Tag Archives: true stories

Stories at the Storey Call for True Stories on the theme “Ghosts”

Just in time for Trick or Treat, this month’s Stories at the Storey theme is “ghosts” (loosely explored).

Ghosts. They haunt us, appearing when we least expect it, often when we most need it. Slipping through time and space, they take residence in our minds, our memories, and the walls, returning, like the past, with warnings, news, memories and stories.
Ghosts are everywhere and so are their stories. This month Stories at the Storey’s theme is “ghosts” (loosely interpreted). We’re looking for ghost stories about events, relationships, people, and anything else that haunts you.
Have a true story to share? Email (storiesatthestorey@gmail.com) to sign up for your 3-5-minute (2-4 pages A4) open-mic slot.

Not sure you’re ready to read your true story? That’s fine too. Come by and listen. If you would like to share a story but want us to offer some feedback, get in touch. We can help you get your story ready.

When: Thursday, October 25, 7-8 PM
Where: Printroom Café, Lancaster

Sponsored by Graduate College, Stories at the Storey is a pay what you decide event. Readers are not asked to or expected to pay. Order free tickets via Eventbrite.

Stories at the Storey Call for True Stories of Betrayal

Things aren’t always as they seem. Sometimes people, experiences, cars, opportunities, and gravity let us down or seem to turn against us. This month’s Stories at the Storey theme is betrayal (loosely interpreted).

We’re looking for true stories about betrayals of the heart, the mind, the body, and anything in between. Sometimes we are betrayed, sometimes we betray other people, other times, we betray ourselves. Whatever the circumstances, however you define “betrayal” we’d love to hear your true story.

Have a true story to share? Email (storiesatthestorey@gmail.com) message, tweet us to sign up for your 3-5-minute (2-4 pages A4) slot.

Not sure you’re ready to read your true story? That’s fine too. Come by and listen. If you would like to share a story but want us to offer some feedback, get in touch. We can help you get your story ready.

When: Thursday, July 26, 7-8 PM
Where: Printroom Café & Bar, The Storey, Lancaster
Sponsored by Lancaster University Graduate College, Stories at The Storey is a pay what you decide event. Order free tickets via Eventbrite.

Stories at the Storey Call for True Stories: Firsts

Kisses, jobs, loves, speeding tickets; they say you never forget your first.This month’s Stories at The Storey theme is “firsts” (loosely interpreted). Want to share your true story loosely exploring the theme “firsts”? Email, message, tweet us to sign up for your 5-minute slot. Not sure you’re ready to read your true story? Well, they say “there’s a first time for everything”.

Get in touch, we can help you get your story ready.
When: Thursday, March 29. 7-8 PM
Where: Printroom Café & Bar, Lancaster

Want to share your 3-5 minute (2-4 pages A4) true story?
Email: storiesatthestorey@gmail.com to sign up for an open-mic slot.

Sponsored by Graduate College, Stories at the Storey is a pay what you decide event. Order free tickets via Eventbrite.

Introducing Back Story, Stories at the Storey

We are launching Back Story, a podcast where writers share insights into their writing practice. Each month we will record a writer reading their true story loosely exploring the month’s theme. The reading will be followed by a conversation led by Naomi and Yvonne where we chat about the writer’s interpretation, the inspiration for the story, and other writing pursuits.

The recordings give us a chance to share some of the amazing stories writers share with us each month. So wherever you are in the world, sit back and listen. When you’re finished, feel free to write a piece interpreting the month’s theme and email it to us.

Now for Naomi Kruger’s Backstory, an interview where she explores her interpretation of September’s School Memories theme.

Call for True Stories: December’s Virtual Stories at the Storey

We’re ringing in the New Year with a virtual Stories at the Storey!

This month’s theme is “journey” loosely explored. We’re looking for stories that explore how you got from where (or who) you were to where (or who) you are. These stories can explore physical, mental, emotional, geographical or any other mode.

Share your 3-5 minute true story via email, comment here, message us on Twitter, comment on Facebook, tag us on Instagram. Stories can take any form: share it in words, pictures, sounds, song. Your story can be audio, video, a short film.

Wherever you are or where you’re going, we’d like to read, hear, or watch your story.

We’ll be posting pictures and texts about our own journeys.

Happy Holidays!

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

If These Walls Could Talk: Lancaster Edition–Call for true stories

Lancaster Stories
Do you have a true story about Lancaster?

If you have visited, worked in (past/current) or lived in or near (past/current) Lancaster and have a true story to tell, why not share it May 6 at the Lancaster University Community Day special edition If These Walls Could Talk: Lancaster Open-Mic?

What kind of stories can you share?

True, well-told stories about things you have done, people you’ve met, things you’ve seen, objects (or people) you’ve left behind, things you’ve learned or forgotten. True stories about escapes, encounters, close calls and memories. Stories about loss and found love, first dates, first days of work (and last). Tales of tours, visits and explorations. You name it—you tell it.

Date: Saturday, May 6, 2017
Time: 3-4 PM
Location: Lancaster University, LICA Building

For more information or to schedule your 3-5 minute open mic slot, please email Yvonne at ybattlefelton@gmail.com

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.

Whilst There is Breath There is Hope

We asked writers, artists, readers and anyone with a story to share to share their interpretation of the theme: “hope.”

Contributed by an anonymous writer, this moving essay is the first response to the call.

Whilst There is Breath There is Hope
She had mothered me out of my traumatic teenage years and into adulthood. She had coaxed me back from my first dark night of despair with tenderly enforced trips to quiet cafes to drink tea and smoke cigarettes. She had tried to love me by plugging holes as my vitality leaked away.
On a hot Saturday afternoon she took a rope, tied it to a tree, fashioned a noose and hung herself. He told me later that when he’d found her her toes hovered an inch or two from the ground, the bough of the tree couldn’t quite reach to put her down.
She died and I didn’t
I took scissors, which had only been returned to the drawer along with all knives after her death, and cut late spring flowers from her lovingly tended garden. Her suicide note revealed she had planned to die there but ran to the woods when it was realised she had escaped from the house. Without knowing what else to do I took the flowers to the tree and placed these delicately pathetic offerings of aquilegia and poppies at the edge of the gaping abyss- where despair had run out, movement ceased, breath ran out. It was an offering of love, mine and hers, left to wither at the place where hope ran out.
My whole adult life I have ricocheted between the opposing poles of hope and despair, at one extreme the pull of suicidal thoughts, a desire to delete myself, and at the other the magnetic draw of hope; salvation by the blessing of external circumstances, or to put it another way, a feeble belief it’ll all work out in the end. Both poles are dangerous. When this kind of hope gets shattered time and again by life’s ordinary offerings of trauma and disappointment the downward spiral to the opposite pole becomes a well trodden path.
Arriving at despair, this time as a mother, prompted a different course of action. I feared for myself less than I feared that my children might become motherless so I asked for a new model of hope.
The NHS, unsure what to do with me, sent me on a meditation course. Every Friday afternoon, I sat with my comrades from the four corners of Despairesville and we learned to watch our thoughts. At first I ran at my despair with a war mongering cry, “Come on then you fucker, show yourself so I can annihilate you!” – not quite the mindset the teacher was looking for, and with a bemused kindly tone he encouraged a friendly, compassionate approach.
We practiced listening to sounds; silent sounds of the room, the faulty fire alarm that blipped, gurgling stomachs. Immersion in the sensory awareness of life was a welcome break from the analytical mode I usually inhabited. We watched our breathing, we watched our thinking, we felt the tingle of aliveness in our muscles. We dwelled in our bodies and in our pain; we did not run from it. Actually we did, constantly, but we tried to notice ourselves doing it and not tell ourselves off.
I didn’t like much of what I saw. But a tiny miracle occurred; with gentle attention I prised open a paper thin gap between being in ‘it’ and observing ‘it’. That gap sprouted a seedling of hope. I noticed that my immovable rock-face of pain, whether a plague of anxiety-rats scattering around my head, or the dampening thick white-out of depression, was not as solid and immovable as it appeared. Diminutive changes occurred as I breathed. The embodied sense of despair moved, in a geographical sense, across my body. Sometimes it moved like waves, sometimes like slow compacting earth. The important thing was that it moved. As long as there was breath there was movement. Movement meant change and change meant potential and with that came a crack in the rock-face just large enough for my seedling of hope to grow. Not the shiny and alluring hope-as-flimsy-optimism but an authentic hope grew out of the ground of despair.
With achingly dull repetition, meditating led to a fleeting, scarcely perceptible sense of one vast net of interconnectedness; the warp and weft of the present also had living threads that stretched far back into the past and far forward into the future. It was impossible to see it all, only my little corner of it, but I had the sense that whatever I did, even just breathing, it mattered.