The Story Within, Part Two

I had the second storytelling workshop class two nights ago. I told the story of my polyp (see last week’s installment). I knew I had a ten-minute time limit (more or less).  I had cut out the aftermath of the story from the first week’s telling and focused on the situation (facing surgery to remove a precancerous polyp), the crisis or complication (would I be able to shrink the polyp through alternative healing methods?) and the climax (the polyp got clipped, no surgery needed).

I had no opening and no closing for the story. Lawrence had quoted someone as saying “A good ending should be both surprising and inevitable.” Best to focus on the core of the story right now, Lawrence and Lynn said, the front and back bookends will evolve. I’m good with that. In the past, I worked too hard and too soon to come up with openings and closings. Frustrating, and I would be pushing it, not flowing with it.

I did give some thought to my point, my core message. I thought it was the same as my interpretation of the core message of Charles Dickens “A Christmas Carol” –you’re never too old, it’s never too late (for redemption). Then there’s the question of how clearly the point of a story should be made. Here’s my take on it–if the story is part of the speech or a sermon, be very clear about it. If the story is told in an artistic/performance context, don’t say it–let the audience draw their own conclusion, as they are allowed to do in an art gallery or concert or movie theater.

There’s another distinction worth noting–Lawrence talks about truth with a big “T” (a theme, a principle) and truth with a small “t” (facts, details). Lawrence believes it’s okay to fudge in the small “t” area (was it winter or summer? was she tall or short?)–to change things in service to the big “T”. I wonder where the line is between fudging and fraud. You may remember the controversy around the author James Frey, who wrote a memoir in 2003 that was later revealed to be largely fiction. A lot of people felt betrayed, ripped off. There is already too much of that going on these days. I don’t want to contribute to a cultural mindset that it’s okay to play fast and loose with facts. While my middle name isn’t “Mr. Honesty, and I admit that I do quite a bit of exaggerating in the telling of my own exploits, I think it’s a slippery slope and each of us has to draw our own line

I want to have a lot of humor in the story to keep it from getting dreary. The very topic of a colonoscopy invites humorous observations. Sometimes I can write humorous lines, sometimes not. Sometimes funny lines come to me in the heat of the moment of performance, sometimes not. That’s a two-edged sword–funny lines that come in the moment could be really good, or could be really bad. Best choice–rehearse in front of friends, record it, and pull out the spontaneous funny lines and examine them–a keeper or a clunker? If you have the chance to tell the story over and over, you can hone it. The sermon that you pretty much only give once, you miss that chance.

My classmates in the workshop predict that the audience will find the topic of a colonoscopy … surprising. That never occurred to me. I guess after having lived with my story for twelve years, the topic has no more charge for me than talking about taxes or grocery shopping. That was good feedback, though I don’t know yet how that might affect the telling of the story.

For next week’s class, I want to have an opening and a close, more humor, an expansion on the role of my two spiritual coaches, and a general tightening up of the story–it was about two min. too long. In short, add material and make it shorter. Got it.

I really like the feedback I’m getting from the instructors and my classmates. It’s affirming to have people listen closely to you. A common complaint nowadays is that we’re not paid attention to, we aren’t listened to.

I’m enjoying the challenge of altering the story in ways that strengthen it. This is fun. I’ll write another installment next week after the third class.