Guest Blog: "New Trad" Storytelling (by Danielle Bellone)

Today, for the first time in Multicolored history, we have a guest blogger!

My dear friend and former comrade in the Storytelling program, Danielle Bellone (I wrote about her fabulous Finest Hour performance on the blog), is working in the new field of "new trad" storytelling. Since it is a fascinating topic, I asked for her take on it, explaining what "new trad" is, and why it is important. 

Read it in her own lovely words!

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It’s a Tuesday night. I am feverishly sorting through stacks and stacks of collections of folk and fairy tales. Calvino, Andersen, Carter, Beckwith, Ragan. I even have The Russian Secret Tales and Pissin’ in the Snow, two collections of naughty stories from Russia and the Ozarks, respectively, not meant for innocent ears.  Surely in these risqué collections I will find something close to what I’m looking for. But no! There is nothing! Not in the Gumbo Ya-Ya, not in Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry. I slam closed another book, and wail my despair up to the gods of storytelling,

WHERE ARE ALL THE GAY FOLK TALES??

My journey to new trad storytelling started when my friends Jenny and Marisa asked me to tell a story at their wedding, I searched and searched through tomes of folktales. I nearly settled on a Russian folktale called “The Magic Ring” for its ring imagery and happy ending, but I realized that in order for me to tell it comfortably, I felt the need to do a feminist rendering of the story, and it became more about politics than love. The more I searched for love stories among folk tales, the more politicized I felt, until every story I touched felt more about confronting the patriarchy than the joyous celebration of a union. And every love story I found with two same-sex characters seemed to end in suicide, gender-swap, or one of the lovers being turned into a constellation. If I wanted a lesbian love story that didn’t end in tragedy, I was going to have to make it myself. And once I did, I realized how hungrily I had been waiting for a story of women, and only women, loving and creating.

Inadvertently, I had stumbled upon the world of new trad. The term “new trad” has been in circulation in the realms of poetry and architecture for a while. It’s short for “new traditional” and refers to the practice of using traditional pieces in new ways. It’s the same in storytelling: new or original stories that are made of traditional pieces. They do not reinterpret classic or traditional tales. However, they do contain elements of traditional tales: there may be heroes, crones, dragons, enchantments, dark nights of the soul, and other familiar tropes, but it’s not just Cinderella with a cell phone.

By giving us the distancing mechanisms of folk tales, new trad allows us to storytalk about things that most folk tales don’t quite reach, either because they were culturally taboo or because they just didn’t exist yet. With new trad stories, a teller can address topics like interfaith relationships, social media, miscarriage, and massive student debt…topics that traditional folk tales usually don’t have a handle on. Or, as in my case with the lesbian wedding, we can tailor a story to an exact situation for greater relevance and authenticity. And we can do so without trampling on other cultures by wantonly changing their stories’ themes to suit our own motives.

So now, if you have the entire world of topics free for the crafting-into-stories, what would you tell? What stories have you been hungering for? 

Danielle Bellone is a storyteller, harpist, fabulist, poet, and native of Louisiana. She completed her Master’s in Storytelling at East Tennessee State University, and now makes her home in the strange hills of Austin, Texas. She was recently featured on the BYU Radio podcast "The Apple Seed," and was invited to perform at the National Storytelling Conference. Her work can be read in Indigo Ink's Modern Grimmoire, or heard in her storytelling album, Moon-Eyed Sister. 

Story Saturday: What does YOUR Cinderella look like?

This is an intriguing little thing that has been rattling around in my head lately. Every time I open Facebook, there is a high chance I'll run into one of those "Disney princesses reimagined as..." memes.
In case you have missed this trend, here are some things Snow White & Co. have been re-drawn as lately:

Iconic horror movie villains
Real people
Famous people
Wearing historically accurate costumes
Having realistic hair
Characters from the Walking Dead
Velociraptors
Warriors
Hipsters
Tattoo pin-up girls
Men
Different races/cultures
Fine arts portraits
Having short hair
Each other
Twisted creatures
Pop culture heroines
College students
And finally, the ultimate spoof of the trend:
Lukewarm bowls of water

The visual cues people most often associate with folk- and fairy tale characters tend to come from illustrations they see as children. This and the memes above (especially the ones that play around with the appearance of the princesses) made me wonder how much of our mental imagery is influenced by Disney. I am not one of those storytellers who scream about the death of imagination every time someone mentions the D word... but when I ask myself how I pictured these folk- and fairy tale characters before I saw the canon Disney imagery, I have some very interesting realizations.

My Little Mermaid has never been a redhead. I grew up with the Japanese cartoon instead of the Disney one (which I didn't see until college), so the Little Mermaid in my head has always been blonde (oh, and her name was Marina and she didn't wear a bra).

Talking about blondes: My Cinderella has always been a brunette. I don't remember where I got that idea; she just always sounded like a brunette to me. I also imagined her as very tiny. The dresses, however, I very clearly remember coming from a Hungarian picture book. There were three of them (duh), one pink, one blue, and one green and gold.
Some of my other iconic early fairy tale images came from the same book series. The princess of the Frog King was blonde, round-faced and curly-haired; the Nixie in the millpond was black-haired and rosy cheeked.

My Sleeping Beauty, on the other hand, was definitely a redhead (kind of a dark, coppery red) with freckles. I usually imagined her in a matching yellow dress. Since in Hungarian, her name is Csipkerózsika (Little Briar Rose), I always imagined her castle as tangled in thorny vines, but also covered in pale pink dog-rose flowers.

Snow White is pretty much a given, except in my head she has a long black braid, and doesn't wear yellow-and-blue.

Images definitely get more random once we get to stories that have never really been put to the iconic big screen. But now I am wondering: How many children get to make their own mental images of these classic characters before popular media teaches them what they should look like?

So here is the question:

Do you remember any folk- or fairy tale characters that lived in your head before you saw canonized pictures of them? What did they look like? Why did you like imagining them like that?

I would love to hear from you! :)

Folklore Thursday: Why toddlers exist

Today is Folklore Thursday on social media! If you want to find out more, follow this link, or click on the #FolkloreThursday hashtag on Twitter! Hosted by @FolkloreThursday.

I am still polling people on what makes them pick up a folktale collection. You can vote here.

I am also still looking for suggestions for folktale collections that I should read and review for A to Z.

As you can see from the posts below, I had a very busy weekend telling epics, so I will keep this short(ish). Once again, I am posting a story from the Peasant Bible, a collection of Hungarian folktales based on biblical themes.

Why toddlers exist

When God was done creating all the animals plus Adam and Eve, he gathered them all at the center of Paradise for a Sunday meeting. He wanted to give them all the gift of independence - allowing their young to take care of themselves as soon as they were born.
Said God to the Mare:
"Let your colt go, let it run!"
And the colt immediately stood on shaky legs and ran to the pasture to graze.
Said God to the Hen:
"Let you chicks go, let them run!"
And the chicklets all followed the hen to scratch int he dirt and look for food.
Finally, God turned to Eve, who was nursing her child.
"Let your child go, let him run!"
But Eve did not like the idea.
"Let him go?! He'll fall and break his leg! He'll trip and hit his head on something. I'm not letting him go!"
God, being ever so polite, repeated the request. Eve shook her head stubbornly.
"Dear God, dear Lord, how could I let my baby go? His bones are so fragile, he is not ready to run yet!"
God finally lost his patience.
"Well, since you wouldn't let him go, then you'll have to carry him for en entire year - and even after that, it will take time for him to run!"
And so it happened. Ever since then, human babies need an entire year to stand and walk, and even then they are as wobbly as newborn colts.

Epic-Lovers Unite!

This was the title of the house concert Cathryn organized for the two of us for the day after Epic Day - because you can never have enough epics! I have been working with her under the J.J. Reneaux mentorship grant, and this gave me a great occasion to present the first performance that resulted from our work - a piece from the Persian Book of Kings.
Cathryn's house concerts are famous, and rightly so. We had 28 people show up, buy tickets, and bring plenty of food for the occasion. The storytelling took place in the Great Room of the house, a cozy setting with couches, folding chairs, carpets, and mood lighting. The room was filled to capacity.

I told first. My piece was titled The demon's daughter and the white-haired prince, and I told the story of Zal and Rudabeh, from Zal's birth to Rostam's birth, in about 40 minutes. It was the first time, since I came across this story back in high school, that I got to tell the whole, unabridged version, with no rush and no reduction. We had an all-adult audience, so I could just present the story as it was, with all the emotional weight and the brilliant imagery. Since this is my all-time favorite love story, the whole experience was a reward in itself.
People seemed to enjoy it immensely. They were very vocal during the show, and after the end they had a lot of interesting questions. I especially enjoyed the Q&A because I got to talk about some of the background research I have done that did not make the final cut, but was essential to my understanding of the story. For example, I got to tell people about all the mountaineer blogs I sifted through for first-person accounts on climbing Mount Damavand.
I got quite a few very precious compliments. Apparently, I made someone cry; also, a lady told me that she would be a fan of epics if more of them would be told like this. But by far my favorite moment was one of the guests asking where she can find and read the original story. That is always a very honest compliment.

After a short break and some snacks, I got to settle down on the carpet with some lemonade and a pile of nectarines, and listen to Cathryn tell her piece. She told a 40-minute story from the Oguz epic Dede Korkut (an epic named after a storyteller, how cool is that?). It was enchanting. Cathryn tells with a lot of humor and a lot of empathy. In addition, she added songs to the story, based on Turkic melodies, and a call-and-response game that we all enjoyed immensely. The whole experience was exciting, funny, interactive, and all-around engaging.

It is very rare to get an audience that is willing and eager to sit through long traditional stories - or a venue that supports that kind of storytelling. I feel incredibly lucky and honored that I got to do this show with Cathryn, and share one of my all-time favorite stories with such a friendly and supportive audience.

Epic-Lovers Unite!

Story Saturday: Epic Day - Táin bó Cúailnge, Take 2

Back in March I participated in Epic Day for the first time, telling a piece of the Irish story Táin bó Cúailnge together with a great group of storytellers in California. This weekend, I flew out to the West Coast once again for a repeat performance - Epic Day always happens twice a year, in the spring and in the fall. The idea behind it is the first time is a test run, where all the pieces fall into place and we hear the whole thing for the first time; the second iteration is a new and improved event, with much more practice behind it.
It ended up being pretty spectacular.

This time around we had 22 storytellers (myself included) and quite a few guests. It took us 8 hours to get through the whole story - including bathroom breaks and dinner, so the storytelling itself probably lasted about 6.5 hours. The lineup was slightly different (some people could not make it, and others took on their parts), and some parts of the story that we skipped last time made it into this iteration (Deirdre of the Sorrows, for example). This made the experience familiar, but also new and exciting in many ways. There were all the favorite parts we have all been looking forward to; but all the thought and work people have put into their parts since February also showed quite clearly.
For the sake of comparison, once again I kept a tally of the casualties. I only counted the deaths that happened "on screen" and were quantified. The final figures amounted to 2390 men, 3 women, 2 bulls 1 dog (that got killed twice, since we accidentally had Cú Chulainn's boyhood told on two separate occasions), and 2 pillows that burst from the furious wiggling of angered heroes.
(No joke, read the book)

As last time, the whole event was filled with dramatic high points, great battles, moments of hilarious exaggerations, and also scenes of drama and deep emotions. Once again we learned that this story works much better - in fact works incredibly well - in oral telling. There is nothing like seeing elegant Erika Lann-Clark bat her eyelashes and sweetly tell Queen Medb's husband "You are a kept man," or Tim Ereneta say "I shall stand over your like a cat's tail erect" with a completely straight face and a thunderous voice.

All in all, Epic Day once again lived up to its name. We are in the process of picking the new epic for next year. I can't wait to see what it is going to be!

Folklore Thursday: A magic battle done right

Today is Folklore Thursday on social media! If you want to find out more, follow this link, or click on the #FolkloreThursday hashtag on Twitter! Hosted by @FolkloreThursday.

You thought the Battle of Hogwarts was how a magic fight goes down.

Let me introduce you to yet another Hungarian folktale:
The Gooseherd Girl and the Magic Mare

It was collected in 1943 in Csíkszentdomonkos (Romania), and published in a collection of Hungarian folktales in 1960 by famous folklorist Gyula Ortutay.

The gist:
A little girl is baptized by the fairy queen Tündér Erzsébet. Said queen pretty much just swoops in one day, dunks the baby in a crystal vat of magic water, blesses her with seven kinds of beauty and seven kinds of magical arts, ages her up to seven years old, takes her mother, and leaves the newly christened Tündér Juliska by the side of the road.
Now there's a Fairy Godmother hit-and-run if you have ever seen one.
(In addition, the girl was born to a virgin mother, from a "warm wind" the fairy queen had sent her way. Ahem.)

Aaaaanyhow. Fast forward: Juliska learns to use her magical abilities and lives as a goose herd until she is eighteen. She has a magical, seven-legged mare (formerly also a goose). She falls in love with a prince - the only man to lay eyes on her and not turn blind, and also the only man who rides a magic horse that matches hers (because FEMINISM). However, said prince was raised by an evil witch who would much rather marry him to her evil daughter. She follows the prince on his way to Juliska, and that is where things get interesting.

The fight:
The witch picks up a handful of dust, blows on it, and it makes all of Juliska's geese fly up in a panic.
Juliska's magic horse transforms into a wasp and stings the witch all over.
The witch picks up another half handful of dirt, blows on it, and tries to send it Juliska's way.
The magic wasp transforms into a lion and lunges at the witch.
The dust hits the lion, and tames it so it can't attack the witch.
Juliska pulls out her copper snake wand (yup) and breaks the spell on the lion. The lion turns back into a mare and returns to her side.
The witch transforms into a storm cloud and rains down lightning at Juliska and the prince.
Juliska uses her snake copper wand to block the lightning.
The witch creates an earthquake.
Juliska uses the wand to create a magic circle that keeps the earth under them from crumbling.
The witch turns into a giant eagle and starts hunting the flying geese down.
Juliska uses the wand to gently float the geese to the ground (FEATHER FALL, witches.)

Seeing that she can't win, the witch makes a temporary retreat, allowing the couple to marry. Once they return to the palace, she manages to dust all the flowers in the garden with a sleeping spell. While Juliska is asleep, she takes her wand and her magic horse, and abandons her in a remote place.

Of course all is well in the end; Juliska and the prince find each other, the horse comes back to life, and tramples the witch to pieces. Ta-da.
There is, of course, a lot more to this story, including Juliska flying to the Morning Star to bathe in a silver whirlpool, and eventually giving birth to the Sun, the Moon, and various other celestial objects. The whole story is very mythical and shamanistic and colorful and confusing and fun.

I kinda want to see that magic duel in a D&D campaign setting, though.

Fright Hike in the woods = Halloween done right

I was an NPC for Halloween.

The Rieck Center, a nature preserve belonging to the University of Findlay, organized a Fright Hike on Halloween night as a charity event for Syrian refugees. They were recruiting volunteer storytellers, and since I did not have a program for Halloween yet, I was more than happy to participate.
It was a fun night.

The event took place in the forest around the center; there were four stations with four storytellers. Every fifteen minutes, they sent out a group of ten visitors from the building, guided by volunteers to minimize the number of people lost forever in the shrubbery. Each storytelling station was lit by a torch, except for mine, which had a full, blazing campfire going with logs around it. I was grateful for this, because I am a lizard, and despite the balmy night temperature I was wearing five different layers of clothing (one of them was a Jack Frost hoodie).
It was very mood-appropriate to be out in the forest at night. There were no lights near or far other than the campfire; the trees whispered, the pond made splashing noises, and the laughter and screams of people echoed around in the darkness. It was a great setting for telling some chilling tales. In-between groups, sitting by the fire with the two guys accompanying me, I imagined myself as an adventurer in a story, spending a night in the deep, dark woods... however, I soon realized, that sitting by a fire, waiting for a bunch of people to show up and ask for a story doesn't exactly make anyone an adventurer. It makes them an NPC.
Oh well.
Either-or, the event was great fun. We had five groups come through (and a lot more people than we expected). I told the Burning of Tara (I always feel like I must tell that story at least once on Halloween), the Princess in the Shroud, and Marie Jolie (this latter two I told twice each). I had great fun, telling these tales by the fire (as all tales should be told), and the audiences seemed to appreciate them too - even when it started raining.
I followed the last group through the rest of the hike. At the other stations people told the tale of Teig O'Kane and the Corpse, Hoichi the Earless, and Bloody Mary. By the time we all made it back to the center, it was raining pretty hard, so we resorted to eating raw s'mores like a bunch of savages. Also, there was cider.

It was a great Halloween event, at the perfect intersection of excited people, good stories, and a spooky atmosphere. I hope they will do it again next year!