This spring, before the lockdown, we had a short and sweet “Introduction to Storytelling” course as part of the adult training programme at the Village. On the last evening, some people shared a full story for the first time in the course. Wow! I was so impressed with the talents and personal integrity these people brought to the act of storytelling. Each story was not so much of a performance, more of an invitation to spend time getting to know them – at their most authentic and open – through a piece of skilfully conveyed make-believe that means something to them.

There was a lovely variety of styles in the room. One person shared a dramatic myth he knows from his childhood; one person put a short story by a famous American writer into her own words (beautifully, subtly); another person made us laugh out loud with a classically mischievous folk tale passed on by a line of well-known Scottish storytellers; another person took us somewhere else entirely with a surreally fun, absurdist domestic drama they have written. The group had an open sense of what the word “storytelling” can mean. I felt safe in the hands of each teller, and as a listener I was enabled to trip from style to style, genre to genre, easily. Not everyone chose to share a story, but everyone listened with respect and curiosity. ‘Twas a GOOD round of stories. It felt just right.