I remember the woman interviewing me was using an actual pad and pen, and I remember how I liked that. It felt good to watch our conversation filling up the pages of her notebook.
It reminded me of a quote from Sequoyah, a Native American hero who made it his life’s work to give his people access to the “talking leaves” of the white man. Sequoyah spent twelve years in the early 1800’s paring down thousands of native sounds into 85 symbols so his people could read and write. “When a talk is made and put down,” Sequoyah said, “it is good to look at it afterwards.” Truth, Sequoya. Well said.
I don’t write fiction, at least not in the long form of my fellow belles. But I do tell stories, by the pound and they often need a bit of decorating and disguising to protect the not so innocent. It’s why I’m more comfortable being known as a “storyteller” rather than a non-fiction writer, but I’m splitting hairs and there’s a question on the table.
My interviewer was after the same scoop. Where do my stories come from? I’m pretty sure she was disappointed in my answer but it hasn’t changed. I listen. That’s the whole big secret that isn’t one.
I listen. I believe that everyone has a story worth hearing — even those who are adamant that they don’t. I love asking questions that set people up to tell me their story. If they don’t offer it, I’ve been known to dig until I find it.
“But, why?” my interviewer asked, “Why is it so important to tell our stories?”
Have you ever said something that told you what you had been thinking before you even realized how you felt? It happened to me that day. “Because,” I said. “The whole world stops for a story.” As soon as I said it, I realized how deeply I felt those words. When a story is told the world stops spinning, if just for a moment. People stop passing each other by like wound up toy soldiers marching blindly into the next activity. The very words, “That reminds me of a story,” will cause us to lean in and connect whether the telling is being done audibly or on “talking leaves.”
Honestly, I felt that quote so deeply I had it built into my new website so I could remind myself of it every time I logged on. I’m not sure stories come; I think they are. It’s a privilege to slow down and catch them.
Hugs,
Shellie
Shellie Rushing Tomlinson stacks stories on top of stories from her home on the banks of Lake Providence, LA. You’re welcome to come and tell her one of yours at www.allthingssouthern.com