Journal Archives

Is There a Storyteller in the House? Telling for Peace

by Caren Neile. Twice in two months this past winter, I participated in peace rallies at Florida Atlantic University in Boca Raton. The rallies were held in the “free speech area,” little more than a slab of concrete connecting two sides of the urban campus. Because I teach storytelling at the university and host a

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The Rising Is in the Telling: Learning from My Elders

by Rosann Kent (and Sarah Moore). When I wanted to understand the role of recall in the aging process, I did what any self-respecting journalist would do: I interviewed the experts. I talked to psychiatrists and psychologists who specialize in memory, researchers who study the mind-brain connection, as well as the pioneers of reminiscence and

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Sharing Our Stories, Intertwining Our Lives: Strengthening Community Ties Through Oral History

by Allison Cox. A small ad on the back page of the local middle school newspaper read: “seniors wanted for oral history project. The Journalism students would like to interview you to learn what life was like in previous decades. Please call if you are interested.” “This newspaper is distributed for free all over the

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Connecting Across the Years: Storytelling in Assisted Living Centers

by Kathy Murphy. Imagine a small group of older people sitting in a living room. I begin to tell stories. Someone in the audience might fall asleep, or interrupt me, or get up and leave. Or, something magical might happen… I am a freelance storyteller, working mostly with senior adults in long-term healthcare facilities and

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The Twin Faces of Sorrow: Stories That Help Heal Grief and Rage

by Kimberley King. When I got there, the camp was buzzing like a hive of angry bees. Teenage girls were stomping about, slamming doors, cursing, shouting, threatening to run away. The friend who had asked me to tell stories met me at the car. “We’ve had a major blowout,” she told me. “Maybe you should

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Cows

by Anonymous. There are stories hidden in our daily food. I dedicate this story to all the women in America with cancer in their breasts. I love cows. I love their lovely dangly pink udders and their patient luminous eyes. I love their milk and drank it every day growing up in the forties, until

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