Listen

[The Story] sings to me

And calls my name from somewhere up there

Over there, from somewhere here,

From the depths of our minds. 

--Yup' ik Eskimo Song

One of the greatest influences in my thinking about story-telling has been Native American Literature, which I have been reading and teaching for more than 10 years.  When I first read Sherman Alexie's The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, many years ago now, I was struck most profoundly by the character Thomas Builds-the-Fire, a young "shaman" who is the repository for his tribe's histories, memories, and stories.  Thomas's name says it all--his stories build the fire for his tribe, fire for warmth, for action, for transformation.  Thomas saw story-telling as a calling, a purpose, a responsibility.

After encountering the character Thomas, I began to wonder if, as a writer, I might share his philosophy, at least a little.  A culture needs its story-tellers to entertain, inspire, inform, and transform the people.  So then I began to think of story-telling as a possible calling for me.  This new perspective took me out of my ego-centered thinking ("Look what a good story I wrote") to a higher purpose.  And in addition I began to feel a connection to all story-tellers, past, present, and future.  As though I might be a part of something very important, very big.  Much bigger than myself or any success I might have with telling stories.

In my research, I later found that many Native American story-tellers believe that stories "call" their tellers.  Geri Keams, a Navajo, suggests that the story-teller has to "find an inner alliance with the collective wisdom of the story."  She said:  "We connect with the call of the story.  There is a great respect for the Spirit that comes from outside of ourselves, that comes and gives life and meaning to the stories.  So what we feel inside, and what the stories are, and where the stories come from, does not come from us alone."

Keams's statement leaves me much to think about.  Regarding my own work--if the stories come from something outside of myself and are not mine alone, then where do the stories come from and to whom do they belong?  To whom have they belonged in the past?

I realize that Keams is talking about teaching stories that have been passed down by her ancestors for generations.  Yet I also have a feeling that my stories, personal as they are, are part of something larger than my own experience.  Might there be some "collective wisdom" connected with my stories?  Might my stories also function as teaching stories?  Might they tell readers something about the experience of being alive, of being human? 

Also among Native American story-tellers is the belief that the story itself has a "voice."  Said Joseph Bruchac:  "There is a kind of voice that the story has on its own, and as a teller, you both speak and answer that voice--you answer its call."  Obviously, each written story has its own voice or style.  However, I began to think that unwritten stories also have a voice, and it's a matter of listening for it.  The voice will tell you how the story needs to be written.  Since reading what Keams, Bruchac, and other Native American story-tellers have had to say about a story's "call," I have tried hard to listen for voices as I approach the writing of my own stories, to listen for how each story wants to be presented.

I don't pretend to know how it all works.  I just know there's a truth in all of this somewhere for me.  I know that although I cannot explain where the "call" or the "voice" come from, both are real for me.  And for right now, that's enough.

Quotes from an article by Suzanne Jasper.