For Wayward WritersOral History WHAT? Unearthing the oral historian in youFor me, it started i
For Wayward WritersOral History WHAT? Unearthing the oral historian in youFor me, it started in the kitchen.Chairs in a semicircle next to a tiny window opened, supposedly, to ventilate the endless cigarette smoke exchanged for a little gossip. It all started in that kitchen where all my tías became chimneys, magical storytellers of their lives, narrating in hand gestures, laughters, shrugs, the ineptitude of their husbands, phantoms of their childhood, the stupidity of the newly elected mayor, the newest anti-wrinkle cream, etc. I stood in a corner mesmerized. Listening to words I did not yet understand, but entranced by the power of each individual story to open a world of its own. Fascinated by the emotional detailing of each memory, which allowed me to connect, empathize. I too, felt their pain, their loss, their joy.Needless to say I’ve always been very attracted to storytellers. I’m a groupie with a radar for voice. I love hanging out with older folks and just chatting it up until they’ve retold at least twice that story about seeing three witches hidden in the gateman’s hut every day to and from school. My God. I live for that stuff. My believability capabilities are endless, not because I’m naive, or because I come from the “magical realism” country, but because human experience reaches supernatural limits every day (think wars, think bars in small towns, think grandmothers, think you).Keep reading here. -- source link
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