E is for... ethics and endings

Our story thus far...
A is for About
B is for Beginnings
C is for Character
D is for Death

Today is a twofer.  E is such a rich letter, the most common in the English language, that I wanted to give you a little extra.

First, let me point you to several posts I've already written about storytelling and ethics. As storytellers, we have a strong ethical obligation to our audiences, our material and ourselves. Because storytelling is such a powerful and immediate art form we must be clear about the boundaries between truth and fiction, understand the ownership of the works we tell, charge what we are worth and so on. It's easy to slip in snake oil with storytelling, so we need to be mindful.

Since I've already written about this elsewhere I'll send you to the posts.

Boundaries between truth and fiction, the importance of disclosure.
Ethical obligations of the teller to the audience (right teller, homework), the story (professionalism) and other tellers and organizers (pricing, marketing, easy to work with).
Ethical obligations of the organizer (care and feeding of tellers, promotion, advocacy).

Please take a look at these posts. These are important issues and not to be passed over lightly.

Okay, onto Endings.

Endings matter. A poorly executed ending can ruin an otherwise beautifully told story. The ending doesn't have to be a clear resolution nor is every ending is happily ever after, but it does need to leave the audience with a sense of completion or at least satisfaction and curiosity.

Some stories don't have well defined endings, because not everything in life comes to an easy resolution, but you can acknowledge that. Because storytelling can easily violate the fourth wall, the teller can directly address the audience.

• Jack and the princess stood there, looking at each other. I don't really know how this story ends, but I do know this. The giant was dead. The princess was free. Jack discovered himself to be a rich man, and that, of course, is another story.
• We are still growing and changing. I don't know what the future will bring, but I do know we'll face it together.
• And I am still here.

The crucial elements for effective endings are:

• You like the ending. It gives you a sense of completion and you feel as though the story is at a natural resting place.
• The audience is left with a sense of completion. They may have questions, they may be uncomfortable, but they leave the story experience knowing this was a stopping point.
• The audience is not left worried about you. If you're telling a personal story they need to be able to walk out of the experience believing you will be okay. It's cruel to do otherwise. It also turns the storytelling experience from art and performance to therapy.
• The ending is somehow related to the rest of the piece. An ending that is completely disconnected may be interesting art, but it doesn't serve the audience's narrative expectation.

You may want to give your listeners a cue that you're done. Bow. Pause and smile. Say thank you. This is especially useful when you aren't using a formulaic ending like "happily ever after."

A good ending, one with emotional and narrative punch, can elevate an otherwise adequate story. Your audience may remember your ending long after the other memories begin to fade; don't neglect it. Give it the time and attention it deserves, both you and your audiences will be happier and more satisfied for it.

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

D is for... death

Alphabetical storytelling blogging is rolling right along. Please let me know what you think and let your friends know, too.

Our journey thus far:
A is for about
B is for beginnings
C is for character

And today, D is for death. This is not an exploration of the morbid or maudlin, but a look at how storytellers handle death in their stories.

Death is part of life, it's one of our very few certainties. It's also something few of us speak about easily, since it's emotionally fraught. As storytellers, we have a precious opportunity to help our audiences think about one of the more difficult things we experience, loss, in a safe environment, through the powerful medium of story.

Traditional material is rich with stories about death. King Arthur. Isis and Osiris. Gelert. Red Riding Hood (read older versions). The Three Little Pigs. Pandora's Box. On and on. These stories have helped us understand why we must die and some of the actions that can lead to our deaths. They show us the culturally defined difference between a good death and a bad death, never letting us forget that we must eventually die, as will the people we love.

Modern life is full of stories about death, too. Open any news site, read any newspaper, look at Facebook any day and you'll find a story about someone who died, how they lived their life and how they want to be remembered.


Telling these stories helps our audiences remember that death is part of human experience and that there are tools we can use to grieve, heal and accept it. They can also help us with our own struggles with death.

For example, when I was 26 I had cancer. I faced the very real possibility of my own death and had to help those around me find a way to process the idea of my loss. I found solace and comfort in the story of Gilgamesh, the ancient Sumerian myth in which Gilgamesh the king tries and fails to bring his best friend back from the dead. Eventually, I turned this most ancient of stories into a performance, bracketing the myth with a personal context. Telling it helped me heal and overcome the fear of my own death. It also helped those around me remember that we all die. I didn't tell it publicly until I was sure I could do so in a way that was safe for me and the audience.

As storytellers, we need to be sure that we can get out of the audience's way so they can do their own work as they listen. If we become too emotional, beyond the appropriate boundaries of the performance, it will jolt the audience from their own imagination and instead focus their attention on us and our needs. If we choose to tell a story about death,  we need to be sure we are doing so in service to the story, the audience and the world, in addition to whatever personal drive we may have to tell it.

We need these stories because they move us to feel and then to act. They guide us through our own grief, reminding us that we are not alone. They show us paths to live the kinds of lives that will be remembered and sometimes, are maps to the kind of death that matters. They are road maps not to death, but to life.
(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

C is for... character

By now you know I'm blogging the storytelling alphabet.
A is for about.
B is for beginnings.
So now we're up to C. C is for character.

Performing storytellers have some interesting advantages and challenges when presenting characters. There are an endless number of character tips I could give you, but I'm going to limit myself to a few that I use every day, in every practice, in every writing session, in every performance.

Like writers, we need to know our characters inside and out, far beyond what we present to our audience. What motivates them? What do they care about? What are their flaws, virtues, hidden vices and secret dreams? Why are they doing what they're doing? You can find many online resources for character questions. This is a good one.

If we know the answers to these questions and more, then we have more flexibility in how we portray our characters. It doesn't really matter if your character is fiction, traditional or real, the better you know them, the more believable they will be. Your portrayal will have depth. Even if you are telling a true story, it helps if you imagine some of these answers. Just make them consistent with what you know about the characters in your story. What might President Lincoln have enjoyed for breakfast (did he eat that the morning before going to Ford's Theater)? Did Eleanor Roosevelt have allergies (this might be relevant if your story is set in the spring of 1944)? Even if you can't ask her, decide what made your great-grandmother laugh. Everyone, whether living or dead, real or fictional, is composed of the details of their lives. Maybe Coyote's fur itches. Don't tell us, but you certainly can show us.

Make sure you do your research. If your character is a fireman, spend some time learning about the trade. What's more, as a performing storyteller, learn something about how firemen hold themselves, how they move, the look in their eyes when they talk about a particularly tough spot. Writers need to do all of this research; as storytellers we can use our bodies and voices to convey additional detail to our audiences. That detail should be authentic, so do your homework.

When you portray a character before an audience, be consistent. If you develop a particular voice or physical characteristic, do it each and every time we meet that character. The audience will come to depend on those cues to know who they are seeing and listening to. If you can't be consistent, then don't do it.

Lastly, fall in love with your characters, even the villains. If you love them, you will know them better, portray them with more authenticity and enjoy spending time with them. Your love for the character gives your audience permission to feel for them too, whether love or disgust. Your passion will be expressed in your words and gestures, your characters will come to life.

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

B is for... beginnings

Yesterday I embarked on a month of alphabetical, storytelling blogging. You can read A here.

Today we'll talk about beginnings.

The start of your story is the doorway. It gives you a chance to set audience expectations, which you then can support or subvert as you see fit. But the beginning of your story isn't when you open your mouth, it's in the moments before, when you connect with your listeners and let them know by body language and attitude that they can trust you, they can relax and come along for the ride.

When you walk out on that stage (or lean forward in your living room, or start your PowerPoint presentation or...) you need do so with confidence that your story is worth telling. This is the real beginning of your narrative. Your audience will pay attention to how you're holding yourself, how you look at them and, once you begin, how relaxed you sound.

Assuming you are reasonably relaxed or confident or at least faking it well, they then can dive into the images and narrative you give them.

From there, the beginning of your story establishes setting, character, genre and other vital narrative components. This isn't an essay on narrative structure, but your beginning gives your listeners a clue as to what they're in for.

"Once upon a time..."

"It was a dark and stormy night..."

"Thank you for inviting me to speak with you about my work..."

"When I was little girl..."

"A dog, a cat and an elephant walk into a bar..."

"Everyone expects their child to be born perfect. Sometimes we need to change what perfect means..."

Each of these beginnings sets an expectation. You must quickly give your listeners enough information so they at least think they know where the story is going. This lets them relax and build their own relationship with the narrative, so crucial in any storytelling experience. You then can stick with expected direction or not, it's up to you.

But those first few moments of the story, the beginning? They are the vital time when you build relationship with the audience, start off in a direction they can relate to, and remind yourself that yes, you really do know what you're doing.

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

Story quote: The road to hell

The road to hell is paved with works-in-progress.
- Philip Roth


(What would happen if you went back to an old work today?)

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

A is for... about

One of the things I love about the internet is the blogging community. You can find just about anything you want somewhere on some blog, proving that none of us are alone. What's more, you can find communities of like-minded bloggers who love to write about their passions and join them.

The blogging community is full of creative people who want bloggers to write, so they post challenges. The problem is I often find these challenges after they've begun, or once they're over. Thankfully, there's really nothing stopping me from taking up a challenge on my own time.

The A-to-Z blog challenge is one of those. It challenged bloggers to commit to covering the alphabet in the month of April. Those who were on the ball signed up, got some publicity and wrote away. I found out about it in mid-April, so while I'm missing out on the publicity, I'm picking up the gauntlet and starting here, in May with A. I'll be posting alphabetically every day except for Sundays. What's more, I'm going to limit myself to storytelling related topics. There's nothing like teaching or writing about something to learn about, so I'm hoping this month of alphabetical storytelling musings will be interesting and informative for all of us. At a minimum we'll see just how far I can bend the definition of "storytelling topics." Stay tuned.

A is for about

Whenever you charge forth to learn and tell a new story, one of the crucial questions you must ask yourself is What is this story about? I'm not talking about the simple plot. Yes, Red Riding Hood is about a girl walking through the woods, disobeying her mother and the consequences thereof. But what is the deeper meaning? What does it mean culturally? Personally?

When you ask these questions the meaning changes. Its about changes. Is it about the perilous road to adulthood? Asking for help? Stranger danger? What does it mean to you?

Spending some time with these questions will deepen your understanding of the story and therefore deepen your telling. You don't have to explicitly tell the audience what it means, but your understanding will effect the way you tell, what you emphasis and how you relate to your listeners.

This applies to personal and organizational stories as well as traditional. We must ask ourselves what the about is so we understand what we are saying and can craft a thoughtful narrative.

It's worth revisiting the about for any story in your repertoire on a regular basis. It may change. In fact, I would hope it does change, as you grow and learn more about yourself and the world.

Storytelling is a living art and, as such, we must not be afraid of the deeper work, the questions, asking just what is it all about anyway.

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

Story quote: False coaches

Perhaps you, too, have a coach of the interior like mine – bald and cruel, shaking his sweaty pate at your sloth, ridiculing your sentences, professionally contemptuous. Extremely foul-mouthed. A definite misogynist. A voice that reads over your shoulder and snorts with derision at your characters’ dialogue. A voice in cahoots with every other voice that has ever criticized your efforts and ambitions and haircut. He pretends to be all kinds of things: the Voice of Reason, the Voice of Tough Love. But he is a tyrant. He is the enemy of fiction writing. His “pep talks” are actually spells of paralysis, designed to rob you of all confidence and happiness. In order to write your novel, you must get rid of this sadist. Do whatever it takes to shut him up. Chloroform him; drag him by his white Reebox behind the dugout; bury his shrill, censorious whistle. Then return to your green, blank, mercifully silent playing field, and write.
- Karen Russell


(How do you shut up the liars in your head?)

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

Celebrations and timing

I've been thinking a lot about celebrations lately. It's important to take the time to celebrate important things, both personally and globally. Yay! You did it! Yay! We did it! You know what I mean.

I have my personal calendar of celebrations, as we all do. I write about some of them here, when it seems fitting. One of my big celebration dates was yesterday, but it wasn't appropriate to write about in the midst of all the fear and celebration happening in Boston related to the Marathon bombing. But I still thought and smiled about it.

Celebration and gratitude are closely related. One reinforces the other. If I feel grateful for something, when I celebrate it I pour more energy into it and strengthen its role in my life and then world. Celebration is a kind of deliberate, public expression of gratitude. It's a way of saying my glass is at least half-full and I want to share. Have a sip!

I don't think I celebrate enough, though I often express gratitude. I think many of us overlook celebration.

This led me to thinking about the things we might celebrate every day, in tiny ways, regardless of the timing. Little parades, tiny hip-hip-hoorahs. I thought I might share a few of mine with you.

So, today I am cheering for:

• 19 years cancer-free as of yesterday
• those whom I have loved
• those who love me
• health
• kindness small and large

I'd love to know what you might be in the mood to celebrate. Even if that celebration is just a thought, a smile and tiny cheer.

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

Story Quote: On Questions

I think the deeper you go into questions, the deeper or more interesting the questions get. And I think that’s the job of art.

—Andre Dubus III

(What are your questions?)


(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

Video: The World is Made of Stories

But of course, you knew that already.



(c)2013 Laura S. Packer