How to Tell Stories to Children

After the question, linger a little too long.

You know that if this was a blank page, you would sit here for an hour. Write one sentence. Delete it. Bury your face in your hands. Check fucking Facebook. But there’s nothing blank about the expectant face in front of you, eyes bright in the glow of the nightlight.

Ask, “Anything in particular you’d like it to be about?”
“Make it up!”

Breathe. You will need the oxygen. Breathe again. “Once upon a time…”

There’s no going back now. Whatever the next words are, you have to see this through to the bitter end.

“Once upon a time, there was a little girl who lived deep in the forest with her mother and father.”

“What about their cat and their dog?”
“…and her cat and her dog.”

And you’re off—the two of you. Away from the burned wreckage of the cottage down the road to the fairy ring, with the bells on the grumpy gnome’s tall hat going chink chink chink, or up the mountain to the dragon’s lair with nothing in your hands but a wooden sword, or to the old house on the hill where nobody goes but sometimes, when the moon is full, people hear music.

“…and the door was so small, Elsa had to get down on her hands and knees and poke just her head in to see inside, but the gnome—whose name I don’t know, because he never told Elsa—marched right in (he had to take his hat off first) and said…”

There’s no knowing where it’s going to end up now. All you can do is try not to create too many threads that you’ll then have to tie off.

“But Old Grandmother Gnome turned right around and said, ’You shut your mouth, young man! I remember when you were in diapers!’ And he was so embarrassed that he—”

“Diapers? Diapers?”

“Yup. Diapers. Anyway, he—“

“She said diapers!”

“You better believe she did.”

You can keep any number of balls in the air once you get the rhythm to it. Of course it helps to have a travelling companion, but yours is too busy laughing hysterically. Wasn’t she supposed to be going to sleep? Take her hand. Lead her home.

“…and they all lived quite happily in the tree house—well, the cat and dog took a little while to adjust to it, but eventually they did just fine. And the gnome—he ended up not being such a bad neighbor after all, though he was never exactly the kind of person you want to invite over for dinner.”

You’ll find your way eventually, both of you. Maybe a little footsore, but hopefully smiling, you’ll find your way to The End. If you’ve done it right, it will look a great deal like the beginning. If you haven’t, you will be forgiven. Say “thank you.” She won’t know why, and you won’t be able to tell her.

Say, “For being such a good listener.” What you mean is, “For making me remember what I am.”

The blank page and the bright eyes are so different. One will wait, one will not. One certainly doesn’t care whether you succeed or fail or begin at all. That makes it harder, but it doesn’t change the world. You know this. What do you do, being what you are? In the dark under expectant eyes, with empty hands and no idea where this will go or how it ends, what can you do?

You tell stories.