My search for new activities after retiring led me to try the hottest thing around town, storytelling (the Moth has been around for 20 years but it seems like there has been a noticeable growth spurt in the last few years, at least to me, with numerous locations hosting monthly events).

It was a natural choice for me, as I am an excellent, though infrequent liar, using my skill not to deceive, but to amuse (honest). Hyperbole, sarcasm, and parody, if you will.  As I learned quickly in my storytelling class at Second City in early 2017, however, the stories are supposed to be true. This limitation means that not only do you have to pay attention to what is going on around you, but also that you have to remember it (a young person’s game). As much as that sounded like work, I forged ahead, laboriously dredging up memories thought to be lost in the undefined depths of my mind (unlike legal writing, storytelling thrives on adjectives and adverbs, long underused, but welcome accessories in my vocabulary).

The class was excellent and it returned to me the joy of creating a story and standing in front of an audience, small as it might be, for whatever appreciation I might get, small as it might be. For years I’ve had two relaxation stones, given to me by a friend, one engraved with the word create, and the other with the word laugh. That sums it up for me.

During the run of the class I went to a storytelling event, my first, at Steppenwolf Theater. I found a number of the stories depressing (mine will attempt to be humorous), but seeing experienced storytellers do their thing was useful.

Since then I’ve gone twice to Mrs. Murphy and Sons Irish Bistro to see more stories, including one by a friend with whom I took my class. Inspired by his performance, I’ve signed up to tell one of my own, which probably won’t be until the fall. In the meantime, I’m telling short stories on this blog. Stay tuned.