcee (I insist upon one) to share. One of the items listed is that ‘students do as students see, teachers, please, no texting or grading papers during the performance. Please experience this art form with your student.’
There are two other items on the card which give direction plus a tiny bio about me. The students could care less about my bio, but it gives me credit with the teachers. When I start my program, the first thing I say is that I am a storyteller. I then spend a few minutes explaining the art.
Having the emcee (which in my case always seems to be the principal or librarian) lay out a few ground rules makes everything go smoother and they are relieved to have a prompt card.
Okay, I’m adapting and re-using that index card thing. More often than not, these days, I do have somebody to introduce me, and having that direct request for teachers to be present for the stories coming from the principal or librarian addresses the “who’s in charge?” question and relieves you, the guest artist, of the onus of overstepping into their territory.
Now, I want you to put up a blog post about taking merchandise to schools. Credibility enhancement? Actual possibility of making sales? To whom? When?
Thank you, this is very helpful :)
Oh good. Try it! Everybody’s so much more receptive when I’m in “information sharing” mode than when I’m in “let me teach you something about storytelling” mode.
Wise words; smart strategy.
Thanks for stopping in, Marilyn.
Well said. I’ll pass these words of wisdom on to my storytelling guild and definitely adopt them myself. I’ve never quite had a plan in place for when I have to introduce myself or how to set the stage for the audience. Thanks for sharing.
Harvey — I don’t know what happened to my first attempt at responding to your comment, but it seems to have disappeared. So, once again, with feeling –
I read your blog posts where you express so eloquently the frustration I’ve felt so often. People aren’t born knowing how to comport themselves in strange situations. I’ve learned from some of the great classroom teachers I’ve know that when you tell your students (audience) what to expect, that’s what they’ll be looking for, and if you’ve come prepared, that’s what they’ll end up finding.
Good luck!
Lovely! Wise words!
Thank you for stopping by and reading.
Thanks Megan, I do much of the same, even when I do have someone there to introduce me. It really does make a difference. For the younger children I always ask, “Since I am not showing you any pictures, how will you see them? What will you use?” The answer, “By using our imagination” is always shared and I compliment them for knowing it. It instantly engages them and they feel invested in the program.
Thanks again for sharing your expertise and wise words!
Karen Chace
“…they feel invested in the program.” When you can make that happen up front, the rest of the program is duck soup. If you feel invested, that means you belong. How precious is that? You fire up their imaginations, you plant some stories, and you let them know this is a place where they do indeed belong.
Beautifully said — thanks!
Thank you, Mary. Since I started doing this, the “connection” quotient between me and the audience has become noticeably stronger — especially with the grownups, who sometimes don’t think they’re there for anything but crowd control. Heckfire — nothing does crowd control better than a solid Storytelling Trance.