Wednesday, April 6, 2016

The Telling Life: E is for extroverts and introverts

The A-Z Blog Challenge continues. 
Monday - something light to start the week. A bit of self-care, creativity challenge or the like.
Tuesday - telling notes for a specific story or kind of story. Tips and tricks to help you think about what you're telling and how.
Wednesday - my usual #tellinglife post, looking at some of the more personal aspects of storytelling and its role in my life.
Thursday - a dip into some of the issues facing contemporary storytelling or a dive into some of the more unusual applications of storytelling.
Friday - my usual personal post about life following the death of my husband
Saturday - the storytelling coach offers a tip you can use right now. An example of the kinds of tools I encourage my students to use.

I know, you won't believe me when I tell you this, but I am pretty introverted. That is sometimes a challenge in the #tellinglife, but I'm not alone. I know quite a few storytellers who, when they're offstage and not interacting with their listeners, are introverts. This isn't surprising, when you think about; storytelling (like any art) required quite a bit of internal work. Introverts tend to be energized by time alone, while extroverts tends to be energized by time with others. Storytellers need to be able to work well alone while we do all of the behind-the-scenes crafting and practice. The onstage time represents only a small percentage of a storytellers working life.

Both extroversion and introversion have their advantages; it's helpful to know where you fall so you can manage your energy reserves more effectively. I know this because it took me years to realize I was an introvert and respond appropriately. I used to wonder why I was so tired after social events, why I didn't particularly enjoy most parties and crowded places, why I had to work so hard at small talk. It was baffling. I'm a storyteller, surely I thrive on attention and others?!

Nope.

I saw Susan Cain's fantastic TED talk and found myself crying. Everything fell into place. While I do thrive on performance, I am exhausted by big social interactions. I need a lot of time to recharge. Understanding my own tendency toward introversion made an enormous difference in my life and in my performance. Now that I know I need quiet time, that I am better at 1:1 conversation, that I need to work at small talk, I can make better choice. I can choose to be lively at a party or networking event, but I know there will be a cost. I can be social and outgoing, but I am an introvert. I love the quiet alone time I need to work on a new story or piece of writing. I thrive on intimate conversations. I have a much better sense of how to care for myself as a performer, artist and human being. I also have a much better sense of how to spend time with my extroverted friends and how to ask for what I need.

Likewise, if you are an extrovert and you know it, you can make choices about how you take care of yourself. You can find the kinds of social situations that feed you best and you can make choices about how you interact with those who have less social ease than you.

A little self-knowledge goes a long way. Both extroverts and introverts have important and powerful skills. Once we know what nurtures us best we can take better care of ourselves and those around us.

Are you an extrovert or introvert? How does that impact your #tellinglife?

(c)2016 Laura S. Packer Creative Commons License

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

D is for distracted

Okay, I know I said Tuesdays were for specific telling notes as I participate in the A to Z challenge, but today? Nope. I. Am. DIstracted. 

DIstractions happen in the most orderly of lives and to the most focused people, but how do we working artists manage them? This can be one of the most important skills to making a living and life as a storyteller, writer, consultant, what have you.

When I find myself distracted I do a number of things. Maybe this will be useful for you, too. 

1. I acknowledge that I am distracted. Rather than getting angry at myself or excessively frustrated. I find that if I admit to myself that I'm having an unfocused day I am much more likely to be able to reset myself.
2. I try to figure out why I'm distracted. For instance, today is a travel day. I'm on my way back home from visiting my parents. My father is in hospice care, so it was a challenging and tiring visit. By admitting that these cares are making it harder for me to concentrate I give myself a little breathing room.
3. If possible, I address the distraction. Am I hungry? Thirsty? Tired? Is there something more urgent pressing upon me? Do I just need a break?
4. Once I've addressed it, if I can, I take some kind of physical break. I go for a walk, I stretch, I meditate. I do something to reset my body as well as my mind.
5. And then I select a small task that I know I can accomplish. By starting and completing a small task I give myself the satisfaction of finishing something. Success builds on success. I can then set a timer and start working on a larger task in blocks. 

I find this set of steps helps even when I'm deeply distracted and unfocused. 

What helps you focus when you're distracted? 

(C) 2016 Laura Packer
Creative Commons License

Monday, April 4, 2016

C is for chaos

It's day 3 of the A to Z Blog Challenge. As you know I'm following an editorial calendar this year.
Monday - something light to start the week. A bit of self-care, creativity challenge or the like.
Tuesday - telling notes for a specific story or kind of story. Tips and tricks to help you think about what you're telling and how.
Wednesday - my usual #tellinglife post, looking at some of the more personal aspects of storytelling and its role in my life.
Thursday - a dip into some of the issues facing contemporary storytelling or a dive into some of the more unusual applications of storytelling.
Friday - my usual personal post about life following the death of my husband
Saturday - the storytelling coach offers a tip you can use right now. An example of the kinds of tools I encourage my students to use.

I struggle with chaos. I have some bad organizational habits that get me in trouble from time to time. I'm sure I'm not the only one who experiences this. Today I want to think about the pros and cons of chaos in the life of the working artist. More than that, I'd like to offer some tools for managing chaos and some ways chaos can be your ally.

When chaos runs out of control it can disrupt our creative processes. It can even lose us work. I have tried any number of organizational systems and incorporate elements from several of them; I found something that works for me. That's what you have to do, too. Rather than bore you with my methods to manage madness, I want to give you one tool that helps me when I feel overwhelmed.

I use a timer. I use timers for so many things in my life, but I use a timer especially when confronting chaos or tasks I don't want to deal with. I fight chaos 20 minutes at a time. Rather than become overwhelmed by the whole thing (for example, I've let my desk become cluttered and hard to use) I set a timer for 20 minutes and clear my desk for that duration. When the timer goes off I stop or decide if I want to work on it for another 20 minutes.

By breaking the chaos down into small units of time I take away some of its power to overwhelm me.

What tools do you use to fight chaos?

On the other hand, chaos is a natural state of the universe - everything tends towards chaos - and can help spark creativity.

This is one of my favorite exercises for building deeper stories. Sometimes I use it to develop backstory, sometimes I use it when I'm struggling with creative blocks.

I take a stack of 3x5 cards (or if I don't have any, I tear up a sheet of paper into smaller pieces) and write down ten elements from my story. The elements can be characters, events, locale, etc. The bigger pieces work better for this exercise.

I shuffle the stack and then do one of two things.

  • I pull out one card at random. I then set my timer for five minutes and write about that one element in great detail. I learn more about that character, event or locale in those five minutes than I might with many hours of working on the story as a whole.
  • If I'm feeling daring and really want to embrace chaos, I shuffle the deck them lay the cards out in a random order, face down. I turn over the first card and that's the starting point for the story. each card that follows adds another story element. By telling the story in this truly non-linear, rather chaotic way, I often learn new things about the story. I learn what's essential and what can go. I have to stretch to make connections. Sometimes it gets a little ridiculous and is nothing I would ever perform, but I learn something each time.

When we forgive ourselves for a tendency towards chaos, when we make friends with it, we give ourselves permission to be more creative and playful in our work as well as less rigid in our habits. There can be beauty out of chaos. After all, butterflies emerge from a chaotic mass of cells that used to be a caterpillar.

What forms of chaos work for you? How have you used chaos to help create?

(c)2016 Laura S. Packer Creative Commons License

Saturday, April 2, 2016

B is for backstory

As you may know, I am again participating in the A to Z blog challenge wherein I will be posting almost every day in April (Monday-Saturday). To try to make this a little more organized and interesting, I've come up with a general posting schedule.

Monday - something light to start the week. A bit of self-care, creativity challenge or the like.
Tuesday - telling notes for a specific story or kind of story. Tips and tricks to help you think about what you're telling and how.
Wednesday - my usual #tellinglife post, looking at some of the more personal aspects of storytelling and its role in my life.
Thursday - a dip into some of the issues facing contemporary storytelling or a dive into some of the more unusual applications of storytelling.
Friday - my usual personal post about life following the death of my husband
Saturday - the storytelling coach offers a tip you can use right now. An example of the kinds of tools I encourage my students to use.

I hope this looks as intrguing to you as it does to me. And here we go!

Today we're going to look at backstory. Websters defines it as a narrative providing a history or background context, especially for a character or situation in a literary work, film, or dramatic series. This includes storytelling.

I believe it can be valuable for storytellers, writers and others to have a sense of what happened before the starting point of their story. Before Once upon a time. You don't need to tell the audience the backstory - in fact, it might be detrimental and distracting were they to do so - but it may very well inform how you tell the story. Let's take a look at a familiar story and see how backstory might influence the ways you tell it.

Think about Little Red Riding Hood for a moment, the version you know best. Remind yourself of the beginning, the middle and the end. If it's already in your repertoire think about how you feel when you start to tell it, your body language, your expressions and stance.

Got it?

Okay, now let's ask some questions about what happened before you started telling the story. You don't have to answer all of them, maybe only one or two.

  • How old is the little girl? How old is the mother?
  • Why is there no father on the scene?
  • Can they really afford the goodies they are sending to the grandmother?
  • Does the grandmother have something the mother or granddaughter want?
  • Does the mother like/love the grandmother? Is the grandmother the mother's mother or the father's mother?
  • Does the girl like/love the grandmother?
  • How often does the girl visit her grandmother? Is the path familiar?
  • Is it a sunny day? A cloudy one? Morning? Evening?
  • Why did the grandmother make the cloak red?
  • How long has she been sick? Is she really sick?
  • Is the wolf starving? Bored? Horny?
  • Do all animals talk in this world?
You get the idea. I could go on endlessly. I know this is a lot of questions, probably too many, but answering even a few might change your understanding of the story and may shape how you convey that meaning to the audience.

Once you know some of the backstory, the stuff that happens before the beginning, you can weave that understanding into how you tell the story. It might impact the imagery you use when talking about the forest or wolf. It might change your body language when you talk about the grandmother sick in bed. The possibilities are endless. Examining the backstory might even suggest a whole new way to tell the story.

You can apply backstory to just about any story. If you're feeling stuck in your creative process it might be a way to jolt you back on track. Give it a shot and let me know what happens!


(c)2016 Laura S. Packer Creative Commons License

Friday, April 1, 2016

A is for alive

Today marks the start of the A to Z Blogging Challenge. I've participated in this before though not in several years.

It's rough, starting this on a Friday when I typically write about Kevin, grief, and life-after-death. I also have a ferocious head cold and am on my way to spend a few days with my mother and my dying father. There is a lot going on, but that's the way life is. There is never going to be the right time for almost anything, so today?

A is for alive.

Death looms over everything we do. Whether you're an adrenaline junky, someone afraid to leave home or somewhere in between, it's ever-present. How we choose to respond to that shapes how we live. In its own way, mortality often sweetens life. I only have this moment. I had 15 years with Kevin and for that I am unspeakably grateful. I now have time with C, my new love. I have friends. I have family. I have the wind outside, the trees and the sky. I have stories and music. Any of those can be gone in a moment so for now? I am grateful and as present as I can be. I try to be gentle with myself when "as present as I can be" means watching television and zoning out. It's all part of being.

Today I am alive. My mother and my father are alive. So are you and many of the people you love. While Kevin may no longer be in this world, may no longer be breathing, he lives on in my heart and the hearts of all those who love him.

The love doesn't die. Not while we're still alive and maybe beyond. Mortality gives us the gift of life. Let us live.

(c)2016 Laura S. Packer Creative Commons License

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

The telling life: Five tips for self-care

It's happened again. I let myself get run down and I have another cold. My head is congested, my eyes are watery and all I want to do is huddle in a lump, feeling sorry for myself.

That isn't really an option, though I'm certainly moving more slowly than usual.

What this is making me think about is how I care for myself, especially when things are busy or I feel yucky. In lieu of a detailed post (because, really, I feel crummy) here are my top five self-care priorities, the things I try to do regardless of how busy things are. Please let me know how you take care of yourself, maybe your tips will help me head off the next cold. Bear in mind, this list is heavily influenced by my current slow state; what I would write when well might be quite different!

  1. I try to get enough sleep. If I can't get a full night's sleep I at least try to schedule a nap here and there. If I make it my habit to sleep enough then my mood is better, my body can more readily fight off infection and I am more creative/spontaneous/generous in my responses.
  2. I try to get outside most days. Even now, when I have a cold, I will at least stand on the porch for a few minutes and breath fresh air. It helps me remember that there is a whole world out there. It also means that I take a little time for myself every day.
  3. I try to do something kind for someone else. Even at my most miserable, if I can say something nice, give someone a smile or express gratitude, I remind myself that the world is bigger than I am. I know, this sounds kind of polyanna-ish, but it's true. 
  4. I try to be realistic in my objectives and be kind to myself. These are related. For example, days like today when I feel as though I can't think well or focus for long are not the day to write a deep and meaningful blog post. I'd rather admit that and do the best I can with who I am in the moment. When I can't, when I know I have to exceed my current capabilities (say I had a big gig) then I suck it up and do what I need to shine. I then give myself permission to crash later and prepare for that crash ahead of time, since I won't be able to do much in the moment. 
  5. I try to do the best I can, whatever that may be. Today the best I can is this post and then a lot of tv, tea and napping. Tomorrow it will be something else. Whether self-employed or working for someone else, the best we can is all we can do. I don't get paid if I don't work so I try to avoid sick days (I try to make every day a productive day) but I know it's necessary sometimes. Tomorrow will be something else. If I approach every day as a new best I can  then each day offers new opportunities. This is self-care because I understand that the best I can will change. 

What are your tips for self-care, whether healthy or ill? Really, I'd love to know so we can all benefit from our collective knowledge.

(c)2016 Laura S. Packer Creative Commons License

Monday, March 28, 2016

Dear Kevin: An open letter, two years later

Dear Kevin,

Oh, I miss you. I miss you with ever fiber, every breath. You know this, of course. You are the one who is there when, even now two years on, I wake up looking for you in the dark. Sometimes I still hear the cadence of your breath. I remember.

I love you. I still hold you inside of me, carry your heart, remember your touch. You know this, too. You are the one who taught me to believe that maybe there is such a thing as unconditional love, you are the one who told me once that you couldn't wait to see my face when I realized that could be true. You did. I remember.

And I am okay. It is an ongoing shock to me that here and now, without you in my life as a physical constant, I am upright. I laugh and smile and yes still cry. I love and am loved. You know this as well as you know my love and my sorrow. There is no okay without you and yet I find, there is. It is a different kind of okay. You are the one who asked me to promise that I would be okay. I did, but I was lying even as I pretended I was not. It turns out you were right about this one, too. I remember.

If memory is truly immortality then you will live forever. I take some comfort in that most days, though some days it tastes like nothing but ash. I remember you as do your kids, family, friends. You touched so many people. You would walk into a room and the light would coalesce around you. Now you are the light.

The easiest way for me to think of my current life is that I'm living in a science fiction story, or maybe an episode of The Twilight Zone, one of those written by Rod Serling, of course. Those were the best, the twistiest, the most human. I have slipped into a parallel universe or maybe the theoreticians were right and every moment the universe breaks into a multitude of possibilities. I stumbled into a different universe than the one I wanted to be in. I can't even say this parallel universe is worse than the one where you never got cancer. It is a greyer place much of the time, and a sadder one, but the world is still here. It is perhaps more tender than the one I lived in before. There is still beauty. There is love. The world may taste of salt now, the faint crust on my cheek and under my eye, but the world still has taste.

None of that is to say I don't miss you, don't hate what happened, don't long for you to be back. And yet... here I am.

I am so different now, though on the surface I may look mostly the same. I know my hair is much greyer. I don't laugh as quickly nor for as long. I am more forgiving more easily. My quiet side, always present though often unbelieved, is a bigger part of me. I need a great deal of time alone. I am softer. I am not discontented. Many days I am even happy, but I always feel the lack of you.

You are the one who, seen or unseen, present in spirit or as energy in the universe, opened the door for this odd place. You are the one who loved me so well in life that I find I can love again in the after life. You are the one who believed in me far more than I have ever believed in myself and so gave the the strength to find my way into this side world.

Now, here, two years out, I still miss you ferociously. I cried in my new love's arms last night and I'm sure I will do so again. He is a good man, I think you would like him. I hope you do. His presence in my life doesn't change the fact that I miss you and want you back. Sometimes that's a hard contradiction to hold, but it's there. I miss you in every breath, every time I laugh, every time I experience something that we would have shared with a sideways glance. I miss your shining face.

Now, here, two years out, I love you passionately. That will never go away, nor should it. The love we built, the way I love you, the way you love(d) me informs everything in my life. It shapes how I love now.

Now, here, two years out I find myself okay. And most days I think of you predominantly with enormous love and unmeasurable gratitude. Yes, I am different. Yes, I will never get over your death nor would I want to. Yes, this alternate universe is not where I would have chosen to be. But you taught me so much. Even in death. Even in those last moments, two years ago right now.

I remember the light streaming into the hospital room the moment after your heart stopped beating. You were in the light then. You are now. You always will be.

I love you, Kevin. More than anything else, more than the pain in this moment, more than missing you, the love remains. Thank you.

Laura

(c)2016 Laura S. Packer Creative Commons License

Friday, March 25, 2016

Physics revisited

What follows is a post I published just over two years ago, when Kevin was very sick but we hadn't yet received word that we were at the end.

I've been struggling with what to say as I approach the second anniversary of his death at the same time that my father is dying, and I keep coming back to this post.

It's no less true now than it was then. Thinking of the physics of energy and matter helps sometimes.

It's no less false now than it was then. The grief and loss are deeper than any comfort can touch sometimes.

I've written before about how I feel as though I'm living in a parallel universe, that something shifted while I wasn't looking, and I ended up here. I am a living scifi story. Maybe another time I'll explore the physics of multiple universes, but I think that offers less comfort. If I can't undo the past then comfort is what I need, even when I don't know how to express what I want, even when I find my current time and place beyond easy understanding.

Here, two years to the day when he was alive but dying.
Here, two years to the day when he was drifting between this world and whatever lies beyond.
Here, two years to the day when my life is again rich but different, sometimes sepia toned.

I remind myself that with every breath I inhale particles he exhaled.
I remind myself that our DNA is intertwined.
I remind myself that energy can be neither created nor destroyed.

I remind myself that love is greater than death.

*     *     *

This post was originally published on March 10, 2014, 18 days before Kevin Michael Brooks left this earth.

The cancer journey is a hard one. (Yes, it's a platitude, but it's no less true.) It strips away everything it can take.

It strips away the future.
It strips away strength.
It strips away faith.

I have been struggling to retain faith in something, hope in something, as Kevin walks this hard path. I keep coming back to physics.

When I was younger I loved reading popular science books, and especially books about physics. I retained some of it and find that now it gives me hope. If my interpretations are wrong please keep it to yourself, let me find comfort where I may.
  • The butterfly effect. Tiny actions may have incalculable results. Leading to -
  • The observer effect. We change things by observing them. We may even change things by thinking about them. The mere fact that hundreds if not thousands of people are thinking about and praying for Kevin may still have an unexpected, amazing effect. Even if it doesn't, all of that good energy will change those who are holding him in their hearts and ensure that he is always here in some fashion or another. Which brings me to another other law of physics I love.
  • Energy can be neither created nor destroyed, it can only be converted into another form. All of the energy that went into making the stars, the earth, each and every one of us, is still present. The energy that existed in the forms of those long dead is still here. Every bit. So when we lose someone their energy still exists, just in a different form. Maybe they are now part of an ocean wave or a bit of light headed off to explore new worlds. But their basic components, at the most basic level, still exist.
More than these, I remember the law of physics I learned when I was a young teen, from those masters Lennon and McCartney. This one gives me the most hope of all.
  • And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.  Which means, no matter what, Kevin is here now in a far greater form than his body and will always be here. You will remain, too. And me. The love is not lost or destroyed, it can only grow. The more we love, the more we are.
And that's really all I need to remember, to help me retain the future, strength and faith.

(c)2014 Laura S. Packer

p.s. Yes, I have read the wonderful NPR column by Aaron Freeman. I found it after I started pondering physics. If you haven't read it, you should.

(c)2016 Laura S. Packer Creative Commons License

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

The Telling Life: Giving voice to the unvoiced; commissioned pieces

I had the honor of presenting a commissioned work at the Castellani Art Museum at Niagara University last week, in celebration of Women's History Month. I was hired to prepare and present a lengthy piece on the life and influence of Sojourner Truth. It was a wonderful and challenging experience, well-received, that has me thinking about how storytellers can, should and sometimes should not give voice to the unvoiced.

Before I delve into this, in case you don't know, Sojourner Truth was born in New York state, enslaved, in 1797. She was named Isabella Baumfree. She self-emancipated in her late 20s and began to preach on both salvation and emancipation. In her 40s she renamed herself Sojourner Truth and added women's suffrage to her speeches. She was illiterate but with the help of a friend published her autobiography when she was 50. She continued to speak and preach on emancipation, equality and women's suffrage for the rest of her life. Truth died in her mid 80s, having seen the end of slavery across the nation but not the vote for women or anything resembling equality for black people.

When I was first approached about this piece I urged them to hire a storyteller of color. It didn't feel right that I tell this piece. I sent them references to several local tellers of color I admired, however the committee had heard me perform and was clear that they wanted to work with me.

Developing this piece presented some challenges. Among them:
  • I was hired as a storyteller, so I knew I didn't need to present it as a lecture, but I was telling historical fact, I wanted to make sure I got all of the data right. How to merge detailed historical data and immersive story?
  • More importantly, how could I tell the story of an enslaved African-American woman who died over 130 years ago without straying into appropriation? I certainly wasn't go to put on black-face or pretend to speak in her voice. We don't know what she sounded like, her accent or even what she really said. Beyond that, it would be insulting were I to try to imitate her.
  • How could I tell her story with any authenticity when she never wrote a thing down? Everyone who did write something down inevitably filtered it, because her story was written by middle-class, free, white people, all of whom had their own agenda. I, of course, have my own agenda but mostly I want to make sure she is heard and not forgotten. 
  • Last but not least, I wanted to make sure I was giving my client what they needed. How to do that?
These were not the only challenges I faced when putting this together, but they were certainly the most compelling. What follows are some thoughts and the solutions I enacted.

Giving voice to the voiceless. 
As a storyteller, part of my job is to give voice to the voiceless. I love telling fairy-tales from unexpected points of view, so the overlooked characters have a chance to speak. I enjoy playing devil's advocate and giving the villain voice. I view it all as a part of my work in the world, allowing my listeners a chance to consider another point of view. Storytellers can be especially subversive with this aspect of our work, since oral storytelling is such an effective way to build empathy. This is part of why I was (and am!) so excited about this piece. I knew that this was an unparalleled chance to talk about issues we still confront and to help ensure that someone amazing is not forgotten.

Data and narrative.
I need to work on this more, but what I kept reminding myself of is this: I am a storyteller. I am hired to help people connect emotionally with each other, with themselves and with a narrative. While I need to avoid factual errors, I don't need to turn the story into a recitation of dates and data points. By humanizing the data and events I make it more relatable and, frankly, easier to tell. I can tell it as a series of human experiences, not newspaper articles.

Truthfully, I'm still working on this aspect of the story. I had notes so I wouldn't make mistakes on the dates. In future tellings I intend to minimize the number of dates I refer to and instead talk about it as stages in a life with historical context thus eliminating the need for notes.

Working with my client.
This was the easiest of problems to solve. I made sure we each understood what we were getting and why. I asked about their goals and hopes for the piece. I listened. I did the best I could and tried to give them more than they were asking for, as I do with all of my clients.

Authentic voice and appropriation.
Sometimes storytellers, in pursuit of authenticity, try to give literal voice to the unvoiced. They use accents or other tools to bring someone to life. I do not do that, though this is a discussion for another day. I've written about it briefly here. If I can't do an accent perfectly then I being more insulting by trying. How many times has a white person played a Native American in a film and used a generic "Indian" voice?

For one, I am a short, white, middle-class, 21st century woman who has always had the right to vote, not a tall, African-American, born into slavery, 19th century woman who was arrested when she tried to vote. I could not be her. It would be arrogant and inappropriate for me to try.

For another, we don't know what she actually sounded like. We know her first language was Low Dutch and that she learned English in her early teens. Most of the people who wrote down her words added Southern U.S. phrasing and cadence to them, because by the mid-19th century slavery was considered more of a Southern phenomenon even though people were enslaved in the north into at least the 1820s. In her lifetime Sojourner Truth's actual voice was altered by her reporters to serve their own purposes. Truth was aware of this and of the power it conveyed, so she didn't object as far as we know, but we don't know for sure.

If I'm not going to speak in her voice AND I want to build empathy and connection with my audience, avoiding giving a lecture, what could I do? I solved the problem with a variety of methods.
  1. I acknowledged this issue at the outset of the story.
  2. I used rich imagery to bring the audience back to her time, so they felt present in another place.
  3. I created a fictional amalgam who did speak in first person. This white, middle-class woman knew Truth when she was young. She spoke to her experience with Truth. Yes, it could be argued (and some of you will want to do this because you're annoyed at my stance on appropriation to begin with) that I am not an 18th century woman and I did not know Truth, so how can I speak in her voice? I was willing to go this far. It is a personal choice and one I felt I could do with authenticity, integrity and without insulting Truth or the experience of the enslaved and unvoiced.
  4. At the end of the performance I reminded the audience that we don't know what Truth actually sounded like, but that she was a woman of great savvy. She had likely heard many of the pieces written about her and those written theoretically in her voice, so I concluded with a reading of her best-known speech. I did not try to sound like an aging African-American woman, nor did I try to change the language as it was written. I presented it as the closest approximation of her voice that we have, and that I wanted her to have the last word.
None of these were easy choices to make and I'm certain I will keep modifying the program, but it has been a fantastic experience, one that made me work and think hard, as well as question some of my beliefs about how professional storytellers give voice. I am grateful for the opportunity and look forward to performing it again.

I'd love to know how you work with these kinds of issues. What lines do you draw? How do you deal with things that might be taken for appropriation? How do you give voice?

(c)2016 Laura S. Packer Creative Commons License

Friday, March 18, 2016

Sedimentary

Earlier this week I found myself in Niagara Falls, NY. I was there for work but couldn't be that close to one of the wonders of the world without venturing out to see The Falls. Those words have to be capitalized. The power of all that water tumbling is truly awesome. I stood for a long time on the banks of an island, right near the edge of the falls. If I let my eyes unfocus enough it felt like I was part of the water. The sound was a great and constant roar, with small variations if you listened hard enough. I could feel the solid earth beneath me trembling. It was, frankly, overwhelming. 

At the same time that I was transfixed by The Falls themselves, I kept looking across the water to the walls of the gorge. The Niagara gorge is deep. The river has been running there for a long, long time and has had time to erode many hundreds of feet into the earth. I could see layer upon layer of strata, millions of years visible to me. I was as transfixed by the earth as I was by the water. The sedimentary rock told me of the passage of eons, of gradual or sudden change. The water told me of the inexorable nature of erosion and movement. Each told a story of power and time and enormous shifts not immediately visible.

I saw myself in that stony wall. 

So it is with grief. 

The second anniversary of Kevin's death will be in just over a week, on March 28th. Last year I could barely breath. I went on a trip with his children, my beloved step-children, so we could be together. On the anniversary of his death we walked on the beach, admired the waves, sprinkled some of his ash, cried and laughed. 

These memories were layered onto the memories of the year before when he was dying and the years before that, when he thrived. I remember being astonished by how much had changed and how little. I remember being astonished that I was still upright. It was a story of change and endurance. It was a story of love between partners, parent, child, siblings, friends. 

This year I will spend the anniversary of Kevin's death with my new love, a man who, on the surface is very different from Kevin but in essentials is much the same. I am sure I will cry. I am sure I will laugh. I am sure I will be astonished by how much has changed and how little. I have not stopped loving Kevin, nor will I. I love more now, both the old and the new. I have love layered upon love layered upon love. 

So it is with love. 

This year also finds me preparing for my father's death. He is now in hospice care at home and is very weak. I am writing this from my parents' living room as my father moves slowly in the bedroom, gathering himself for the day to come. I can hear him moving about, slow shifts and pauses, quieter but no less a part of the world than the rush of the water.

It is inevitable that my father's illness and death reminds me of Kevin's. Too, I am reminded of all the ways each of these men have lived. All the ways I have lived. I am reminded of how our lives are layer upon layer of experience, emotion, connection.

I don't like to think life erodes us away, as the water erodes rock. I'd rather think we are slowly exposed and our complexity, all of the things that build us into the wonder that we are, the love and grief and fear and hope, all of these things become astonishing strata that we can look at in awe. Our stories exposed. We are the water and we are the rock.

So it is with life.

(C) 2016 Laura Packer
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True Stories, Honest Lies by Laura S. Packer is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at www.truestorieshonestlies.blogspot.com.
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