(Cross-posted by Allison Graff from Thoughts on Faith and Writing)
So we just spent three long days talking about stories. We talked about them, we lived them, we thought up new ones to write later. It was good to be with so many others who understand the importance of stories.
The Festival of Faith & Writing is one big feast of stories - stories of writing, stories of reading, stories of editing, stories of doing investigative journalism. My favorite story from the Festival was the one told by Mischa Berlinski about the true existence of Haitian zombies (!). I won’t say much more than that - just look for another bestseller from Berlinkski in the next year or two.
You might be surprised to learn that the best stories I heard in the past three days weren’t from published or aspiring authors. These stories - stories of adventure and horror and occasional joy - came from three beer-drinking men sitting around a bonfire telling tales of unemployed schizophrenic neighbors and the unfortunate drowning of an ATV in a four-foot sludge puddle. It could have been the Miller Light or the crackling fire, but these “war stories” of life in a small town south of Grand Rapids said more about human nature and community than almost anything I can think of.
Perhaps others have experiences telling stories like this around a fire. Warm evenings, crispy hot dogs and perhaps a bit of alcohol get us going, but I’d like to think that this is what we were born to do all along. I can’t help but notice how enjoyable it is for everyone sitting around the fire to listen to these yarns. Not everyone in the small circle even knows each other, but still, connection is happening. And it’s not that super-intense “intentional” kind of community we always talk about wanting to build. It’s just a natural connection built from talking and listening and laughing together for a spell.
We need more places, more “fire rings” to gather and tell stories. I’m talking about places naturally built into our neighborhoods where we can sit and as my fiance likes to say, “chew the flab.” If we don’t build these places where we can tell stories, I’m afraid we all might die from loneliness.
So as we all go out from the Festival of Faith and Writing 2008, I hope we can go back to our towns and cities with more than the perfect book proposal in mind. The laws of supply and demand dictate the reality that we will not all be able to publish our writing. That’s actually okay. The world might not need our books and essays and poems as much as it needs our passion for storytelling. What we need to do is take our passions for telling and listening to stories to our neighborhoods, to our churches, to our schools and create places where we can gather and talk to each other. And I’m not talking about high-minded “dialogue.” I’m talking about just talking to each other; telling stories about possessed one-eyed cats or the cherry tree we planted that refuses to bear fruit each spring.
It may be a tad sacrilegious to say this after a festival about faith and writing, but I’m going to say it anyway. We might need to write less (I say as this post drags on and on) and talk more. The world might actually be a better place if we abandoned some of our cherished writing projects and started working on creative projects that bring people together to tell stories.
With that, I’m going to close this chapter, this blog until FFW 2010. Maybe then I’ll hear from you who used your passion for stories to enrich the lives of those around you. And if I let this experience stay with me, I’ll have some things to report to.
~posted by Allison Graff, web communications coordinator, Calvin College
