Storytellers

She was a fabulous storyteller. Vivid language, great engagement with her listeners, a dab of acting the part thrown in. She could enthrall. But she didn’t know when to stop. She’d reach a climax, her audience would clap and voice their approval. Then she’d ruin it by going on longer. The listeners knew when the story was over, but she didn’t.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “storytellers.”

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

5 thoughts on “Storytellers”

  1. I decided to have my four sisters over for the 10th anniversary of our mother’s death. We had spaghetti for supper. Like we used to have at Mom’s every Sunday. I wanted it to be simple… no fuss. I didn’t want gifts or flowers or wine. What I asked for, was a story about Mom. For that one magical night, we all became great storytellers. We couldn’t see her. But we all felt Mom sitting there at the end of the table laughing with us. We really are her ‘bunch of fools’.

  2. Lauren’s family abounded with storytellers; beginning with her mother and ending with practically most of her aunts and uncles. In the case of her mother, Lauren recalls her fascinating stories of life in the old country with its rigorousness, regimented discipline but also its simplicity. Her uncles and aunts were another matter—they were natural joke tellers.

  3. One rainy night, we came home dripping wet, shivering , cold and hungry from a long day at the books’ counters. The new session was about to begin and there were four of us siblings. Our home was good six odd kilometres from the school. Add that to a sudden darkening of the afternoon sky and pelting by large hailstones, the size of plums.
    Warm bath and dry clothes later, we sat sipping hot tea as ma recounted the tales of dinosaurs and huge insects(the size of ostriches) flying in and out of unused volcanic shafts; while rain drummed a continuous din outside. There was a blackout and the flickering light of the candles threw gigantic shadows of moths on the walls; making the stories come true in an eerie fashion. The story was probably Jules Verne’s “the journey to the centre of the earth ” .But that night established the credentials of my mother as the master storyteller.Jurassic Park was released some two decades later.

  4. She pressed the key softly, like touching an old piano and looked happy at the round point setting quietly at the end of the row. “Yes. This came out pretty good too.” Then she remained a few more minutes, leaning back relaxed in the high seat, waiting for the imagination to begin weaving again. But nothing happened.

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