The Storyteller and the Campfire

Right now, there is a pool on the roof of a school somewhere in the world. This is a pool no one has seen, nor has anyone been able to prove it is up there. Yet the pool is believed to be there, simply because someone told us it was there. See, someone told someone. Then someone told someone else and so on down the line. Now the seniors are excitedly telling the new kids the latest version of where the pool is and why no one has seen it.

Or maybe the story was telling us that there are tunnels running underground. Tunnels that connect the north side of your college campus with the south side. I bet you’d be able to get from class to class quicker, if someone could only find the entrance.

These are the small tales and baby urban legends that we encounter throughout our lives. Stories are everywhere. Each story, growing bigger and stranger as it gets passed from one story teller to another. Just like that fish that gets bigger each time you hear your uncle talk about it. Soon enough that fish will be the next loch-ness monster.

I’m fascinated by the way stories fill our lives. Tall tales, myths, urban legends, fairy tales and the like, all have found a special purpose to our culture. Some stories are true and are important to how we share information. Others aren’t so true, but are just as influential to our lives. These are the stories we only believe while they are being told. The ones we listen to with our undivided attention and a spark in our soul. The ones that end all too soon but we let linger a little longer. Sometimes we enjoy them so much we choose to believe them just a little longer. In that choice of belief the story continues on a little longer. Someone new learns there is a pool on the roof.

This belief, or rather suspension of disbelief, is the stuff bigfoot is made off. Every town has a tale and every forest has a monster. Where would a campfire be without a ghost story or two. Long before you or I were even born people have been telling stories around fires. The Grimm brothers’ collected a whole book of fireside tales and more passed through generations. To this day the stories are still passed along. Some tellings are true to the original, many changing a little as they change hands.

When I started telling stories I was a child around a campfire. I listened to my family spin yarns. Stories ranging from ghostly mysteries to silly exploits. I gathered each one and I learned. I learned a campfire might not be as good as it’s flames but as good as it’s stories. I learned how to turn a tale in the most intriguing way. Sure when I was young the stories were clumsy and goofy more often than not, but they made people smile. That made me smile. Now my stories are more pulled together, more vivid. However, without anyone to listen to them my stories would be nothing.

I’m passionate about a myth, a tale, a story of any kind. The truth about stories is they only need two things. Someone to tell it and someone to listen. I’ve become a storyteller. Now I’m just looking for those who will listen. Do you want a tale of adventure? A mystery of the strangest kind? Or a ghost story full of the most hastily ghouls? Do you have a story to tell too?

Come sit by the fire. Let’s talk for a while. Maybe you'll learn how to find the swimming pool.