My grandmother was Native American, of the Chippewa (Ojibwa) nation. She raised me in my formative years. She was everything you’ve read, heard, or seen in oral storytellers of the first people of America. I begged a story out of her every night, and I usually got my wish–fireside tales that fired my imagination.
Now, I get to carry on her tradition. Oral storytelling has changed a little. With podcasts, you don’t get to see that fireside glow, the sparkling eyes, the dramatic gestures. The voice must convey all. And recording that voice is a challenge. You will put up with a rooster crowing in the background on a farm–you most certainly will not in a podcast (unless it’s a story about Old McDonald). So you read in your not-so-soundproof office, and reread, and reread, and reread until finally, you do one perfect take without interruption, without error. It ain’t easy, but the results are worth it.
So let me read you a story. It won’t be a story like my grandmother’s–she was one of a kind. But her blood is in me, and it wants to sing…
