Once a month I invite you to play a game called Round Robin Storytelling on this blog. In case you missed it, here’s how this works: I start a story by giving you a couple of paragraphs, then stop at a critical juncture. If you want to play, go ahead and pick up the story and write (in the comments) what happens next – just a paragraph or two, no more. Then stop. Then either I or another reader of this blog will add their piece of the story, and stop. Then another person, or I, will continue. Hopefully. If no one comments, then I guess I’ll have to finish the story myself.

Now, this story is actually one already written all the way through, but that doesn’t mean this story must be this way. Other ways are possible, maybe even desirable. Want to play? Here is the beginning of a story called “Wolf Sees the Light”.

Long ago, or maybe only yesterday, on a cloudy cool night, Wolf pads along the banks of a river. Trees along the bank are shrouded in mist, but Wolf sees a light shining between the trunks, beckoning him onward. Gliding through the river is Wolf’s friend the Beaver, her eyes glinting and her tail flat on the water. She too is traveling toward the light.

The full moon comes from behind the clouds. Wolf and Beaver see a bridge across the river. Beaver climbs out of the water and joins Wolf on the path, where flowers suddenly spring up and begin to blink open and shut. There are thousands of them, turquoise, purple, orange. Wolf and Beaver walk down the path to the bridge. The light is shining on someone asleep under the bridge.

Now what happens? Who’s sleeping under the bridge? I hope to find out . . .

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Once a month I invite you to play a game called Round Robin Storytelling on this blog. In case you missed it, here’s how this works: I start a story by giving you a couple of paragraphs, then stop at a critical juncture. If you want to play, go ahead and pick up the story and write (in the comments) what happens next – just a paragraph or two, no more. Then stop. Then either I or another reader of this blog will add their piece of the story, and stop. Then another person, or I, will continue. Hopefully. If no one comments, then I guess I’ll have to finish the story myself.

Now, this story is actually one already written all the way through, but that doesn’t mean this story must be this way. Other ways are possible, maybe even desirable. Want to play? Here is the beginning of a story called “How the Stupid Ostrich Discovered Fire,” a folktale from Africa.

Once long ago, or maybe only yesterday, Ostrich lived among the Bushmen of Africa. The Bushmen were small people, the size of the children of today, but they had long, long arms and strong, strong legs. And they were very smart, which is the most important thing about them.

Ostrich towered over the Bushmen, because she was the tallest of all the creatures in Africa. She had long, long legs and a long, strong neck. But she was also quite stupid, which is the most important thing about her.

At this time, oh so long ago — or maybe only yesterday — people did not know how to make fire. They did not even know there was such a thing. The only creature who knew about fire was Ostrich.

Now you may ask, how did Ostrich know about fire, if she was so stupid?

I’m eager to see what you do with the Ostrich and Fire. Look for the next Storytelling Round Robin in late December.

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Back on September 13th, we played a game called Round Robin Storytelling on this blog. In case you missed it, here’s how this works: someone starts a story, tells for a while, then stops at a critical juncture. Then another person who has been listening, takes up the story until they too stop at a critical juncture. This continues until someone brings the story to a close.

A blog is a good way to play Round Robin Storytelling. I’ll start a story and I’ll leave off in a critical point. If you want to play, go ahead and pick up the story and write (in the comments) what happens next – just a paragraph or two, no more. Then stop. Then either I or another reader of this blog will add their piece of the story, and stop. Then another person, or I, will continue. Hopefully. If no one comments, then I guess I’ll have to finish the story myself.

Now, this story is actually one I’ve already written all the way through, but that doesn’t mean this story must be this way. Other ways are possible, maybe even desirable. Want to play? Here is the beginning of a story called “Old Trout.”

Long ago, or maybe only yesterday, there was a young woman who wanted to know everything. She read thousands of books. She took thousands of classes. She listened to thousands of wise men and women, and asked thousands of questions. Still, no matter how much she knew, there was always more to know.

One day after she had been studying for a long time, she went for a walk to freshen her head. Her walk took her along the banks of a wild and twisty river. The river pushed and shoved and whirled and churned, making its way over rocks and fallen logs. It sang and whispered and whistled and slurped. It threw up cold spray that dampened her legs and splattered on her face. Soon her head was very fresh indeed, eager to know more new things.

She turned to go back to her studies, and just then an enormous Rainbow Trout jumped out of the river in a flashing, graceful arc. He was as long as a dolphin, plump and juicy, and his sides glistened with a rainbow glaze, pink and green and silver. He smoothly entered the river again and swam to where the young woman stood watching, her attention caught by his size and beauty. He shimmered in the shallows near the bank, his top fin making giant ripples on the surface of the river. She could see his face through the clear water. His unblinking eyes were fixed upon hers.

Now what happens? What new things does the young woman learn in this story? Does the Trout teach her, and how does he do it? Leave a comment below and tell us the next part of the story …

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My new book includes original folk tales – original because I wrote them, not those “folks” from folktales, although I write them in the folk tale genre.

Have you ever heard of the Round Robin storytelling game? That’s when someone starts a story, tells for a while, then stops at a critical juncture. Then another person who has been listening, takes up the story until they too stop at a critical juncture. This continues until someone brings the story to a close.

A blog is a good way to play Round Robin Storytelling. I’ll start a story and I’ll leave off in a critical point. If you want to play, go ahead and pick up the story and write (in the comments) what happens next – just a paragraph or two, no more. Then stop. Then either I or another reader of this blog will add their piece of the story, and stop. Then another person, or I, will continue. At least I hope so, I’ve never done Round Robin in a blog before. But I have nothing to lose, have I?

Now, this story is actually one I’ve already written all the way through, but that doesn’t mean this story must be this way. Other ways are possible, maybe even desirable. Want to play? Here is the beginning of a story called “The Mole’s Spectacles.”

Long ago, or maybe only yesterday, there was a Mole. He lived beneath the earth, where it is dark. The Mole people can smell the earth, they can touch the earth, taste the earth, hear the earth. But they cannot see the earth.

One day the Mole grew tired of being blind, so he went to the eye doctor. The eye doctor examined him and said he could see if he wore spectacles. So he bought some spectacles and went home, under the earth. He was the only Mole who could see the earth, as well as smell it and feel it and taste it and hear it.

The Mole saw such wonderful things! The earth’s color is a rich dark brown, with golden streaks. The rocks beneath the earth are bright black and soft grey, ivory white and butter yellow. The worms are a warm red-orange color. The eggs and larvae of many insects shine silver. Oh, the dirt is so glorious!

But one day Mole noticed that the earth was turning a bad color. Instead of being rich dark brown, it was a greenish color. A slimy limy shadow tinged every particle of earth. The rocks were covered in slimy limy crust, the worms were coated with slimy limy mucus, and the eggs and larvae didn’t shine at all.

The Mole told his brother about the bad color of the earth. “What shall we do?” he asked him. But his brother didn’t care. “The earth is the same as it ever was,” he said. “Smells the same, feels the same, sounds the same. Go away, I’m busy.” And he went on digging his tunnels. Mole told his mother about the bad color of the earth. “Those spectacles are making you crazy,” she said. “Take them off and you’ll be happy again.”

Everywhere he went it was the same. No Mole person would believe him about the bad color of the earth. Finally he told his little daughter, even though she was too young to do anything about it.

“Well,” she said, “if no one will help you, then YOU must do something.”

“But what?” he said in despair. “I am just one Mole.”

Now what happens? Does the Mole find anyone to help him? Does he give up and take off his spectacles? Is it dangerous for the Mole to see what no one else sees? Leave a comment below and tell us the next part of the story …

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