Most of my childhood was spent listening to stories. Some of them were true, some were flat-out lies, and most were that perfect blend of both that leave you planted in your seat waiting to hear what happened next. A lot of these stories I heard spying in that way that only children can do, absorbing all of the ‘grown folks business’ that I could before being shooed away. My favorite stories, though, were the ones that I was meant to hear: sitting on the ground, with the teller (my uncle, grandmother, whoever could tell the tale) weaving their stories. Many of those stories were told on the porch of my house with me sitting on the cool concrete. The storyteller sat on the old sawed off tree stump that sat in one corner. The stump was the closest thing to a proper chair on the porch, and the Teller got the Stump. The best stories left my butt numb from sitting on the ground so long.
The porch, stump, and most of the storytellers from my childhood are long gone. This blog is the place that I will now choose my seat and sit down (to quote one of the greatest storytellers of them all, Son House). From this stump I will share some stories of my own as well as updates on my ongoing progress with my very first novel, Sugar Spring, which I am now in the process of writing. Along the way I also will highlight storytellers of all kinds that have struck me in one way or another: artists, musicians, writers, poets, all with stories worth telling and worth hearing.
I hope that you will enjoy. Have a seat. And if your butt gets numb, feel free to stand up if you have too!