Join the Art of Storytelling with Brother Wolf Podcast

Would you like to be a part of a storytelling conference call that supports you in your use of storytelling? If so, then enter your name and email address and you will receive personal invitations to participate in The Art of Storytelling with Brother Wolf Conference call – most Tuesdays at 8pm Eastern.

I will not share or give away your email address.

And don’t forget to subscribe by iTunes or your browser to The Art of Storytelling with Brother Wolf so you can get bi-weekly inspirations from Bother Wolf direct to your desktop. Read the info on the right to find out how. It’s free and it’s super simple.

Rachel Hedman – Child Storytellers Speak Out: What They Wish Adults Knew

Fill out the form and press play to Rachel Hedman, Co-Chair of Youth, Educators, and Storytellers Alliance talking about child storytellers speaking out: what they wish the adult storytellers knew.

Tired of the tin sound? Purchase a HQ Mp3 File of Interview #026 Rachel Hedman for $2.23 Child tellers speak out: what they wish adults knew.

One of the most touching storytelling interviews I have done to date. I love the passion in Rachel’s voice and storytelling as she tells the story of Black socks. I hope you are inspired in your work with child storytellers.

——-Rachel writes…
Child tellers often have silent wishes regardless if they attend elementary, middle, or high school. When given the chance to speak, these are the top three wishes:

1. Wish to meet other child tellers
2. Wish to have friends rather than coaches
3. Wish to be leaders

Perhaps you will be the one to help grant these wishes.

Wish to meet other child tellers
Children are lucky if they attend a school that has a storytelling club. Sometimes “storytelling club” comes under such guises as 4H groups, Forensics (public-speaking contests), or theatre. Storytelling may not be the pure focus of these Read more »

Kevin D. Cordi – Children Telling Stories by Giving Children a Voice

Fill out the form and press play to listen to Kevin Cordi speak on getting children to tell there own stories.

Tired of the tin sound? Purchase a HQ Mp3 File of Interview #010 Kevin Cordi for $2.23 Children telling Stories – Giving Children a Voice.

Kevin Cordi writes…
Nationally known Professional Storyteller and Story Teacher Kevin Cordi invites you to join with him and Eric as we discuss, challenge, and encourage discussion concerning how we can provide a voice for children with storytelling and proven storytelling practices. Kevin is the co-author, with Judy Sima, of Raising Voices: Youth Storytelling Groups and Troupes and according to the National Storytelling Network, “the first full time high school storytelling teacher in the country.” He has a Masters Degree in “Using Storytelling as a Primary Means of Educating Students” and is currently a PH.D Candidate in “Dramatic Inquiry and Narrative Storytelling” at The Ohio State University. He also has led a successful award-winning youth storytelling troupe called Voices of Illusion for 11 years and is the founder of both Voices across America Youth Storytelling Project and the Special Interest Group now called Y.E.S. (Youth, Educators, and Storytellers.)

What is most important is that when he was a teenager he found his voice with storytelling. For awhile he was alone in his pursuit to be Read more »

A Smaller Voice Can Make A Loud Sound by Kevin Cordi

By Kevin D. Cordi

For Peggy O’Sullivan. As a producer for over nine Tellabrations I want to share with you what has lately spiced up our Tellabrations. It is the sound of little voices with larger ones, in others words, I have had the privilege of helping direct a completely student organized Tellabration.

For the last three years we have made our Tellabration thematic. Our theme last year was “From the Trails to the Tales, The Gold is still in California.” Over 200 student performers and five adult professional storytellers share in the celebration of the stories of California. We had a four-year-old open the Read more »

Register for Youth Storytelling Workshop in July

Sunday, July 1st
Sunday, July 8th
1p.m. to 4p.m.

We will be offering a workshop for youth ages 10 to 17in storytelling.
Youth who participate will have the opportunity to tteellll stories
in the pre-show on the YSKP stage before Sense and Sensibility.
$25 fee. Space is limited.
Register through Brother Wolf’s website: www.ericwolf.org/register
Eric Wolf (A.K.A. Brother Wolf) is a world
traveled storyteller who has performed in
hundreds of schools across the country.
A gifted storyteller, he is also skilled at working
with children and allowing them to perform their
own stories. His work has been featured in the
American Museum of Natural History in NYC, Mercantile
Library, Columbia University, Kings island
Amusement Park.

The Sword

The man stood at the edge of the dark. The night’s creatures were silent, the cave depths mute. Unmoving in thought he stood, silent in prayer. His golden armor catching the moon light, a beacon to the night. A sword was held before him. Naked and new it’s blade was sharp unmarked untested by use. The sword pommel was un remarkable, but its blade was breathtaking. The blade sang with the elegant grace of the images carved there, dragons carved in silver that danced and leaped upon that blade.

Now he held his sword to ward off the smell of dragon. Out of the stillness in the cave came a single distinct sound of claw on stone. His eyes searched the cave depths for light or magic. The cave denied his gaze of anything but blackness. His sword shimmered in the moonlight. Falling down it’s long length the man’s eyes watched the silver images move, the dragons of the sword swirled in the moonlight and the man remembered…

He remembered the Griffin. The eyes of darkness, the head of an eagle with the body of a lion that the Griffin never moved. The giant wings that would flare when the Griffin was angry. Each day for as many days as there had been, the Griffin had counseled the man, watched him and trained him.

“Man, Position 17.” The griffin snapped his beak. His eagle eyes were bright with pleasure. The Man curved the practice sword around to hold it low to block a leg attack. His feet shifted in the white sand.

“16, Position 21… Now six.” The Griffin would fire off. His black eagle eyes watched every movement. There was a time when the griffin would have chastised the man for the slightest mistake, but that time, there were no mistakes. The Griffin’s tail rolled gently in pleasure.

Then the Griffin said “He is almost ready.”

The man remembered the Sphinx. Her human face was set untroubled forever on her face. Her lions body never moved. Her tail lazily graced the floor. Her face, arms and breasts were covered with darkly painted runes. She would roll her bone dice with a velvet paw, her long hair unmoving. She would softly speak.

“He doesn’t stand a chance.” Her white eyes; sightless, unseeing, and unblinking, would not look upon the man she doomed. “The fates are against him.”

The Griffin’s beak would set. His wings rose in anger. Eyes dark and furious he would scream. The Man would stop cold when the Griffin did this, frozen in movement the sword poised for a down stroke.

“HE IS THE ONE!” The Griffin’s anger failed him rapidly disappearing into the stone walls and sandy floor. “He must be… I feel it. He is the one.” Then the Griffin’s head would turn to the wall where twelve swords hung. Each sword was a perfect combination of beauty and function. “He will not fail.”
The Sphinx would say nothing, but rolled the dice again. The Man had grown to fear the times when the Sphinx spoke. Whenever she did the Griffin just drove him harder.

“Position twelve, Man. Position three, the Dragon is leaping for your throat, Man.” The Man was doused in sweat. His tired limbs easily followed the sword through each movement in a dance. While the man practiced the Griffin would speak to the Sphinx, “See the way he moves. How can he not win. He is faster then the others.”

The Sphinx would say nothing, her tail lazily brushing the sand. Then she would roll the dice. Her face empty, lifeless. The cavern was filled with only the sound of the man practicing. his sword swirling through the air, his feet slapping down upon the white sand and his breathing.

The man remembered the way the Griffin would watch him, each eye full of concentration. Once when the man was resting the Griffin caught him looking hungrily at the swords on the wall. “Those are not yours. I will have one made when you are ready.”

It was not long after this that they went to have his sword made by the dwarf.

The Man stood on the edge of the Cave and remembered this. He remembered the way dwarf smiled at him. The dwarf’s wrinkled face was broken and lined by the years. The dwarf’s voice was a sharp knife that cut through him. “Look at this fine one you have brought me. I suppose you will be wanting another sword?”

The Griffin did not smile. He handed a bag to the dwarf.

The dwarf laughed. “Gold is good for the soul.” He held up a piece and smelled it; his eyes gleaming with gold lust.

The man remembered the way the Dwarf hunched over the metal and sent hollowed ringing through out the cavern. The glow of the forge gave the dwarf an insane gleam in his eyes. The man waited impatiently, waiting for the sword to be done. The Dwarf was a master. Slowly he turned a piece of twisted metal into a thing of beauty.

“What will you be wanting me to draw upon the blade.” The dwarf asked showing the Man the still red glowing edge. The forge threw off waves of heat.

“Dragons.” The Man replied hungrily.

The dwarf laughed, but his eyes were sad and his voice high and sharp. “They always do, they always do.”

The Man remembered all this as he stared into the dark. He felt the dragon’s presence. A normal man would have run away in terror, but he did not think; he did not feel. The Man had not been taught these things, he only knew how to kill dragons. He stepped forward drawn into the darkness of the cave. Edging in an inch at a time, the man’s feet found the way.

Then he began to see the outlines of the cave walls. The texture of rock walls, the dripping water and the bones that lined the floor he saw clearly. The Dragon was coming.

The Dragon brought the light. Its red fur and scales sent off a red hue that lit the cavern and made the walls dance as if from a flame. The Dragon was that flame and he burned brightly. The Dragon also brought noise – a low hissing growl that filled the cavern with menace and hate.

“SSSSSSSS – Who Dares Enter HERE!” The dragon’s call was unanswered. The cavern filled with the dragon’s hissing growls and sniffing. “Man… SSSSSSSS” Then the Dragon’s eyes began to search for the intruder.

The Man stood still prepared to meet the Dragon’s movement. He prepared to dodge the dragon’s dangerous burning gaze. He was not prepared for the beauty of the beast. The graceful wings, the bright red feathers, the red fur, the long tail that was paused in mid motion.

The Dragon was technically not a dragon. It was a Wyvern; a creature with red fur, scales, the body of a dragon, the wings of an eagle and the heart of a demon. Smaller and more deadly then a dragon. The Man did not care what you would call it – he was going to kill it.

“Dragon, I am your end.” The Man’s voice was clear and sweet.

“Foooolll SSSSS” the Wyvern spat. Even as it spoke its wings were moving. The Wyvern leapt up over the Man’s reach sliding along the cavern’s ceiling.

The Man turned swiftly bringing the sword up and around to neatly clip a wing of feathers as the beat down. The Wyvern screamed in rage and leapt directly at him. The Man danced to the side cutting the dragon’s fur along the right side. He would have struck again, but the Dragon’s tail hit him; throwing him aside like a toy.

His golden armor saved him from being burst asunder. He staggered to his feet, shaken; he felt his broken ribs and the blood that trickled down his chin. The Wyvern had paused to examine its side, allowing him to recover. Then, its eyes glaring red, it was upon him again.

This time the Man was ready for the tail, and he neatly stepped aside of its swing, again leaving his sword’s mark on the Wyvern. The Wyvern was back quicker this time, the tail sneaking in on the right. Man carefully slipped under it. In the process he shortened the tail by a good foot.

The Wyvern roared in anger and leapt directly at the Man. The Man brought up his sword. He was too late and felt a pain in his chest. The sword cluttered out along the cave floor and the dragon screamed. His jaw filled with fresh blood.

The Sphinx rolled the dice. Bones of long dead men rolled in the sand. “He has lost,” she said. The Griffin said nothing. They waited for the Dragon.

The Dragon came slowly his legs bleeding, his wigs clipped, but he came proud. They sat silent as ever watching the Wyvern. Green blood dripped from his wounds and the Dragons blood sizzled on the floor. Red blood dripped from his chin and claws turning the white sand dark and muddy.

“SSSSSS Close, but not good enough SSSSS” The Wyvern laughed at them threw the sword in the sand. His grin was covered with blood.

They said nothing till the Wyvern had left. Feathers, fur and blood remained behind with the sword. The Sphinx’s perfect face soured at the dirty sand, then she smiled and softly said, “I told he wasn’t good enough.”

The Griffin’s beak was set, his eyes black and depthless. He picked up the sword he held it lightly in his claws. Balancing it, feeling it, eyeing it for grace he did not move for a time. Then he spoke.

“We will try again, the next one will do it.”

The Griffin placed the sword upon the wall to hang there with its brothers. The thirteenth sword with dragons dancing on the blade and blood drying on its edge. The Griffin stared unmoving at the swords, his back to the Sphinx. On his feathered cheek a single drop of water edged down between eagle feathers till it was lost among them all.

The Sphinx’s velvet paw rolled the bones of dead men across the sandy floor.

Look

The snow had fallen all along the street where we lived. A white blanket had covered the earth while we slept. My four year old brother ran up ahead of me towards the front step of our neighbor’s house, his yellow scarf flying behind him as he ran.
“Wait up,” I yelled, “wait for me.” That’s Max, I thought, always running everywhere. My father says that Max was born running and that it’s been my job ever since to keep up with him. My dad also says that’s what older brothers are for, to watch out for little brothers and sisters.
I looked up. Max was standing perfectly still. I stopped.
“Sam,” he said, “look.” His arm pointed towards a little birch tree.
A squirrel sat as if frozen in the snow looking back at my brother. Then in a burst of snow and noise the squirrel jumped up the tree alerting the whole neighborhood. My brother is good at seeing things even if he doesn’t talk much. His first word was “look”. Once he pointed out an owl sitting in a tree in our yard. I have never seen anything like it. My mother says that everyone has a gift. So when Max says “look”, I look.
Max ran on through the snow towards our neighbor’s front porch. I caught up with him by doing double time just as he pushed the door bell.
Max smiled and said, “Harley!”
“Don’t you boys have to be in school?” Mr. Bill Harley stood at the door of his house. Every day we come here on our way to school and he still acts surprised. His white hair, beard and mustache stood out against his black skin. Ex-Vietnam vet, ex-marine sergeant and ex-scuba diver instructor are all very impressive to anybody, but the most imposing thing about Mr. Bill Harley is that his eyes are completely white too. You see, Mr. Harley is blind. I never ask Mr. Harley how he was blinded. He isn’t the sort of man you ask those questions. He either told you or he didn’t.
Max smiled, “Harley.” He walked in. Mr. Harley was his best friend after all. Max gave Mr. Harley a leg hug. Mr. Harley patted him on the head.
“Nice to see you, too, Max. Both of you come in. I’ve been listening to the chickadees all morning. Chika-dee-dee-dee Chika-dee-dee-dee” Mr. Harley smiled and beckoned us in. “Take off your coats and come on in.” Mr. Harley didn’t use a cane in the house. The best part of Mr. Harley’s house was the smell. He has a home business cooking donuts and pastries to sell to hotels. My brother and I liked visiting Mr. Harley’s house.
Max cried, “Red bird, red bird.” and ran into Mr. Harley’s living room.
A huge glass window spread the length of the house. Outside sat three different types of bird feeders. Common birds of every shape and size were busy at the bird feeders while squirrels collected seeds that had fallen to the ground.
“What do you see, Sam?” Mr. Harley took a seat.
“Sam, do you see the cardinal I’ve been hearing all morning?” Mr. Harley made a gentle “Bur-dee, Bur-dee” with his mouth.
I said, “I don’t see it, do you, Max?”
Max was sitting very still and looking hard.
The three of us sat for half an hour as the old grandfather clock slowly ticked in the corner of the room. I described to Mr. Harley the way the birds swirled around the feeders. The colors and patterns of the different birds. He always knew their names and for each he could sing the song that the bird made.
Max jumped up, “Red birds, Red birds!”
The cardinals had returned. Five of the bright red male cardinals had arrived at the feeders.
Mr. Harley stood up and walked into the kitchen. “It’s time for you two to be getting to school. But before you go, you might want to take a little sample with you for the road.” He was holding to large jelly donuts.
“My mom is talking about getting a bird feeder of our own,” I told Mr. Harley as Max and I were putting on our coats and boots.
“I hope you still come to look with me at my feeder.” Said Mr. Harley looking suddenly sad.
“Of course,” I said. “But maybe the cardinal will come to our feeder as well.”
Mr. Harley smiled. I like to see him smile. “Just make sure you keep the bird feeder well stocked and never let it run out. It’s cruel to the birds if the feeder runs out in cold weather. Once you make a promise to a wild bird you must never break it.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Harley. See you next week.” I yelled over my shoulders. My brother was already running out the door.

Frankie Loves Peanuts

(A story for kids ages six to ten.)

Once upon a time there lived an elephant named Frankie. Frankie lived in a zoo; not one of those modern zoos that you may have been to, but an old zoo with tired buildings and cracked sidewalks. You would think that this would make Frankie a very unhappy elephant, but no, he was very happy indeed. The lions were not happy, the penguins were not happy, the parrots and the monkeys were not happy, but Frankie didn’t care. He was happy.

Outside of Frankie’s window, just off to the side of his trench there was a little machine for giving out peanuts. Every day the children would come from all over town, and they would bring their lunch money and their candy money to buy peanuts for their elephant. Frankie was very happy. He would reach through the bars of his cage with his long trunk, and he would carefully pluck each peanut from the little hands that offered them. Then he would take the delicious peanuts, he would put them in his mouth, and chew each one… oh so carefully. Then he would smile, look out at all the smiling faces, and he was so very happy. Frankie loved peanuts.

One day a man in a suit came to the zoo to make sure that everything was safe and that the zoo was taking care of the animals. This man saw all the sad animals, the cracking concrete, the worn down buildings and the peanut machines. He shook his head, “We will have to close down this sad little zoo in a few years. We could sell all the animals except for the elephant. He’s too old to sell. We will have to put him to sleep and give his body to the glue factory.“ Then the man said, “Ed, stop filling up those peanut machines;. it’s too dangerous. The elephant might hurt someone. No more peanuts for Frankie.”

Ed was very sad. He had been taking care of Frankie for a long time. He knew how much Frankie loved peanuts, he knew that the man was serious about closing down the zoo and that would be the end of Frankie. He took away the peanut machines so that Frankie wouldn’t see them anymore, and he hoped that Frankie would forget all about the peanuts. The children stopped coming to see Frankie. Now Frankie was unhappy.
He stood in his cage, looked at the blue sky, and got very depressed.

One day Frankie decided not to get up. He said “This is the end. I’m not getting up ever again.” What a sad little elephant he was. Ed came in to clean Frankie’s cage. “What’s wrong Frankie are you OK?” he said, “I have a treat for you.” Ed reached into his pocket, and he took out a little bag of peanuts. But Frankie didn’t move, he was that down. Ed looked at him, then he dropped the peanuts and ran out the door to get help.

Frankie was lying there not feeling so good about himself, but he kept smelling peanuts. He looked around and there was the bag that Ed had dropped. Frankie thought he would have just one, and maybe another and then, all of a sudden, the bag was empty. Frankie was feeling a little bit better. He looked over and noticed that the door to his elephant house was standing wide open. Frankie thought, “maybe I can get my own peanuts. I’ll just take a quick look around town.”

Frankie tried to be very quite about sneaking out of the zoo. But all of the animals saw him, and they wanted to go too. The lion roared. The parrot called. The penguins splashed and the monkey yelled. Frankie ran out of the zoo fast. The man at the toll both said “Stop Frankie. Go back.” But there was no stopping Frankie. The elephant ran into town. He smelled something really good. Hmmm, what was that smell? He ran around corners, and down streets until he came to a bakery. He didn’t like bread, even if it smelled so good.

Frankie decided he needed a place to hide out so that the police couldn’t find him. He was lucky, and he found a beautiful fountain with many stone elephants. This was a great place for an elephant to hide on a hot summer day. While he was hiding in the fountain a police car stopped in front of the fountain. Frankie thought for sure he was caught; but the two officers were only having lunch at the fountain. “Where did my peanuts go?” said one of the officers, “I had them right here.” Do you know where the peanuts went? Then I don’t need to tell you. Frankie loved peanuts.

Frankie smelled another delicious smell. He followed his nose for a long time and discovered a doughnut shop. He found the doughnuts easy to carry on his trunk, but he still wanted to find some peanuts. Then Frankie smelled another scent. The smell was s so rich and full of flavor. He thought, “This must be where there are peanuts hmm… but there were no peanuts, and that shop was full of people drinking coffee. Frankie was getting discouraged. He had looked everywhere all over town, but he could not find any more peanuts . I might have told him to look in the grocery store, but he never asked me.

It was getting dark and Frankie smelled peanuts! He was so sure that he ran down a street, and over a hill. There, they are in front him was a peanut factory! Frankie ran into the factory. He looked through all the different rooms until he found a room filled with piles of peanuts. Frankie had never seen so many peanuts and his whole life. The pile of peanuts in that room was five times bigger than him! There were dump trucks and bulldozers to move the peanuts around. He ate peanuts till he was full. Then he burrowed into the pile of peanuts and leaving only his eyes sticking out.

The next day when the workers at the factory workers came back. They were surprised at how many peanuts were missing. “Where did all the peanuts go?” they asked. I don’t need to tell you. Frankie loved peanuts. The next night, after the night watchmen had been in to check on the peanuts. Frankie went exploring. He explored all around the factory until he found a little building which said, “Top-Secret” and “Keep Out”.

Elephants are very curious creatures , and Frankie couldn’t help himself . What was in that building? Was it a special type of peanut? A secret recipe?

Frankie peered in the door. He didn’t mean to break-in. He just kind of leaned on the lock a little. Then he stuck his head in the door. Then he had to get down on his knees, and crawl in the room. There were lots of peanuts in this building, each in its own special pile. Some were marked, “peanuts with honey,“ and others were marked, ‘peanuts with mustard.’ Frankie’s favorite type of peanut was with chocolate.

Frankie ate all the peanuts covered with chocolate. Chocolate is not good for elephants. He did not feel so good, and he fell asleep standing up. When Frankie woke up it was morning, and he had been caught. There were cameras taking his pictures, and women with microphones. He was surrounded by people; policeman firemen and doctors, but best of all Ed was there too.

Ed said, “Frankie you are famous. People all around the world have heard about you, the famous disappearing elephant.” Then cameras and reporters came closer to Ed and Frankie. “Why did Frankie come here?” they wanted to know. You know the answer to that question; Frankie loved peanuts.

That night Frankie got to go home to the zoo. The next morning the president of the peanut factory came to see him and Ed. He said that Frankie had made the peanut company famous. That nobody cared if Frankie had eaten all those peanuts because now everybody all around the country wanted to eat Frankie’s chocolate covered peanuts. The president of the company said that before he had been planning to close down the factory. Now he had to hire more workers, and he wanted to thank Frankie in his own way. The company had decided to give Frankie a lifetime supply of… peanuts.

That tired old zoo has been closed down, and made into a park. All the animals were sent away to find happy places to live. Except in one little house there lives a very happy elephant, and every day, when the children come after-school he throws them peanuts! Frankie loved to share peanuts.