The summer I was 15, I was fortunate to go to the National
Music Camp at Interlochen, Michigan, for intensive instruction and performance.
(I played clarinet.) Because I knew no one there, I felt a sense of newness and
freedom. I must have blossomed somehow and become more outgoing and interesting,
because one night after lights out in my 12-girl cabin, one girl said,
"Elizabeth, tell us the story of your life."
#1: It's fun.
On the spur of that moment, lying on my back and talking
into the dark, I began telling my new friends about my early childhood in Iceland,
including many convincing details such as the local species of ant that built
large hills on the plains us children had to cross every day to get to school.
#2: It gets you into a creative state.
In winter, I recounted, the hills froze hard, and if you
didn't watch out, you'd fall over them, which I frequently did. (That got a sympathetic
laugh.)
['The view from my bedroom window in Iceland.' photo by ES]
#3: It entertains and challenges your listeners.
I don't remember a tenth of the stuff I made up that and
subsequent nights, but it enchanted my camp-mates, at least until one of the
faster girls started talking about sex. I never did reveal that I'd lived in
Michigan my whole life; I wonder if any of those girls remember my crazy tales.
#4: It's good exercise for your storytelling muscles.
Since then I've done countless similar things, most recently
explaining to a roomful of patients at the physical therapy office that my arm
was in a sling because it had gotten torn off in a terrible car wreck, but the
doctors had reattached it in a grueling 17-hour operation. (In reality I'd had outpatient
arthroscopic shoulder surgery.)
#5: It's a test of guts.
The thing is, I never just volunteer such information; I
wait until somebody asks or gives me a wide opening. In most cases I tell them
I'm kidding after a while. But I get a charge out of my quickening heartbeat as
I brazenly launch into some dramatic story. Makes my day a little spicier.
Have you told outlandish tales to strangers / friends / enemies?
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it's been a while since my last comment but i really had to laugh after reading your post. my husband was looking at me like i was crazy. all of a sudden a memory from 7th grade popped into my head.. it was around the time when i was all doom and gloom, making creepy Halloween cards, with creepy rhymes insides and creepy covers. One day, the teacher decided to give us free time in class. I was in a group of four and we had our desks pushed together. One of the guys in our group, the official class clown started a game of truth or dare. I chose truth and said, "One time. When I was little. I died. And my mother brought me back with voodoo." Of course he jumped up screaming "oh my god, oh my god," so loud that the didn't hear me say that I was kidding. During recess, the principal comes up to me and asks me, "What's wrong? I heard something crazy about you in the classroom?" I couldn't believe it spread so far that fast, that it reached the principal, lol.
ReplyDeleteThat is fantastic, Lidy. Both the actual story you told and the 'meta' part about how far it reached. Thanks a BUNCH for sharing that one.
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