The Storyteller: Pictures in the Flames

Note: As many of you have pointed out or noticed, I seem to have a story project novel nebulous creation coming out of me lately–one that links the value of story with the lines connect and divide us, one that comes from someplace I have yet to understand. I don’t know what will come of it, but I have to go with the images and words that insist on pouring themselves onto the screen. So far, however, I haven’t found the body of the story, only the links between. The Storyteller. The camp fire. The dark woods. The Others. Sparks in the sky. These are the images that tie this project together, in whatever form it ultimately takes. So, giving into the whims of the creative forces guiding me, I’ve trotted myself over to my favorite coffee shop work space of this summer (pictured below) and share the meager offerings with you, my fellow travelers on this journey of words.

I find it helpful to write in a place filled with fun creativity. Prairie Chick in Okoboji, IA suits the bill, especially since I just discovered they have Chai!

Pictures in the Flames

Heart Beat! Drum Beat! Heart Beat! Drum Beat!

The people gather round the camp fire, swaying to the beat of the drums. As a unit, their hearts fall into rhythm together.

Ba dum! Ba dum! Ba dum!

They begin to hum a wordless chord that blends to create a harmony that bounces off the earth and flies into the universe.

Mmmmm! Aaaaa! AAaaaaaaaaaahhh!

Ba dum! Ba dum! Ba dum!

The Storyteller joins her voice to the song. At first she blends with the chord,  but then her hum turns into words.

Let me share the stories of human kind
Listen children, with heart and mind.
Learn the lessons that I must share
and from my stories you shall learn to care.

Her song continues with many versus, but the listeners fall into silence. A silence so deep one can hear the beating of their hearts.

Ba dum! Ba dum! Ba dum!

As her voice raises in glory, sparks fly from the fire, swirling and twirling into the dark sky. At first the sparks seem to join the stars, but then the stars and sparks come together in a complex dance of creation. Pictures join and depart for fleeting moments.

Each person around the camp fire sees something different. A hushed murmur builds as they point these visions out to one another.

” Look, a mother holding her child,” says the woman who had lost many children and yet holds a gleaming hope inside her womb.

“Three men pointing rifles at another man,” says the gruff man, carrying in hidden in his pocket a medal that represents his deep  sorrow. A son killed in war.

“A clown juggling balls,” giggles a group of children, who then began to toss small rocks in the air.

“Hush,” the women near them say, “Listen to the Storyteller.” The children obey.

The stars and sparks continue to dance, until they merge together to form the giant image of a woman hiding in the shadow of the trees, where no one ever ventures.

Silence descends again on the clearing, until a young girl speaks in a voice both sweet and confused, “That’s an Other woman, and I think she’s smiling. I didn’t know Others could smile.”

The Storyteller glides over to the young girl and places her hand on her head. “Of course they can smile. They can cry. They can scream. They can do anything you can do,” she says “and I shall tell you why. . . “

_________________________

Today’s Quote

The process of creating is related to the process of dreaming although when you are writing you’re doing it and when you’re dreaming, it’s doing you. Robert Stone

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