Definitely Do Digress
February 24, 2007
I know this is going to strike many as a bit unorthodox but, one of the most fascinating and useful devices that I ever learned to use in my storytelling, from other griots, was the art of “the digression.” Normally, especially in the West, narrative delivery has a fixed pattern. Words, either read or memorized, are rehearsed and delivered in an expected, acceptable format. For a speaker to deviate from a well organized text or script is tantamount, in many arenas, to a betrayal of audience expectations.
I am forever indebted to the griots with whom I’ve studied for helping me to break away from this clinical structure of oral delivery. When I have given workshops and seminars on this topic you can feel the slight tension in the air as if I’m slaughtering the golden calf. The apprehensions generally encompass the notion that professionalism is in painstakingly preparing and effectively delivering that which you have prepared to deliver. This level of performance or production I liken to the journeyman’s level of the apprenticeship process. At this level the artesian has learned to efficiently manipulate the tools of her trade and utilize her skills to the contented benefit of the client.
There is another level beyond this rote repetition of proficiency. The level beyond this is the mastery of one’s craft. It is not enough to simply become proficient at what you do; you must push beyond the boundaries of experience. This is not done for selfish reasons or to self aggrandize; it is done to more effectively deliver your message to the six senses of each of your listeners and observers.
For the griot, digressing from the performance everyone expects to experience is not a lapse in performance organization or judgment. It is rather a tool applied systematically for a desired effect. A spontaneous or what may appear to be spontaneous; digression from the narrative is really not. The digression is often meant to season the imaginative spirit of your listener, enhance their aural experience and prepare them for something further down the road in your oration.
A master teller can employ these digressions spontaneously, at will and when inspired by occurrences during the assemblage. This improvisation may appear to be spontaneous but it is usually a practice developed over years and years of study and performance in front of countless numbers of people.
Let me give you an example of a simple digression and how it may be used. Let’s say you are telling a story of historical significance and the characters are all very lively. A short digression from this tale might be to interrupt the flow of the story with a smile or chuckle and then share with the audience the thought that just crept into your head. You may artfully digress by drawing comparison and contrast between the period and characters you are telling about with specific contemporary events and equally colorful modern-day personalities. The purpose of such a digression might be to ingrain in the minds of your listeners the parallels between antiquity and contemporary society in such a way that it becomes memorable to them. Fusing the digression with a bit emotional delivery (humor, sadness, anger, etc.) may elicit a subtle visceral response from your listener which can help to mark the experience for them.
The rule is simple: “Definitely Do Digress.”
If you comprehend the method then the madness will be all the more enjoyable to you. I have been in the company of griots who have employed this method to an extreme where the digressions were actually the main content of what they wanted their audience to receive and the core narrative was simply the vehicle for its’ expression.
Word of caution! Anything can be overdone. Be very cautious in your implementation of various aspects of the craft. “This year’s folly can become next year’s foolishness.”
The trick to learning to employ digression is to overcome whatever preconceived notions you may have about what a story is supposed to be. Stories may grow wings they may swim. They are bound only by the limits of your imagination. Employing digressions means that you are telling with a purpose, not simply entertaining for entertainments sake.
“Dooni dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
Be Your Own Oracle
February 3, 2007
The premise that each of us contains, within ourselves, all of the things necessary to create our successes in life is not a new idea, nor is it cutting edge concept. Each of us gains wisdom through experience. What separates the wheat from the chaff is each person’s ability to integrate those lessons over time into their lives. Once an individual learns to integrate those lessons we say that she is wise. This is something that many cultures of the world realize and it is the reason why elders, within their respective societies, are venerated.
When we don’t absorb the lessons life has given us over time we are deemed to be foolish.
There’s a quote attributed to Einstein that I’ve heard so often that I’m beginning to think that there is a joke hidden in it somewhere. It goes something like this: The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
We laugh and point towards the other person and say, “only a fool would do that,” but it is a common human trait to repeat our errors continuously until redirected by some stronger force or opposition. Remember this; when you point in another’s direction, there are three fingers pointing back at you.
If prefer another perspective that says, “By the time the fool has learned the rules of the game, the players have all dispersed.”
To alleviate ourselves from the burden of having to exercise a little introspection and face ourselves, we often, and quickly I might add, seek out the advice of others. We can call these others mediums or oracles. They don’t always appear in the guise of a mystic in hooded robes. More often than not, they are wearing Armani suites and silk ties or Prada pumps. These mediums or oracles we seek out in our technologically advanced contemporary culture tend to be psychotherapist, psychologists, counselors, and analysts; with a few ghost whisperers thrown in for good measure. Many, not all, charge exorbitant fees to impart their wisdom to us. We have no problem sacrificing our time and earnings to these oracles, just as many of our ancestors did to their oracles in the days of the ancients.
I would pose the following question to you, the seeker; the one who desires wisdom.
What is it that separates your life experiences from the contemporary oracle?
Here’s a simple definition of an oracle:
or·a·cle n. A) A sacred shrine believed to facilitate the veneration and communication with a prophetic deity. B) An individual, such as a prophet or priest, who acts as a medium through which a deity is responsive when consulted. C) A person considered to be a source of wise counsel or prophetic opinions.
Our experiences are unique. No two people share the exact same experiences in life. This is the reason many of us, reared within the same family, same environment and under the same socio-economic conditions as our siblings often question the notion that blood relations share anything other than blood.
I am not saying that there is not a place for counselors, therapists and the like. What I do want to stress more than anything is that the first person who should be consulted, the oracle most knowledgeable of you is “you.”
It may seem a radical notion to some, but, as I said in the opening; the concept that each of us contains, within ourselves, all of the things necessary to create our successes in life is not a new idea, nor is it cutting edge theory.
Each of us possesses an intuitive state that is persistently attempting to influence our life, our decisions. The problem is that we often ignore this “inner voice.” I don’t think there is anyone who will argue against the point that we each possess an inner voice. It may not pass muster with the edicts of the scientific method but we simply “know” it exists. This voice, early in our lives, is rather loud. The more we ignore it over time, the more it becomes a whisper until, and this is the important part, until many years into our adulthood it becomes barely audible.
In being your own oracle before seeking our others, you are training yourself to listen to “yourself.” You are training yourself to seek that inner voice first, listen to it and attempt to follow its advice.
In being your own oracle you are giving license to yourself to trust “yourself.” You are acknowledging your own life experiences as valuable and worthy of examination.
In being your own oracle you are, in essence, lighting the way for others whose trepidation in trusting themselves may be alleviated by the living example you set.
It is funny to me how ancient wisdom and formulas for successful living are adopted by Western Societies, repackaged, relabeled and sold back to us in the guise of newer, more progressive information. There’s a proverb that describes this process better than I. It says, “It is a fool whose own tomatoes are sold back to him.”
Allow me to give you an example. I often take courses and workshops from people said to be leaders in their respective fields. I once was taking a workshop from a psychologist whose specialty was “behavior.” During the lecture, he described how the newest research was showing that our thoughts often dictate the type of mental/physical health we incur. He went on to describe the process by which each of us can obtain optimum health. He labeled this process “Mindfulness” and said that this new term is currently being adopted by leaders in the field. I raised my hand near the completion of the workshop and asked him if he realized that he had just given us principles of life and living according to Taoist Philosophy? He was very honest in his answer. He said, “This is similar but without the cultural baggage.”
Alright, after many of you have stopped laughing, could you please finish the remainder of this article?
I could continue repeating the things I’ve already said but then that would be redundant wouldn’t it? I think it is more important, before you walk away from this page, to stress the fact that your uniqueness qualifies you in ways unimaginable to the materialists out there to be the frontline advisor or counselor in your own life. Seek outside mediums, oracles and therapists only after you have exhausted introspective examination.
“Dooni dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
Destroying the Tools of Your Trade
February 2, 2007
If you were to witness a cook dragging his cooking utensils across the floor prior to preparing your meal, or a painter using her most expensive brushes to whitewash a picket fence, you would probably think them insane. Why is it then that we think nothing of the teller or word artist who abuses their gift of voice?
I have been on rosters with other performers, specifically storytellers, singers and poets who, before going out to ply their trade on stage, think nothing of gulping down a huge glass of soda or other ice cold drink. It amazes me that we abuse the tools of our craft in the way we do.
Yes, your voice, your vocal chords, your mouth and tongue are all tools of your craft, intimately intertwined to perform the sacred task of delivering the all powerful word.
We immediately recognize the absurdity of the cook or painter who acts in a destructive manner with the tools of their trade. Our distress appears to vanish when it comes to witnessing the abuse of the omnipresent, but much more sensitive, voice.
Many artists who rely on their voices for a living place themselves in a very precarious position, challenging their own longevity, when they engage in activities such as smoking, drinking alcohol and consuming materials that are the antithesis of vocal health.
It would be wonderful if the solution were to just tell performers to stop it. We all know that “just say no” never worked. One solution might be for us, as a community of artist, to openly challenge one another. I see the potential for disaster here in our “rugged individualist” oriented society. Maybe another solution is to ignore those who engage in such reckless behavior and view it as a sort of Darwinian “survival of the fittest” paradigm. This would be where only those who have prepared themselves for longevity actually endure. For me, that is a difficult one because I view myself as part of a community and I also see myself as accountable to a higher level of consciousness within myself.
As a rule I try to live by example. I try to make myself the model of what I eventually desire to be. Engaging in didactic delivery defeats my purpose and promotes defensiveness. I acknowledge the frailty of the tools of my trade: i.e. my voice, my eye sight, my musculature, my memory, etc.
Once I recognize the frailty of my tools I am called upon to preserve them best I can, after all, I am only in possession of them temporarily and I always strive to return things better than when I received them.
I don’t expect my words to make sense to most of you but for the few who comprehend; this is written for you.
I could give you a long list of things to do but there are already more than enough people out there more informed than I who can assist. There are dieticians, nutritionists, therapists, and trainers galore. Living in the information age affords each of you access to more information than you could ever consume in one lifetime.
Start with yourself, become the embodiment of that which you desire to be and you will be surprised how many people pickup on your nonverbal cues.
Protect your throat and voice. Your mouth may, one day, speak the words that change someone’s life. That is truly a gift. You do not want to miss the blessing of someone telling your how your words affected them because you happen to be suffering from laryngitis, or worse, a hangover, and couldn’t perform
“Dooni dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
Never Say That You Know
January 26, 2007
During my apprenticeship in the craft of Jaliyaa, I’ve often come into contact with an issue that, honestly, used to totally confuse me. Whenever I was involved in direct learning with an elder or someone more knowledgeable than me, prior to the session, a peer or someone truly caring would warn me, “Do not say the words, I know.”
Blindly, I’d often follow this advice, not completely understanding. When a certain song that I had learned previously or some part of a genealogy became redundant to me and someone was attempting to teach it to me “again,” I would bite my lower lip to keep the words, “Hey, I know this already,” from escaping my lips.
I did witness one incident that helped me to understand this bit of sage wisdom. A young boy was studying the Koran in a compound in Serrekunda, in The Gambia, when I heard him tell his teacher, “I know this!” The teacher chastised the young boy by asking him if he knew the information already then why was he sitting with him taking up his time.
On another occasion, the lesson came full circle to me here in the United States. I have a young student learning the Kora who, early on, was very aggressive in his approach to learning. I could tell that he was caging much of his innate desires to interrupt me when I was speaking and holding tightly to his opinions and suggestions.
One afternoon, I was teaching him a short kumbengo (repeated passage of a song, somewhat akin to an ostinato) when his eyes grew wide and he blurted out, “I know that! I know that! I can do that!”
I handed him the Kora and instructed him to go ahead and play it then. I retreated to a comfortable chair behind him and resumed reading a book that I had been reading prior to his arrival.
I could see and hear him struggling with the piece I had been trying to teach him. I continued attempting to read a passage of my book, all the while using the pages to hide my excessively wide, “cat that swallowed the canary” grin. I must admit, I don’t think I was able to read a single sentence, but I feigned it well enough.
After about 3 minutes of this charade he turns around in my directions and says, “Baba, can you help me? I don’t think I know it as good as I thought.”
I told him that once I finished reading I might consider trying to help him but that I was sure he already knew how to play this piece. I continued with my mimicking of a man reading a book.
After another 5 minutes or so, I put the book down and asked him if there was a lesson to be learned here.
I was proud to hear him acknowledge the error of his ways. I went back to teach him again but, this time, we started on another song. He asked me if I were going to teach him the last song we were working on. I told him “not today.”
We still haven’t returned to that song yet and it’s been weeks. He will be returning tomorrow for another lesson. I think maybe tomorrow we will return to that song and I will see if he is ready.
If I have any advice for the budding teller of tales it is this: be very wary of the undisciplined words that want to haphazardly fall from your lips. I do not believe we ever truly “know” anything. Even if you have had an experience multiple times or you’ve heard the rendition of some particular tale hundreds of times, they are “never” all the same. The path to mastering your craft is to find the subtle differences. When you speak too quickly about knowing something, you may be cutting your blessings short. There will be many opportunities to tell your tales, but learning to truly listen and remain perceptively silent will probably be the most valued tools you will ever acquire.
“Dooni dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
Where are the Places to Tell Stories?
January 23, 2007
Alright, this is an easy one. I am always getting this question from budding tellers who are looking at the business end of storytelling as a veritable “pot of gold”.
The simple answer to the question of where are places to perform is: “Everywhere.”
Don’t worry I’ll elaborate.
You see, one of the issues with many people who get into any line of work, whether it is storytelling or plumbing, is that it may not be something that they are passionate about. If it is a passion, then this question is relatively easy to handle. It is easy to handle because, if storytelling is a passion, you will tell whenever and wherever the occasion presents itself.
Often when newer tellers come to me they are approaching me following the conclusion of a performance at some big theatre or concert hall and imagining that this is what I’m doing 24/7. Nothing could be further from the truth.
One of the things that they typically fail to realize is that I’ve been doing this for quite a number of years and that what is happening today is a culmination of things put into motion many years ago. It might be better if they could have been with me on some of the dusty, dirt filled back roads in Senegal or Gambia. It might help them to understand better if they were with me years ago when I had to wake up at 3am so that I could get a couple of hours of practice in on my harp before staggering into my 9 to 5.
Listen, if you truly desire to be a teller, a professional teller, then, and it really pains me to be the one to inform you of this, but you are probably going to have to visit alot of places and share a quite a number of stories for, dare I say the dreaded word: “Free!”
Oops, I think I just lost half of my readership.
There should be love in truth and truth in love. I have to be honest. If you have no track record or recognition of your skills, then how are you going to demand compensation? No one would think of walking into a law firm and saying, “I would like to be made partner today, on the hour, in your prestigious firm even though I know nothing about law.”
This sounds ludicrous doesn’t it? But this is how many people approach artistic professions we are considering engaging in. I hate to be the bearer of bad news but, there is no easy street, it doesn’t exist.
After you have spent some time honing your storytelling skills I would suggest you try your new repertoire out on family and friends. Ask them to be honest with you and take the criticism as constructive advice.
If you’re feeling extra brave, you may even volunteer for a local establishment (i.e. library, elder care facility, day-care facility, preschool, the list is endless).
Be honest with your own assessment of your strengths and weaknesses. Make plans and stick to them.
Another wonderful thing to do is find groups of tellers who may be work shopping their tales and join in. Trust me; there are more of these groups out there than you can shake a stick at. You will be surprised once you start inquiring.
Your period of assessment will be different from anyone else. We are all different. This is why I’m saying that you must be honest with yourself about your strengths and weaknesses.
Once you feel that you’ve honed your skills to the point where you’re ready to get paid, then sit down and map out your business goals. I can’t stress this enough. If you are going to be a professional teller, about 25% of your time will be spent telling tales. The rest of your time you will be developing your skills and nurturing your business. I’ll go into more detail about business in another post but, suffice is to say, that you are indeed a business person as much as a teller of tales if you’ve chosen to do this as a profession.
Lastly, once you feel ready to conquer the world, do not limit yourself to venues which sponsor storytelling.
Remember this: words are universal; they have a home anywhere and everywhere. If you can imagine telling a story someplace then make a note of it. Figuring out how to monetize these ideas and locals, well, I’ll save that for another post. For now, this should give you plenty to think about.
“Dooni dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
ADHD = Front Row Center
January 21, 2007
Before I begin dishing out this piece of advice, I should to place a disclaimer:
By utilizing the abbreviation ADHD and referring to those believed to be suffering symptoms associated with Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder, I am in no way, purposely anyway, labeling these individuals as problematic or disruptive (although this may sometimes be the case).
Ok, now, on with the advice. In traveling on your path to becoming a master teller you will, inevitably, encounter that person, most often a child, whose inability to conform to sensible public decorum is desperately lacking. This individual, usually a child, may interrupt your performance with inappropriate yells, screams, ranting and spontaneous dancing especially when there is no music.
I have referred to this person, usually a child, as compromised by ADHD but this need not be the case. This person, usually a child, may arrive to your performance saturated with sugar draining from his pores (I use the masculine pronoun “his” at this point due to the fact that this person, usually a child, is, more often than not, a young boy. The young girl performing in this manner is also inevitable, but you will not encounter her as often). Factors which might influence or contribute to this child’s behavior include, but are not limited to: sodas, ice cream, popsicles, sugared cereals, candy, cookies, cakes, and cream covered or filled delicacies which there should be a law against.
Where will this child be seated? Ah, now that is a wonderful question of the budding teller to ask. Always, and I do mean “always,” this child will be seated front row center of your performance area, directly in front of you.
What complicates this matter often is the child’s accomplice. I call this accomplice the “Absent Parent.” You may look to the left or the right of your young charge and see someone who looks like a parent, but I guarantee you, they are not really there. It is an illusion of sorts. There is a body but its’ inhabitant has momentarily vacated the premises, possibly due to the inordinate stress or fatigue at having had to handle this child’s ever since he was introduced to the world.
The child may wander during your performance, walking around you or through your legs, tugging at your clothing, untying your shoes. This occurring all the while a very contented looking, smiling “absent-parent” sits before you thoroughly enjoying the tale you are telling.
I have often wondered if I am the only person witnessing what is going on. As you scan the audience you may notice that 90% of the people seem engrossed in the tale, barely cognizant of the disruptive force clinging to your leg.
During my earlier years of performing I used to completely stop my performance and demand to know: “whose child is this?”
This inevitably interrupted to flow of the performance and left me feeling as though I had chastised another adult for not doing a sufficient job of parenting.
I can hear your voices now, “What do we do Baba?” “How do we avoid this situation?” “Couldn’t we just run and hide?”
I have the solution for you. It may not be simple but this craft involves a life time of learning.
First of all, you, the teller, are responsible for the escalation or de-escalation of mood in the environment you are performing. Keep this at the forefront of your mind. Knowing this will guide you in developing your own techniques for dealing with this dilemma.
Here are a few things that have I begun doing over the years.
- If at all possible, I simple ignore the person, usually a child.
- When unable to ignore, I creatively engage (I’ll explain a little more in a second)
- Utilize movement to your advantage, anticipating locations of distractions.
- Eye contact may act as a deterrent.
- Voice inflexion may act as a deterrent.
- Offering a sacrifice to appease the unsettled deity.
- Take control of “your” environment and do what is necessary.
Now allow me to explain, in a little more detail each of the above stratagems. Firstly, ignoring the disrupter is self explanatory. The majority of the time, this method will suffice.
Creatively engaging means using your imagination and playing the disruption to your advantage. Allow me to give you an example:
I once was in a session of storytelling when this child, for some unknown reason, would begin barking like a dog anytime I mentioned the word dog in my story. I altered my telling of the tale to include “his,” yes it was a little boy, sound effects. It worked out brilliantly as his timing was impeccable. I even ended the tale with his sound effect.
Now, this is only a short example, but, as tellers, I am sure you can use your imagination to your advantage.
On the 3rd aspect of my list, I have found that movement is a key to all activities. I am not simply saying run away from your aggressor. It has more to do with re-directing your audience’s attention to where you want it. I never perform in one spot on a stage. I am usually moving about in and around the audience. If my little disrupter is seated from row center, he may never have the opportunity to encounter my presence but for a few brief moments at the beginning of the performance and at the close of the session. If you move throughout your audience you will find inspiration for driving the momentum of your tale. There are many people in your audiences who will enjoy the “up close and personal” touch.
Aspects 4 and 5 of my list are very similar. If you have ever been a parent or a child of a parent, and I’m sure that’s most of you, you are familiar with the “eye.” You know what I’m talking about. The eye occurs when your mom or dad are not pleased with how you’re conducting yourself. The “eye” seems to do more to force you to rethink your actions than yelling or being verbally chastised. Add to the “eye,” simple voice inflexion and you have a veritable arsenal at your disposal. You all know the concept of voice inflexion as well. This also occurs when your mom or dad was displaced with you. It typically involved adding your middle and last name to your first when calling you to appear in their presence.
Now the 6th aspect in my list is a bit more controversial, but it really works. It is controversial because many believe that you should not reward inappropriate behavior. I prefer to view this as appeasing the unsettled deity temporarily until the performance is over. Here is how it works: All disruptors want something. If you can figure out what that something is, you are halfway there. I do not recommend dishing out candy, although I have seen this done. For me, I prefer to employ a bit of psychology and it usually works something like this: I may announce that there will be gifts given out during or at the conclusion of the performance (My gifts are typically cowry shells, given with short historical references, these are also teaching moments). It will all depend on how I am reading the audience or situation prior to and during my performance. I address children whose behavior is that which I desire by issuing loads and loads of positive reinforcement. If, for a split second, my disruptor exhibits appropriate behavior I will fly to his side and commend him as I have done with all of the other children (maybe a bit more exaggerated though). Once the inappropriate behavior resumes, I disappear back into another area of the audience with my music and stories.
Finally, and this is probably the most important: Take control of your environment and do what is necessary. I have, in class room settings, told children to go and sit with their teacher. I have, during performances, escorted small children from the stage to the laps of their parents. The key here is that you must not be afraid to do what is necessary and reasonable. The arena has been given to you to exercise your craft. Only you are fully aware of what needs to occur for the occasion to be successful.
“Dooni dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
The Dreaded Sourpuss
January 15, 2007
As you venture down your path of tales and telling, you will eventually come across a foreboding figure who has the potential to, literally, drain the desire to tell from your being bit-by-bit.
I like to refer to this person as, “The Dreaded Sourpuss.” Here’s how our old friend “Webster” defines the word sourpuss:
sour·puss (soor’poos’) n. [slang] a person who has a gloomy or disagreeable expression or nature.
Although I rely heavily on the ancient, traditional methods of finding my word definitions (reading a book), I do also enjoy some of the more contemporary forms of research (Dictionary.com). Here’s how “Dictionary.com” defines the word sourpuss:
sour·puss??? [souuh
r-poos, sou-er-] noun Informal. a person having a grouchy disposition that is often accompanied by a scowling facial expression.
Now that last one really says it all. As you carry on in your journeys from place to place sharing your tales, you will continually encounter this character. Talk with any teller you want and ask them if this is true and you will hear a resounding, yes! Oh, yes! Your sourpuss will usually be someone responsible for acting as your liaison. If your sourpuss is not a liaison, then they are usually an audience member seated in an area where you are forced to make eye-to-eye contact.
Fear not my fellow teller, there is aid for you here. One thing to keep in mind when you are venturing outside the confines of your safe little hermitage filled with books, recordings and items of comfort is this; We are all, each and every individual, having different experiences throughout our day. Some us are falling in love for the first time, some of us are starting families, and some of us are just learning to tie our shoes. Whatever the experience your audience (I prefer to use the word community here instead of audience) has had prior to your arrival they have made a conscious decision to place themselves before you in order to experience your telling of a tale. Now that is a powerful, nonverbal statement if I’ve never heard one. Please keep this powerful affirmation in forefront of your mind. This person, whose countenance rivals that of the saddest looking hound, has come to you for something or has crossed your path for a reason.
As a storyteller, a communicator or a transmitter of truth, you have a responsibility to, not only this individual, but to yourself as well. They have entrusted you with helping them to transcend whatever it is that weighs on them in this moment. The way you do this is by remembering that old sage advice, “above all to thine own self be true.”
I’m reminded of a proverb that says, “for news of the heart ask the face.”
If you engage a person who chooses to be in your presence from their place of pain instead of a position of appreciation for the gift of your craft, then you are doing your craft a disservice. All of your preparation, reflection, planning, reading, interacting and interpersonal growth should arm you with the necessary tools to transcend any interpersonal impediments.
What I have found is that, after a performance, I can never find the dreaded sourpuss. Why? Well, no, it’s not because they have departed the premises; I’m unable to find them because, like the mythic phoenix, they have been transformed. I am now accosted with bright smiles and flashing teeth. The metaphorical ugly duckling has become a swan.
There is no task worth doing that is easy. Every craft has its painful sacrifices. If you can overcome your own personal revulsions at encountering the “unpleasant personality,” then you are well on your way to becoming a master teller. If your heart can remain calm and beat in a smooth rhythm when all else around you calls for your participation in chaos, then you are well on your way to becoming a master teller.
Don’t view the dreaded sourpuss as an impediment to your progress; instead look to them as opportunities to test the quality of your mettle.
“Dooni dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
Finding Stories to Tell
January 13, 2007
This has to be the “most asked” question of tellers new to the craft. “Where do I find stories to tell?” While I understand the dilemma, it is still a bit amusing to hear this question as it is a “forest for the trees” issue.
First, let me start by saying this: Stories are ubiquitous. They are not stagnant. They have wings and if you aren’t paying close attention you will surely miss them.
I was once asked what makes a storyteller an excellent teller. I remember my response like it was yesterday. “The teller must be a good listener.” I don’t mean listening only with your ears, no, that’s for novices. I mean listening as an awareness of life and life’s music (activity). You see, for all of our technological advances and cutting edge theories, we often fail to recognize that which is right in front of us. A teller is not afforded the luxury of simply hearing things. No, a teller must be tuned in to her environment and recognize how words are exchanged like currency, the dance between moving bodies boarding and getting off of a bus, the nuances of the person dining and reading a paper, etc. These are all stories. Whether they develop into mythology or legend is up to the imagination of the teller, but beneath it all there must be a purpose for the story’s development.
I know I know … I’ve been told that my advice is often very unconventional but something you should realize is that, this advice is not meant for everyone. This advice is meant for that soul whose creative energies are agitated by conventionality. There are those with whom these words will have immediate resonance. And then they are many that are still scratching their heads from a previous post that I published.
So, where do you find your stories young bard? You find them inside of yourself, outside of yourself and everywhere in between. Learn to listen in a more refined way. Take time to listen in a more refined way. Stories are like little children who dance in front of the television when their parents are trying to watch a show. They long to be acknowledged but we tend to not recognize them because our thoughts are trapped by extraneous noise (bill paying, career trajectories, child rearing, car repairs, etc.).
Now that I’ve taken you completely to the edge of the land of the metaphysician, allow me to draw you back a little.
There is another tool in the professional storyteller’s arsenal that is little talked about. It is often whispered amongst ourselves in the dark corners of cafés or workshops. It is a little know secret that I dare to share with you here and now.
One of the things you must do, that will set apart from the rest of the herd is “read.”
Yes, I said it. Read! I’ll say it again, read! I know that I will suffer the slings and arrows of misfortune from my sisters and brethren in the storytelling universe for revealing these ancient secrets but I must exercise truth.
You must read, read, read and, when you have grown thoroughly exhausted of reading, well, then read some more. By reading I don’t mean viewing the words of a page, I mean that the words you read must engage your emotional being. If you do not laugh, cry or gasp when you read then you are not reading. If the words of the page that you are reading do not resonate with you or do not give you an adrenaline rush, then you need to change material.
Through reading you will discover not only stories, but things about yourself that other forms of introspection cannot give you.
If you follow these paths toward discovery, then you will not need to find stories, they will find you.
“Dooni dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
Butterflies
January 9, 2007
This advice isn’t only for storytellers, it’s for all of those who have ever had to present before a group of people. It doesn’t matter if it is a group of 10 or 1,000; the physiological reactions are universal. First, the mouth may get a little dry, then the palms might start to sweat and finally, the butterflies begin a free-fall in the belly. These are a few examples of what is commonly known as “stage fright.”
The funny thing is that none of us ever seems to escape this phenomenon. No one is immune. Just when you think you will never have to stand before a group of people again, there is it: That teacher telling you that you have an oral report to present, an office manager requesting you to do a PowerPoint presentation before the top execs, or the local amphitheatre requesting your performance to fill 1,200 seats.
I’m going to tell you a little of how I’ve managed to deal with this form of stress.
The first step I took in understanding how to cope with this ever present stressful associate was to examine it from different angle. I simply became an audience member. I sought out various types of performances and went to see them as an “audience member.” While in the audience, I paid very close attention to how I was feeling during each performer’s performance. I noticed that I felt really at ease when the performer was relaxed and comfortable on stage. I noticed that I felt a touch of anxiety whenever a performer seemed ill equipped or uncomfortable on stage. With every performance I attended I seemed to experience vicariously the power, or lack thereof, of the performer. During performances I recall wanting the best possible outcome for everyone on stage. It seemed as though my humanity was greatest at the possibility that something might go wrong during the performance. I never wanted anything to go wrong.
After attending a number of performances I decided to reflect on them and see if I could gain any new insights. I began questioning whether I was hyper-sensitive because I was a performer myself or were my feelings common of a typical audience member.
I sought out friends and associates who were not performers and asked them a series of questions related to their experiences at live performances. I was really glad to learn that they all, well almost all, had similar experiences to mine.
Here’s the lesson, or advice if you will. I don’t believe that people who voluntarily come to see you perform are coming to witness your downfall. Nor do I believe that these same people are entering the theatre disgusted with you as a person, they don’t even know you. I prefer to look at it this way: The people who come to my performances come in support of me. They believe that I will deliver what it is that the brochure of promotional material says that I will deliver. Their hopes for me are high. They are affirming my choice to engage them with music and narrative. There is no downside to this.
If you keep these things in mind whenever you have to perform or present before a group or audience, it becomes an empowering perspective.
Your only responsibility in this equation is to deliver what is expected of you and, if you love what you do and you have prepared appropriately… strap in and enjoy the ride!
“Dooni dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
Storytelling is not Acting
January 8, 2007
The craft of storytelling and the craft of acting are accessed by two completely divergent paths. This needs to be stressed especially to the beginning teller. Each craft has its respective trials and tribulations in attaining mastery but similarities stop there. To the casual observer it might appear that both, the actor and the storyteller are engaged in the same venture, but they are not. Having experience in both realms of activity I am in a very good position to explain, what I see, as the differences between them.
The first thing I should say is that mastery of one does not preclude a person from mastering another.
The finely honed skills of an actor revolve around ancient and contemporary methodologies of embodying your subject, becoming the object and convincing, not only yourself, but observers as well, that you are that which you claim to be.
For the storyteller, content and context is king. Within the context of a tale there are messages to be delivered, morals to be taught, and valuable insights to be gained. The teller is not attempting to “get into character,” if I may borrow a phrase from the thespian’s vocabulary, but she is attempting to alter the environment. By altering her surroundings the teller is creating an ambient setting conducive to a comfortable exchange of creative energies. In this type of environment, the observer, unwittingly at times, becomes a participant. The observer is a participant because his mind is constantly assessing the tale he is receiving, searching for its logic, enjoying its rhetoric, rejecting or objecting to what he is subjected to. The masterful storyteller is continually scanning the mood of her audience. The masterful storyteller employs eye contact as a tool of assessing the audience’s temperature. Believe it or not, in an audience of 1,000, if you can make eye contact with 10, you will get an intimate feel for most others present, even if you cannot see them because of the lights of a stage. These immediate assessments may alter the outcome of the story. These immediate assessments may alter the pacing of the story. This is the context in which a teller’s performance is charted.
With the actor, the scripted line will dictate the emotive character of her subject. With a storyteller, those present, the mood and current events will dictate the emotions involved in the performance. The actor, in essence, has a road map if you will or script that guides her in directing her audience through conflict, climax and, ultimately, resolution. The teller is performing on the figurative tightrope without a net.
I have to pause here for a moment to explain something about my generalizations. Not “all” tellers perform the way which I am explaining. It is the approach to storytelling that I employ. Secondly, acting is not a stagnant craft which is limited in creative scope. My approach to storytelling comes from my training in the ancient West African Griot’s craft of Jaliyaa, so my reference points might be a bit skewed in that direction. I’m sure other tellers have differing opinions to the ones I’ve state here.
I have had students who have sought the craft of storytelling professionally through me. Many of them think they can come, learn a few stories and hit the money making market by storm. Nothing could be further from the truth. First of all, if storytelling is not a passion of yours, do not attempt it. Secondly, if your primary reason for venturing into the arena of storytelling is financial, don’t do it. Life’s metaphorical lions will eat you alive (bills, familial responsibilities, time, physiological health, psychological health, etc.) I have been honest with anyone who has come to me professing to want to be a professional teller that this road has a lot of gravel on it.
Alright, all that having been said, would I prefer a different employ? No, never! I love what I do too much.
Whether you choose acting or storytelling as a craft to master, know that neither is easy and both are extremely dissimilar. Also know, and know this well, you are committing yourself to a lifetime of learning.
A storyteller’s repertoire must be as vast as an ocean an as accessible as a mother to her child.
“Dooni dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
The Power of Silence
December 31, 2006
I know that the advice I give may seem a bit unconventional at times but, well, as you know, I am who I am. I wanted to address a topic that I think rarely, if ever, commands discussion. I think this topic will also aid in shedding some light on why, for some of us, our most creative ideas suffer from impotence.
One of the most powerful things you can do when a new idea comes to you that you would like to give wings and see it grow is: “Don’t share it.” Yes, that’s what I said. Do not share the immediate conceptions of your ideas, thoughts, or imaginings verbally, with anyone.
There are many with whom the above statements resonates with loudly. They already know where I’m going. I also know that there are many of you shaking your heads and claiming that I’ve finally lost it, but, have patience, hear me out.
Typically when a resonant idea enters our minds one of the first actions we take is to articulate it verbally. Often the phone is the nearest object, so we’ll pick it up and call someone. Believe it, or not, this diffuses the brilliance of that flame of an idea that made your mind soar with the potential of endless possibilities.
What we should do, when given the gift of enlightenment or an epiphany of sorts is to nurture it. Allow the brilliance of the new idea or thought to access the more contemplative areas of your mind. Savor the epiphany as you would a glass of fine wine or a cherished moment. When you take this time, you are affirming the power of that idea.
As a child I remember a mantra which my mother and grandmother berated me with often: “You better mind!” This warning would usually come after some mindless act I committed that got me into the typical “precocious child” kind of troubles. Now, as an adult, I find myself purposefully trying to “mind.”
Well, once you’ve minded this thought, the next thing to do, before speaking, is to put some sort of physical action behind it. Maybe you like to write. If so, sit down in a quiet place and begin writing. Maybe you prefer to draw or sketch. If so, sit down in a quiet place and begin sketching. Whatever your mode of introspection is, take this time to exercise it. You will find that once you give yourself license to validate your own ideas and thoughts, the more luminous ones tend to want make themselves known to you.
I know by this point many want to grab that phone and call someone, but don’t. The next thing you’ll want to do is act on it. Let me explain. This is not something that may happen immediately. It could take minutes, hours, days and even weeks before you get to this point, depending on you and who you are, but the most important thing to remember is that you must reach this stage without having spoken to a single solitary soul about the new idea or thought. To act on it means that you are “doing something” that would make this idea happen. Maybe you need to get some paperwork that needs filling out, maybe you need to sit at your computer and begin typing, maybe you need to grab a shovel and start digging in your back yard. The list is potentially endless. Once you have reached this point, you may find that you no longer have any desire to speak about the idea because you too busy moving on it. Of course there will come a point when you will have to communicate with others. This is inevitable. “No matter how sharp and axe, it will never cut its’ own handle.” When you’ve reached this point, hopefully, you will know intuitively.
You see, when we immediately follow our thoughts with dialogue with others, what we are actually doing is inviting them to influence its outcome. In many subtle ways, and not so subtle ways, the disposition and character of those we choose to communicate with have a profound affect on our successes and/or failures.
Let me give you a quick example by role playing:
Person A is making a phone call to person B.
Person A: Hello B, how are you? I’m so glad you’re home! I have this great idea!
Person B: I’m fine B, thanks for calling me. Tell me your idea.
Person A: Well, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah….
Person B: A, you know you got a great idea “but”…
At this point person B starts to explain to person A the reasons why his new idea will fail. I can hear many of you sighing. You’ve been here haven’t you? Now, there is nothing wrong with constructive criticism. In fact, I encourage it. This issue here is not the negativity associated with the person B’s critique, the issue is Person A’s timing in sharing of his new ideas.
I guess that point I’m trying to make, if I can do it succinctly, is this: Silence has a power which we, typically, fail to be aware of. Silence has the power to motivate you from within. When you employ silence as an instrument of intuitive direction, you are sure to reap some benefits.
I hope this small bit of advice helps you. If you would like you may leave me a comment below, or you could simply toss a few coins in the tip jar situated in the panel to right.
May love, peace and blessings be your constant companion.
“Dooni dooni konoi be nyaga da.”
Don’t Do It!
December 22, 2006
This is a piece of advice that I got from a friend of mine recently. He’s not a storyteller but I applied his information to my craft. He was facilitating a workshop that dealt with the arts and education. In talking with a group of educators he told them, and I’m paraphrasing here: “If you don’t love the material or tools you are using to gain access to the thought processes of your students then don’t use them! Find material that resonates with your teaching style, that you are enthusiastic about. Once you’ve discovered your proper tools and material, this will translate to successful teaching because then, and only then, will your students feel your passion for the subject matter.”
I sat in this workshop and thought, “Wow!” he’s addressing my craft as well. I have always had a rule that a story must resonate with me before I’m willing to work with it. I never force myself to tell a certain genre of tale because it may be popular or what people want to hear. I choose my stories by the way they affect me when I hear them or read.
So, my advice to any beginning tellers out there. If a story does not strike a resonate chord somewhere within you. “Don’t do it! Don’t try to “make” it work! Don’t tell it! Let it go.
There are literally billions of tales waiting to be told, why marry one that will eventually lead to a sepertation due to irreconcilable differences?
“dooni dooni kononi be nyaga da!”
