Hitting the Mark
Sep. 11th, 2023 09:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootI had forgotten all about the Day of Diversity.
At the last BT meeting, we had all been so taken up with Ring Road man's new development plan, that I hardly had time to talk to the lady who wanted me to come. She had been taken with my talk to the French students, she was sure I would stimulate the audience. I had said something vaguely positive, only to forget the date. Then she contacted me again and I said I would help.
But I wasn't really sure of what was needed from me. She wanted 'tales from the hills' but the event was focused on diversity. It was thoroughly multi-cultural, a room full of families. When I walked in, some chap was talking about his autism and linking it to a tale of 18th century Jacobites. I wasn't sure he was connecting, but then I wasn't sure how to connect either. Yes, you always have to find some personal link with the audience, but I wouldn't say the link should necessarily be one's own story. One's own enthusiasm or empathy might do just as well.
Some of the ladies had brought magnificent food to share, including an absolutely cracking chickpea dish with mango and tamarind. I ate while trying to work out what to do. I couldn't decide what stories would be appropriate here; a lot of local lore is based around witches, devils and booze, and some of the more accessible stuff might backfire; the tale of demi-piratical Captain Jenks with his Peruvian wife and people from a far country could be quite fun, with the tale of him staking potatoes to the ground, the beauty of his wife being admired by the locals, the murmurs about his ill treatment of the local standing stone, the bafflement at his massive flat-roofed many-windowed house at Ravenscraig... but Jenks and all his folk disappeared, and among the many variants on his legend, one is that he murdered the lot of them - or was murdered - or they all decided to leave via the hills and disappeared into the mists. The tale inevitably ends at and they were never seen again. Possibly not the best choice for this crowd.
I sat and watched for a while, trying to gauge the local lore that might please most and offend least. I settled on the Silver Man and the Bathgate Beastie, starting with the talk about how what links the diverse is often the place they share, their physical environment, and spoke about the hills as being a place where anyone could roam (taking good custodial care to mention the safety issues like good footwear etc) and then moved into the stories. Two hindu ladies disappeared almost instantly, freaked either by the supernatural element, or what may have seemed like my recommendation for their children to go up into the hills. I thought to aim the stories at the children in the room, but their attention was not the mark I hit most surely. The ones who were curious, eyes meeting mine, interested expressions, were the adults. To them, I was not telling a fairy story but recounting two local mysteries, and they were very up for that. I finished by suggesting talking about home and this being a welcoming place. The organiser was clapping effusively, beaming face above his green shirt. He was delighted. And I...
I was exhausted.
And I had not talked for 10 minutes.
He and the councillor lady who had asked me to help in the first place and the master of ceremonies were all pleased, but I couldn't stay to discuss it. I could feel the organisers lining me up for another event or something, and that would be a flattering positive thing when this fatigue passes, as everyone assures me it will. I just have to accept that right now, it takes very little to tire me.
At the last BT meeting, we had all been so taken up with Ring Road man's new development plan, that I hardly had time to talk to the lady who wanted me to come. She had been taken with my talk to the French students, she was sure I would stimulate the audience. I had said something vaguely positive, only to forget the date. Then she contacted me again and I said I would help.
But I wasn't really sure of what was needed from me. She wanted 'tales from the hills' but the event was focused on diversity. It was thoroughly multi-cultural, a room full of families. When I walked in, some chap was talking about his autism and linking it to a tale of 18th century Jacobites. I wasn't sure he was connecting, but then I wasn't sure how to connect either. Yes, you always have to find some personal link with the audience, but I wouldn't say the link should necessarily be one's own story. One's own enthusiasm or empathy might do just as well.
Some of the ladies had brought magnificent food to share, including an absolutely cracking chickpea dish with mango and tamarind. I ate while trying to work out what to do. I couldn't decide what stories would be appropriate here; a lot of local lore is based around witches, devils and booze, and some of the more accessible stuff might backfire; the tale of demi-piratical Captain Jenks with his Peruvian wife and people from a far country could be quite fun, with the tale of him staking potatoes to the ground, the beauty of his wife being admired by the locals, the murmurs about his ill treatment of the local standing stone, the bafflement at his massive flat-roofed many-windowed house at Ravenscraig... but Jenks and all his folk disappeared, and among the many variants on his legend, one is that he murdered the lot of them - or was murdered - or they all decided to leave via the hills and disappeared into the mists. The tale inevitably ends at and they were never seen again. Possibly not the best choice for this crowd.
I sat and watched for a while, trying to gauge the local lore that might please most and offend least. I settled on the Silver Man and the Bathgate Beastie, starting with the talk about how what links the diverse is often the place they share, their physical environment, and spoke about the hills as being a place where anyone could roam (taking good custodial care to mention the safety issues like good footwear etc) and then moved into the stories. Two hindu ladies disappeared almost instantly, freaked either by the supernatural element, or what may have seemed like my recommendation for their children to go up into the hills. I thought to aim the stories at the children in the room, but their attention was not the mark I hit most surely. The ones who were curious, eyes meeting mine, interested expressions, were the adults. To them, I was not telling a fairy story but recounting two local mysteries, and they were very up for that. I finished by suggesting talking about home and this being a welcoming place. The organiser was clapping effusively, beaming face above his green shirt. He was delighted. And I...
I was exhausted.
And I had not talked for 10 minutes.
He and the councillor lady who had asked me to help in the first place and the master of ceremonies were all pleased, but I couldn't stay to discuss it. I could feel the organisers lining me up for another event or something, and that would be a flattering positive thing when this fatigue passes, as everyone assures me it will. I just have to accept that right now, it takes very little to tire me.
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no subject
Date: 2023-09-11 05:38 pm (UTC)Really interesting, your thoughts on what would connect and what might be off-putting. And interesting the way your story connected more with the adults than you were expecting it would.
You won't always be this easy to exhaust ... it's great that they want you back, hopefully when you've well recovered.
no subject
Date: 2023-09-12 07:53 am (UTC)But in any case, my judgment was skewed. The stories turned out to be for the adults, that's my lesson, and their faces are my reward. I hope and believe you are right, and look forward to bringing them more when I'm well.
no subject
Date: 2023-09-12 01:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-09-13 08:33 am (UTC)