The Art of Story-Telling, with nearly half a hundred stories

by Julia Darrow Cowles

There are certain subtle qualities which a story must possess in order to give pleasure through its telling, which are not necessary in the story which is to be read. These qualities are of form rather than of substance. They are those qualities which permit of the personality of the speaker entering into the narrative to such an extent that the story becomes a recounting of something known to her. No matter how remote in point of time or place, the story must be of a character which can be personally set forth. I do not mean by this that the one who tells the story should be thrown into the foreground, or that there should be any use of the pronoun “I”; but simply that the teller of the story should be able to set it forth with all the earnestness and intimacy of a personal narrative, and the story itself must therefore possess the form which makes this possible.

A story of this character may be so told to a roomful of small children that it will hold them breathless with interest even at the close of a hard day’s work, and when the dismissal bell is ringing, as the writer has inadvertently proved.

To some, the story that is adapted in substance and in form for telling, makes instant appeal. Its possibilities are intuitively recognized. To others, only a critical examination and analysis will show whether the story is one to which children will listen with delight. Of course, after all is said and done, the true test of the story lies in telling it.

What, then, are the essential requirements in the form of the story?

The story must begin in an interesting way. The first sentence, or at most the first paragraph, should locate the story and introduce its hero. To be sure the “location” may be that delightfully indefinite past from which so many of childhood’s stories emanate—the “Once upon a time” of the fairy tale or of the “little small Rid Hin”; or it may be “many years ago”; or “in ancient times,” as in the story of “Why the Cat and Dog Are Enemies”; or simply “once”—“There was once a shepherd boy who called ‘Wolf,’” or “The Sun and the Wind once had a quarrel.”

Of course the time may, on the other hand, be very definite—“’Twas the night before Christmas”—but in either case the story starts out positively, the place or time is assigned, the subject of the story is introduced. Then you will see the children, their expectation aroused, settle themselves for the delightful developments which are to be unfolded, for the denouement which is sure to follow, and their eager faces are all the incentive needed to arouse the story-teller to her best endeavor.

The story, properly introduced, should move forward clearly, somewhat concisely, toward a well-defined end or climax. The form should be mainly narrative or conversational, with vivid touches of description never prolonged. There should be life, action, dramatic action, but very little of explanation. The incidents of the story should be so arranged as to be self-explanatory in their sequence.

For small children, repetition has a special charm—repetition such as is to be found in “The Three Bears,” or “The Cock and the Mouse.”

For older children there may be introduced a little more of the descriptive form, but it is well to beware of adding much of either description or explanation. Even “grown-ups” enjoy the straightforward narrative that delights the child, and the introduction of detail soon grows irksome and uninteresting, even to the most conscientious listener. And no child is a “conscientious listener.” He listens for love of the story. If it does not interest him he stops listening and does something else.