As much as I love writing true stories each month, I enjoy hearing them. To get the stories rolling for our podcast, I recorded my story from October’s Stories at the Storey. In the piece I explored what might have happened if I hadn’t moved my family to the UK. It’s a short piece about choices, saying yes, and defining roles.
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.
Share your stories of haunting, memory, the past and the present at Lancaster University Library’s Once Upon a Time, True Stories Under the Tree event.
If you’re a writer, reader, lover of words, student, member of staff, the community, or just passing through and you have an engaging, entertaining, interesting, funny, heartwarming, sad (or anything in between) true story, we’d love to hear it. The theme is “ghost stories” (loosely interpreted).
You’ll have 3-5 minutes to share your haunting story.
Date: Oct. 4
Time: 8-9 PM
Location: Lancaster University Library under the tree
For more information or to sign up for a 3-5 minute true story slot, email Yvonne at
There will be light refreshments. What ghost story would be complete without cocoa and cookies?
Sponsored by Lancaster University Library
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?
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.
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.
–Ah! J’en suis desolé.
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…’
This month Stories at the Storey True Story Open Mic Night is hosting our first ever True or False night.
The stories will be funny, sad, touching, moving and those that aren’t true will be false. The storytellers will not reveal whether their tale is true or false; it will be up to the audience to decide.
Why is Stories at the Storey True Story Open Mic Night hosting a True or False Night?
Some of our audience members would like to share their stories but may be less comfortable sharing true stories. We get it. Sharing your innermost thoughts, dreams and experiences with an intimate group of strangers can appear daunting. So we’re removing the barrier of truth–for one night.
So join us for a night of true or false stories. Drop in to read or to listen. Either way, you’re welcome to join us. The event is free and like always, light refreshments will be served.
Whether it’s true or false, you’re nervous or excited, the piece is written or memorized, we’re looking forward to hearing your story.
Order your free tickets via Eventbrite.
To reserve your storytelling slot email us at firstname.lastname@example.org