ShareThisBy SHARON RANDALL
Scripps Howard News Service
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
The best compliment for a storyteller is to be told a story in return, because every good story conjures up another.
I'm not sure who said that. I suspect it was Donald Davis, a friend and fellow Tar Heel, who is one of the finest 'tellers I've heard, and I've heard a few.
Even if he didn't say it, I bet he would have, if he'd thought of it, so let's give him credit.
Anyhow. Regardless of where it came from, it's an interesting observation on human nature and our need for telling stories and hearing them told.
My earliest memories recorded the hours I spent as a child listening to the voices of people I loved as they recalled memories of their own.
My mother, for instance, would pause while mixing up a batch of biscuits to describe in detail how she once "sashayed" across a stage to accept an award for "best actress" in the eighth grade school play.
My dad would hold me spellbound on his knee and recall his passage as a young soldier through the locks of the Panama Canal en route to Europe and World War II.
My grandparents had more stories than their Chihuahua had fleas _ tall tales from when they were children running barefoot in the mountains with wolves at the door and snakes underfoot and lots of feuding and stabbings and shootings.
I loved those stories. But what I loved most, and would remember best even now, was the sound of their voices; the gesturing of their hands; the posturing of their bodies; and the light that lit up their eyes.
Those were the things that told me not just what happened, but how they felt about it. It allowed me to get to know them a little better, and at the same time, to get to know myself.
That, of course, is the main reason why we tell stories: We want to know and to be known.
It's hard to tell a good story in writing. You have to rely on the reader to fill in all the details from facial expressions, voice tones and body language. But sometimes if you're lucky, you find a way to put the light in your eyes down on paper.
It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's about the best feeling a writer can hope to get.
My favorite response from a reader usually begins with "OK, I read your story, now let me tell you mine."
When I write stories about, say, my grandmother, I hear from readers who want to tell me their grandma stories, too.
When I write about loss, I hear from people who've lost someone they loved and feel a need to put their grief in words.
When I write about moving to some place of all places, I hear from folks who are facing far bigger changes, and want me to know that I am not alone.
When I write about falling into a fish pond, not once but twice in the same day, I hear from people who swear they've done it three times or more.
I like those people a lot.
Every week, I get a letter from a reader in Alabama, who writes to tell me about her life. We've never met, but I've learned a lot from her letters _ both about her and myself.
We are all more alike than we are different in the everyday matters of the heart. Stories help us to see that.
If you have a friend who is grieving _ or feeling lonely, or ill, or just plain old _ ask her to tell you her story, whatever that story may be.
Listen closely. Ask questions. Take the time to hear her out. When she's finished, let her see the light in your eyes. Then tell her a story of your own, the one you've been longing to tell.
Every good story conjures up another. And you never know what you might learn.
(Sharon Randall can be contacted at P.O. Box 777394, Henderson NV 89077, or at randallbay(at)earthlink.net)
