I heard about an upcoming event for local storytelling, called The Armchair.  The theme for true, personal stories was to be "Common Ground," and I pitched several of my stories to them.

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Almost a year before, I had been a featured storyteller for The Moth Storytelling Mainstage in Eugene, Oregon. I had worked hard for more than a month, with a professional Moth director, to hone, memorize, and practice my story, which was about an embarrassing mixup at a writing retreat.

 

By the time the Armchair sent a reply expressing their interest, and then by the time I saw that email, it was a mere four days until the event.They chose my wedding story (which I had written awhile ago and is still posted on this blog). I told them I could not so quickly condense the 27-pages and MEMORIZE it (you were not allowed to even use notes). I said I would come just to be in the audience.

 

When I arrived on the designated evening, the producer said one of the tellers had taken ill, so would I please reconsider.

 

Well I said . . .

 

okay.

 

Waiting for the show to begin, I went outside to Tin Pan Alley to prepare. Restaurants and bars have tables and booths out there, and I approached two women on high stools having wine. "Would you please let me practice telling a story to you?" So I did.

 

We laughed together, and they expressed delight plus encouragement, and then they gave a couple of suggestions (which threw me for a loop, to change things at the last, last last minute)

 

Then taking a seat in the audience, I borrowed a pen and wrote a few key words on the back of my hand - which was illegal. I enjoyed the first several tellers, with tales that included escaping from a boarding school for "bad" teen girls, and George Clooney playing a practical joke on the owner of a kitten, and traveling the world to write a book about each culture's version of doughnuts.

 

When the emcee announced me -- even pronouncing my name correctly -- I settled onto the huge red stuffed armchair and wandered through a version of my story. ( I never even remembered to glance at the words on my hand -- fortunately, because I later saw they were scrunched illegibly in the veins and wrinkles.)

 

They had a camera set up, aimed generically, with no camera person. So I have attached here the somewhat embarrassing result.