Territorial Display

My boyfriend Jim and I went to visit The Wild Animal Sanctuary last week; we're both active members and love the place.  We were also lucky enough on that day to hear a lot of lions roaring.

A new male lion was in the introductory stages to the prides, which had the senior males pacing, strutting and roaring.  They didn't just roar at the new guy but to each other in a cascading call-and-answer that almost sounded a  like series of echoes.  We were surrounded in a rapid fire roar-roar-roar!  One answering male was in his interior residence, chewing on a frozen meat pie and stopping to answer-roar between bites.  It reminded me of the guy at the bar who bellows "Go Broncos!" between quaffs without even looking around to see who yelled it first.

It sounded to me like territorial display.

I've heard plenty of this in radio, both on air and in creative session.  Worried males of our species also echo each other, pace and pose when threatened, and they echo each other when claiming territory.  You'll hear it on pretty much any morning show.  We often mistake it for daring, for a bold disregard for "the rules", for a guy who's "not going to be PC", but I've always heard an instinctual aggression under all that, the instinct to stake or defend territory, to strut his stuff, to prove his superiority and dominance.  Males who aren't so worried also tend to be less aggression-prone (in effect, less mean), in many species.

That evening after our visit to the lions we went to The Fort restaurant, which regularly employs actors and storytellers to be mountain man lookalikes.  One stopped at our table and told us a tale of a friendly buffalo.  We were amazed a delighted by it and told him so.  I then shared a quick anecdote of my own with him, relating to his observation of animal behavior, during which he stared at his phone and dialed up pictures of the friendly buffalo.  He completely ignored everything I had said, acting as if I hadn't spoken at all.

Since I've been in radio for 30 years, and since I've been female for even longer, this was not the first time I've experienced this.

He was staking his territory.  "I'm the teller here, lady." his posture and tight smile said, "This is not a conversation."

Later we stopped in the courtyard by the fire; the moment was becoming just a bit romantic when he joined us to regale us with yet another story.  I got out my cell phone and answered texts while he talked.  As he wrapped up he leaned in and sneered, "Was that a good story?"  I smiled, meeting his eyes.  "Yup!"  I said.

Here's another thing that happens among lions: when the males overdo it, the lionesses give them a good cuff across the face.  Especially the elder lionesses.

We didn't see any lionesses cuff any males that day, but I didn't need a reminder.

It's instinctual by now.

Show Prep and Story Prep

Radio people do show prep every day.  Actually, we live show prep. We're doing show prep when we're asleep. Show prep becomes just the way you live. Everything, or pretty much everything, is fodder for the next show, for the next chance to create radio that is fresh, relevant, compelling, and concise. We want to create radio that connects us to our listeners and makes our our listeners feel connected to us and to life itself more vividly, that rides the edge of unconsious collective thought, that curates common experience, that exposes the truth that we are all the same (also called by Brian McDonald, one of my writing gurus, "The Golden Theme").

So for radio people, that's all we want out of life. Every day, every break on the air, every show.

Other than that, we don't want much.  Maybe to have yet another meal that isn't ramen while the gig still lasts.  Maybe to get out of debt again before the gig ends.

So this journey into Spellbinding, into bringing stories to kids told in the original way, the ancient way, in most human of all arts, is new.  And...not new.

The ritual of prep feels familiar. Choosing the story, stacking up parts of the story, tossing the parts that are not crucial to moving the narrative forward, running through the story to see how the structure holds up, and pruning yet again.  Then (to mix metaphors) selecting the corners of the parachute so that the story will fly true, selecting key phrases which will be the corners of the parachute to grab on to through the narrative journey, and then beginning the rehearsal process. Making sure I can stick the landing, over and over and over again.  Then sticking the landing in the TIME.*  This, from both radio and theater standpoints, is all very comfortingly familiar.

BUT...sitting in a tiny chair made for a five-year-old in front of a group of children, the only kind of people I never spent any time around ever, the only people who have never represented a demographic I've served, well… That's an adventure. I'm counting on them to guide me, and I'm sure I won't be disappointed.

Prepping stories for the season for Kindergarten, 1st Grade, 3rd Grade and 4th Grade… Here goes!

* This parachute concept comes from a brilliant book by Sue Hollingsworth and Ashley Ramsden, The Storyteller's Way.

To Fall Under a Spell

Spellbinders is a Denver-based organization that brings elders into schools to tell stories.

The astonishing thing is how often we have to explain to people what storytelling IS.

"You mean you read to kids?"  "So, are you a teacher?"  "So, you're storytellers like (name a Ted Talk celebrity)?"

As a culture we're so far removed from the ancient, basic art of telling stories to each other that we have forgotten not only how to do it, but what the heck it even IS.  I think this is because we have forgotten how to listen.

If you brush up on your listening skills and tune your ears, you'll hear people telling stories all the time.  Most people, however, are not artful tellers; and even artful tellers, while not telling stories, will bore their partners with mental grocery lists and gripe sessions about how annoying that guy at the gas station was again.

Listening is three times harder than talking, because the brain listens faster than a person can speak.  Great storytellers know this and pace themselves with many techniques to make the story hearable.  People who are just yearning to be heard tend to pack ears with the force of a firehose.  People who are yearning to be heard but have chained themselves to the rock of social acceptability struggle in a completely different way.  Everyone needs to tell their story, and every human being is jammed with unheard stories.  Freud's "talking cure" was all about listening to someone's story.  To be heard is to be healed and made whole.

It's easy to reacquaint ourselves with storytelling.  It starts with listening, which is the most generous, caring thing you can do.  To set your own thoughts aside, to truly give over to what's being said, is to fall under the spell of the teller.

When you're truly listening, when you are spellbound, you are making space for magic.