Seanchaís in the Making

 

   Seanchaí is the Irish word for storyteller. Everyone loves a good story, especially children. I remember how as a child slaving away in school, my day would brighten when Sister Eubestrabius eased back in her swivel chair and told us a yarn from her past. Her mother died when she was four and her father, the captain of an ocean-going tug, took her to sea with him. 

   It sounded like her father was kind of a modern day pirate, and when he was lost overboard in a storm off the coast of Bordeaux, Sister was taken into a nearby orphanage and raised by the nuns. "My life got less exciting after that," Sister told us, "but C'est la vie, boys and girls, C'est la vie."

   As I got older and started having adventures of my own, I would relate them to friends and relatives. Sometimes someone would say, "that was pretty good." There's a show on Public Radio called The Moth Radio Hour. People go in front of an audience and tell a personal story. The stories are recorded and the best ones get on the show.

   I have a personal story about the time I hitchhiked from California to Boston. I've written it down, but I've never told it in person. I thought it would be a good one for The Moth. The host of the show encourages listeners to call in and pitch their story. Throughout the year there are storytelling nights in various cities around the country. People actually pay big bucks to be in the audience.

   I've never done anything about The Moth, possibly because I'm a chicken. But the other night, I got a chance to practice my skills in a smaller venue. This past week, my fellow Wannaskan Alamnacker Kim has been running a writers workshop. Aspiring writers from all over signed up to spend a week in Warroad. They spend lots of time together, and published authors join them to offer writing advice. The participants have quality time to work on their manuscripts.

   Kim also plans lots of fun things around the area. One of those things was an open mike night at the Lake of the Woods Brewing Company. I decided to give my story an airing. I practiced telling my story alone. This is really, really important. If I don't practice, I tend to get things out of order. This is also a chance to loosen up the yarn and inject life into it. It's also when I try to pare the story down to the five minute time limit.

   I was having great trouble meeting that limit. Kim was offering a free beer to everyone who finished their story in under five minutes. I cut out lots of good stuff and my best time was still over seven minutes. I understood why people on The Moth always sounded out of breath.

   It was a beautiful evening when we arrived at the brewery on the banks of the Warroad River. I had resolved not to drink anything until I had told my story. Alcohol makes my stories longer. But when I signed up to tell my story, I was told I would be the second to last to speak. I headed for the bar, theorizing that the crowd would also be drinking and would forgive my boo-boos.

   We were out on a pleasant patio adjacent to the brewery. Before the storytelling started, a super loud Canadian National freight train roared by a few yards away. The economy must be doing well, because the train exceeded the five minute time limit. There would be two or three more trains during the evening. All storytelling would pause, and the audience would slip into the bar for refills

   The first speakers were mostly members of Kim's writer's workshop. I thought I had heard that poems were banned, but several of the speakers read poems written by themselves or someone else. These people all made it under the five minute limit and left the stage to collect their drink.

   There were some quite good stories. One woman talked about how her presumed excellent relationship with her husband became less amicable thanks to the Covid lockdown last year. Another woman said she used to be a professor at a college in a remote part of New York State. It was lonesome for a while until she found love with a local goat farmer.

   The people with the best stories had stage presence and used humor. I had two beers under my belt when I took the mike. I could see most of the tables had several pint glasses on them, a good omen. My siblings are all good storytellers and I pretended they were in the audience and so relaxed and had a good time. Thanks Kim for giving me this chance. I'll be calling The Moth any day now.

Listen my children.