“That’s true,” Sagacia said, “But I am not sure it’s what Dilemma in Duluth was asking about.”
What’s true?” Simplia asked, leaning in.
“What Simon Brooks said.” She read . . .
There are many tales to tell and it is okay for one to choose not to tell a tale because someone else, like me, might just love it and tell it! Let’s face it, if we are telling any story of the Greek Gods then we are telling tales of cheating, lying, bestiality, torturing the innocent (or ARE they?), alcoholism, incest etc etc. Try telling a 7 year old how Mr. Minotaur was born! Sounds like some of the crap drama on TV these days. Nothing new.
“All true, but Dilemma in Duluth was asking about fairy tales, not myths,” Simplia said sagaciously.
“Right!” Sagacia said simply.
“And she also wasn’t asking about stories you don’t like,” Simplia continued. “She was asking about fairy tales that you DO like but that have some parts which kind of sours you on the whole.”
“Yes,” Sagacia agreed. “One solution to that is is to follow your attitude, like Julie Moss Herrera did with ‘The Day It Snowed Tortillas.’”
Personally a story that hit me in the face when I was actually telling it is “The Day It Snowed Tortillas” where the ending in Joe Hayes’ book by the same name basically says it’s okay not to know how to read or write. But I was telling this story to children who struggle everyday with reading and writing. How could I tell them it’s okay not to work hard on something they will use for the rest of their lives? Then the answer came… So now in my ending the first thing the clever wife does after saving hers and her husband’s lives is use some of the found money to hire a tutor to teach her husband how to read and write so he will never be embarrassed again.
“I think that’s closer to what Dilemma in Duluth was getting at, and that one little sentence doesn’t change the story.”
“It just reveals the storyteller’s attitude,” Sagacia said. “And having an attitude is the storyteller’s privilege.”
“One of the basic rights a storyteller possesses!” Simplia declared.
“In truth, though, that story may not be a fairy tale, either,” Sagacia said. “No journey, no return, no magic, no transformation . . . . Just tortillas and snowing.”
“And speaking of snowing, . . . “ Simplia whispered, pointing to the window.
“Ah!” Sagacia acknowledged.
Forgetting their fairy tale questions, the Simpletons watched the tiny white flakes of falling silently. Wistfully, they thought of their dear friend Vasilisa, whom they greatly missed, and hoped she was not at this moment forging her way through the forest by the light of her skull lantern, frightened but brave. They hoped she would find her way home. They hoped they would see her soon. They hoped it wasn’t snowing on her.
“Meow.” From outside the door, Murzik’s whimper interrupted their fantasy.
Simplia tiptoed over and cracked the door just enough. The cat stepped in and shook himself, then sauntered over to the hearth where he curled up before the fire, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.
Fairy Tale Lobby 
Hey, Fox — How did I miss your comment until just now?
Yeah. There are some stories you absolutely love that you simply have to quit telling. At least for a time. The relationship of teller and story is a dynamic one. Sometimes it feels as though a story has chosen me to be one of its voices; sometimes I choose the story and wait to see how/if it comes alive as I tell it. Sometimes it feels like a match made in heaven, meant to last forever; and sometimes you know the magic just isn’t there anymore. Maybe it will be again. Maybe later. Maybe not.
having an attitude is the storyteller’s privilege :)
i love this
Just reading Mark Goldman’s comment on the Storyteller’s Facebook page: “Saving Mr. Banks – Wonderful! ‘That’s what storytellers do. We restore order with imagination. We instill hope again and again.” – Walt Disney (unverified quote and attribution, but a great line!)'”
It seems to me that is what Julie is doing here–and others elsewhere! When a previous generation of storytellers, collectors, or folklorists leaves a story “out of order” in any way, we must restore the order of it–whether for the sake of the story or for the sake of the listener.
This is a fine point and important one. Many of us do this unconsciously, or simply without much thought, but it is vital that we are conscious of the way we tamper with a story. How much we can change a story and still be true to the tale varies greatly depending on the tale, the teller and the audience. There are times when the one small annoying detail is key to the core of the story and changing it diminishes the story or dishonors the culture, but most of the time Julie’s rewrite of the end is not just OK, the edit makes it a better story.
Two examples come to mind: During our annual winter solstice concert the other night I simply dropped the reference to snuf in the first show where there were more kids. As a Native I have a strong disdain for the casual use of a sacred herb and most kids don’t even know what snuf is, but in the second show I not only put it back in, but made it a hearty laugh line, showing my disdain for the use of snuf by the mother in Yeat’s tale of the Puka and the Penny Whistle. In both tellings my attitude found expression.
Whereas “The Freedom Bird” which WAS one my favorite stories in a program I developed on non-violence more than 30 years ago, I had to drop. I no longer tell it because the violence towards the bird, the chopping, and plucking and boiling contradict my emphasis on non-violence. But the larger issue for me was the na-na-na-na mocking from the bird itself. What I and many audiences thought fun, I saw as the biggest contradiction, because an important part of resolving conflict is to see the oppressor’s human-ness, not to taunt them. I loved telling the story, but as I looked a little deeper I just could not tell it anymore. The story has several strengths, but I had too many issues and could not change the story to fit my goals without damaging the story.