Category Archives: Stories at the Storey

Stories at the Storey is a monthly true story open mic night. Where 3-5 storytellers share engaging stories loosely interpreting the evening’s theme. All stories must be true. Stories at the Storey, real people real stories.

Call for True Stories: Stories at the Storey

What’s your story?

We have slots available for this month’s Stories at the Storey. This month Stories at the Storey is on August 31, in the Print Room at The Storey from 7-8 pm.

We’re celebrating the launch of our arts organization, our Patreon, and our growing family of supporters. This month’s theme is family (loosely interpreted). We’re looking for true stories about your family, no matter how you define it. Stories about expectations, bonds, traits, lessons, let downs, or anything and everything in between; want to hear your story.

To sign up or for more information message Stories at The Storey or email storiesatthestorey@gmail.com
To order your free ticket for the event, visit Eventbrite

Welcome Back North West Literary Salon Patreon Campaign Launch (coming soon)

It’s been nearly a year since our last North West Literary Salon and we sure do miss it. That’s why we are happy to announce that we’re back; well, sort of.

Since our last Salon, Naomi and I have been writing, teaching and plotting a comeback. We have been researching funding and opportunities to strengthen not just the salon but Stories at the Storey and The Writing Life. We want to continue providing engaging, affordable events.

With Naomi’s support, I am launching a literary arts organization, North West Literary Arts, to combine all of our projects and to continue creating and producing live literature projects that bring stories to life.

So, we’re launching a Patreon campaign to make things happen.

What is Patreon?
Patreon is a funding platform where supporters can fund the creative content they enjoy. We create monthly events and want to offer more features, our campaign is for monthly support.

What sort of projects will money from Patreon support?
Money from supporters can help us produce the following projects:
Stories at the Storey: Add creative writing workshops for new and emerging writers, creative writing workshops for refugee writers, commission and publication of an audio book.
North West Literary Salon: Funding to pay authors, musicians, catering, and commission new writing to publish an anthology.
The Writing Life: Interviews, editing, website maintenance, and podcast creation.

What are we offering our supporters?
Community is at the heart of what we do and it isn’t confined by geographical coordinates. To expand our community we have created rewards like access to interviews, exclusive access to salon podcasts, feedback on new writing, and more.
We are hoping everyone can get involved and help us continue to bring great literary projects to life.

When does our Patreon campaign launch?
Our Patreon will launch in seven days online and in person on August 31 at Stories at the Storey.

How can you support North West Literary Arts?
Please support our Patreon Campaign by giving us what you can. Every pound (or dollar) helps. You can also support us by sharing our campaign, coming to our events, and supporting literary events around the globe.

We appreciate your support.

Call for Submissions: May Stories at the Storey

No matter how you live, one thing is certain: one day it will come to an end. Hope, money, destruction: What will you leave behind?

As Stories at the Storey celebrates another month of awesome stories, we are looking to the future, mainly ours, to reflect: how are we making the world a better place? When we’re gone, how will we be remembered?

For true stories of memories, regrets, bucket lists, choices and anything (and everything) in between, this month’s theme is legacy.

Do you have a 3-5 minute true story to share on the theme “legacy” (loosely interpreted)? If so, we would love to hear it. Sign up for your 3-5 minute slot for May’s Stories at the Storey: May 25, 7-8 PM at The Storey in Lancaster.

You can’t take it with you, why not talk about it now?

Stories at the Storey Call for True Stories, Lies and Fiction

Believe it or not, it’s nearly time for this month’s Stories at the Storey. This month’s theme is true or false!
Do you have a 3-5 minute true (or false) story that will make us laugh, think, remember, connect, cry or anything in between? If so, we would love to hear it. To sign up to share your true or false story, get in touch. Message, tweet, comment. We’re looking forward to hearing your true story, even if it isn’t true.

This month’s Stories at the Storey:

When: Thursday, April 27th
Time: 7 PM
Where: The Storey

As always, entry is free and so are the refreshments.

The Macguffin will be on hand to record your story:
Are you a writer, poet or spoken word performer who wants your work to reach a wider audience? Why not try out MacGuffin, a self-publishing platform (website and app) by Comma Press, which allows you to upload text and audio of your written work. It’s free to use, and all you need to record your audio is a smartphone! Plus it works as an editing tool for writers thanks to analytics you can view through your desktop. For more info visit macguffin.io.

Please keep in mind you are under no obligation to have your story recorded. If you want to share your story and not have it recorded, let us know.

Call for Writers, readers, storytellers, listeners and anyone with a true story to tell

Call for writers, readers, storytellers and listeners

Love. It moves mountains, opens doors, inspires creativity and completes us. In the wrong hands it can turn wrong. Good or bad, Stories at the Storey wants to hear your love story.

Whether you’re in it, out of it, whether you’ve lost it or found it, Stories at the Storey wants to hear your love story or true story about love (loosely interpreted).

Stories at The Storey is a true story open-mic night. We’re looking for writers, readers, performers, students, community members, staff, visitors and anyone with a true story to share about love (loosely interpreted).

Join us as we share stories about the ways we search, find, define, live with or live without love.

If you have an engaging story that loosely explores the theme “love” we would love to hear it or come along and listen to true stories shared by real people.

Email: storiesatthestorey@gmail.com for more information or for a 3-5 minute slot.

Event brought to you by Yvonne and Naomi; sponsored by Grad College, Stories at the Storey is a BBC Get Creative Event

Event details
Date: March 30, 2017
Time: 7 PM-8 PM Open Mic
Location: The Storey (First floor)
Dress: Casual
Stories at The Storey: Real people; Real Stories.
Light refreshments will be served.
Cost: Free

Not able to make it to the live event? Email us your story and we can share it on our blog.

February’s Stories at the Storey, by Gemma Rayner

February’s Stories at the Storey’s open mic night was thriving with tales of the way food carries us through life. Each individual had a different story to tell – from the comedically clichéd advice given to overeaters everywhere, to the starvation that comes with travelling in remote and isolated landscapes, we felt the highlights and the struggles of each speaker’s tale. Food has a uniquely uniting force as an irrepressible human function, something that was apparent in the audience’s response to each story. To hear the struggles of your lifetime of attempted dieting expressed in such a poignant and humourous way was something that brought the entire audience to chuckles of familiarity and sympathy, and hearing the plight of a lonely hitchhiker cross the globe looking for opportunities to eat, was something that felt recognisable when expressed in such a detailed and eloquent way.

As a newcomer to Stories at the Storey, I was introduced to a buzzing community based on a raw sincerity of story-telling. The atmosphere was palpable with the light-hearted integrity that arises from sharing tales with such a level of openness, and it was lovely to see the community that put no barriers between speakers and listeners. The event presented such a welcoming environment which allowed conversation and interaction, but where the virtue of the shared tales was preserved within the room. Being part of such a pleasant and engaging group of people, who are willing to pour out their stories and the plethora of concurrent emotions, is a privilege; one that is fulfilled in the intimate setting of Stories at the Storey.

The Taste of Hope by Petra McNulty

The third piece in the Hope series

In moments of extremes – extreme sadness, extreme stress, extreme disappointment etc., I have a perverse hankering for apple compote and natural yoghurt. An urgent need for those contrasting flavours; the sourness of the yoghurt, the syrupy sweetness of the apples. Focusing on the clashing sensations exciting my taste buds, relishing the thick creamy sludge squidging over my tongue, is the only way to cap my feelings – make them more manageable.
I say perverse hankering because that’s what I was given each time I came round from the general anaesthetic. That and a crusty cob with a triangle of Vache qui rit cheese which I didn’t have the energy to eat. I’d peel the thin foil lids off each pot and take a teaspoonful of apple then a teaspoonful of yoghurt. Apple then yoghurt, apple then yoghurt. Sweet – sour, sweet – sour. It was quite therapeutic. And it tasted like hope.
It was the second to last step in a long and draining process. Hundreds of consultations, thousands of examinations, millions of daily injections. Over a week of one-hundred-and-ninety-five-kilometre round trips to the hospital in Clamart – a depressingly faceless area of high rises and highways spreading like some concrete bacterial fungus on outskirts of Paris. Over a week of queueing along the corridor with the other hopeful couples – none of us making eye contact for fear of seeing that agonising, pathetic look of desperate hope that we knew we were all trying to hide. The women taking it in turns to climb into the stirrups and watch our wombs lit up on the big screen – black with a smattering of starry white speckles – while the doctor scanned around searching for possible eggs, lassoing and measuring them like newly discovered planets. Then finally strutting out of the examination room like I’d just come top of the class when the doctor finally found three plump eggs grown to the right size. This was always rewarded with a trip to the theatre, to have them removed and plopped onto a petri-dish bed of jelly to await the arrival of the blessed spermatozoa.
Apple compote and yoghurt seemed to be the post-theatre menu du jour. An odd mix of siltiness and creamy smoothness experienced through that post-anaesthesia, ever so slightly hallucinatory druggy state. Half propped up on pillows – the teaspoon unaccountably difficult to coordinate with the mouth opening – the gastronomic delights of a late lunch unfolded in hazy abstract. The textures complimented one another; silky and rough, yin and yang, him and her, sperm and egg… It was a time to relax. To breathe. Time to prepare the body to accept the arrival of the long awaited. Each mouthful of appley-yoghurt was bursting with potential. Baby names drifted across the mind unbidden. Colour schemes for nurseries floated by. Absolutely no blue or pink gender stereotyping clothes in the tiny wardrobe that would have to be bought. Would s/he take after my side or his? We’d have to take lots of trips back to England and Ireland of course so s/he could get to know her/his cousins and aunts and grandmas. Where would we hold the Birthday parties? And what about schools, universities…. whole lives would stream by until the anaesthetic finally wore off and reality slapped me across the chops shouting STOP!!!! Chickens, hatched, counting and all that.
With the last scrape of each plastic pot, that sugary apple and tangy yoghurt flavour was filed away under ‘H’ for hope. ‘H’ for happiness.
Two days later the lovely old surgeon would gently slip three tiny embryos into their new warm bed, making sure they were all snuggly and safe.
–We’ve done all we can, now it’s up to God, he’d say each time, patting my stomach.
And for the next week or so, comfy socks and fluffy jim-jams on, fave music playing, I’d take my temperature every day and phone the nurse with the result.
–C’est bon!
–C’est bon!
–C’est bon!
–Ah! J’en suis desolé.
Game over.
Nul points.
I’m not sure if I hanker for that sweet and sourness out of some masochistic impulse to make myself more miserable, to dig the knife in a little deeper because it’s so pleasant once you stop or whether it’s simply my inner wiser self reminding my self-pitying, wallowing-in-it self, to hope. Hope for better times to come.
After all, you know the old adage, ‘where there’s life…’
Oh.
Maybe not.