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Articles by Rafe Martin
What is a Writer? Forget it. Writers create their own certificate. Each alone, forges their own
certification -- stolen moments sequestered to work on a phrase, a line,
a letter, “the book.” The awful anxiety when revealing “the
work” to a friend, let alone the world. The nagging need to, “get
it down” -- to capture or express thoughts, experiences, emotions,
ideas -- in actual, specific words.
A writer, writes. Like a silent signal, the trace of fever, the glint of
hidden passion revealed, it will emerge. Oh it will! Beware, I tell you!
Even your e-mails will subtly give you away. For they will read as if
whoever wrote them actually cared for the words! Or, maybe it will emerge
in your conversations; the language twists around upon itself in interesting
patterns to form, not just concepts, but clear images in the listener’s
mind. Too late. You’ve been spotted. You can’t run and you can’t
hide.
You’re already a writer. So you might as well let the beast out to have its way
with you, your friends, family, and the world. You are sick, my friend,
and the prescription is clear -- find some time each week, minutes or
hours, it won’t matter which, and write. Aha. You are a writer.
If you want to write books for children it may also be useful to put a little
time into clarifying your purpose or purposes, to establish your personal
sense of direction. Many new writers attempt writing “children’s
lit” in the hope that it’s simply easier. Certainly, it can
be shorter. And, perhaps, in a sense, it is easier, just as haiku is “easier”
than writing an epic. Easier, that is, if you have the mind for it, the
intention, the eye, ear, and talent to make it work. In the columns to
come I plan to share with you something of what makes a good children’s
book, how to work with an editor, connect with the right illustrator,
even, hopefully sell your manuscript -- things I’ve learned by the
painstaking route of personal experience.
read
more
Why Folktales? My answer is that folktales, perhaps better called traditional tales, return
us, not to the literal world but to the imagined one. They are doorways
into a constant realm of universal dreaming through which archetypes may
be embodied, characters and roles and life paths explored.
They are old, as the psyche is old, as the imagination is; old and enduring.
The patterns of cause and effect, good and evil which run through these
old tales underlie all cultures, underlie even the current dream of unbounded
technological accomplishment and success. Folktales, the unauthored, cumulative
recasting of many generations’ experience explores the old, that
is, fundamental areas of ourselves, areas so common they remain at the
bedrock of our humanity.
And because they are old, they are mature. Honed by centuries of telling and
retelling they have become concise models of narrative, real building
blocks of the imagination. Worn to the nub, all superfluity washed away,
they retain a consistency of their own. In them only what needs to happen,
happens. And yet, the promise of that happening fulfills our dreams.
read
more
Certainly traditional tales world-wide do dramatize values. In them specific
causes are shown to lead to complex effects that lead to further causes,
etc. But too easily tagged morals can also be the result of what happens
when told tales get put into books. They get flattened out, abstracted
from their live, oral-performance base and the “moral” takes
over from the live experience of hearing and seeing the tale. The story
of “King Goodness” has been with us for twenty-five hundred
years. I’d like to look at it here, simply as that -- a story -- and
see how it might serve its own meaning in ways that “King Goodness”
as philosophy cannot.
To summarize the tale: King Goodness is a good king. He is noble, fair,
generous, and virtuous. An vengeful minister asserts that the king’s
committment to goodness has left his kingdom weak and helpless; that such
committment grows from a fundamental incompetence and naivete. This hypothesis
is tested by another king in a series of raids into King Goodness’
realm. The raiders are captured. But when they explain that poverty alone
motivated them, King Goodness gives them gifts and releases them. Not
one is punished further for the crimes they have committed. Convinced
that King Goodness’s kingdom can be easily taken, the enemy king
invades. As the army advances, King Goodness exhorts his mighty champions
to refrain from violence. The army of the invading king wins easily. King
Goodness and his one thousand champions are brought to the graveyard and
are buried there, up to their necks, and abandoned to the jackals.
read
more
The Boy Who Loved Mammoths and My Writing Process
Me and Harry Potter
I am now finishing my first young adult novel titled, Birdwing.
It is a mythic, adventurous, mysterious, and sometimes funny story which
has been bought by Arthur A. Levine. Now, who, you may well ask, is Arthur
A. Levine? Look at your Harry Potter books! Each one is an Arthur A. Levine
book. Arthur is my editor and is not only now the most sought after editor
in the world, but also the best. Why? It is simple, really. He
trusts his own heart and vision. When the first Harry Potter book was
being sold all the editors in the U.S. were offered it at auction. All
the other editors dutifully went to their marketing and accounting people
who told them, “It is British whimsical fantasy. It won’t sell in the
States. Let it alone.” Arthur stuck his neck out and bid the highest and
bought the book -- and the series. It was a risky move that could have,
depending on the outcome, either made or broken him. Well, you know what
happened. read
more
“Tell Me a Story”
Rafe Martin creates entire worlds out of simple words, or, as
he puts it, “sounds on air.” He’s not one to run around on stage during
his storytelling performances, preferring to simply sit or stand in one
place, using gestures or a change in tone to plant his audience --- of
children and adults --- firmly in a different time and place. In
the midst of a crowded auditorium, he makes you feel as though he’s telling
the story directly to you.
Although his published work, which now includes 19 books, is
based on native and traditional tales, he brings a freshness to the stories
that enables them to speak to us today. Last winter, after a benefit performance
Martin held for the Cobblestone School, I came away feeling like this
is what people are supposed to do on cold winter nights: We’re supposed
to get together and listen to stories. read
more
Thoughts on the Importance, and Necessity of Folklore
This article is based on an oral talk presented by Rafe at the May 2004 International
Reading Association National Convention in Reno, Nevada. The article has
been written for and will appear in the Spring 2005 issue of The Dragon
Lode, The Journal of the Children’s Literature and Reading Special Interest
Group of The International Reading Association.
Looking back over the last forty years of my thinking, writing, and storytelling
I see now that they have all been attempts to explore a question, well,
two questions, really, that have been both guiding and haunting me: “What
is folklore and why is it important?”
The more I think about it, the more I see that these are not simply questions
for me or even just for children, parents, educators and children’s book
writers. Joyce compulsively explored these same questions. Shakespeare
was bound and beholding to them. Melville cut his teeth on them. I think
they lie behind the best of who we collectively and individually, are. read
more
Storytelling and Writing This article appeared in the December 2004 issue of The Museletter,
the renowned journal of the art of storytelling, published by LANES -
The League for the Advancement of New England Storytelling.
torytelling and writing children’s literature go together as allies, best friends, even
spouses. But they are not the same.
Telling depends on “presence,” “vibes,” that indefinable something built
of silence, the body’s flow, voice-tones and rhythms, as well as on words
and word-choice as they extend into the thrust and flow of narrative.
But writing? No voice, no tone, no gesture, no silence, no presence;
just squiggles on a page. Which is where many wonderful storytellers experience
terror. None of the old supports that move listeners sustain us
with readers. It’s still storytelling, but suddenly it’s like foreign
territory. What will help us cross the stream on a moonless night when
the bridge is broken? That’s a paraphrase of a Zen verse I like very much.
You’ll find it in commentary to koan # 44 in The Mumonkan, one
of the central training texts of Zen tradition. To turn it to our use,
it sums up that moment of transition into the unknown very well. How do
you step into a new realm when all your old systems are gone? read
more Read more at The
Scholastic Connection
Children’s Literature
Read Rafe’s article that speaks about the purpose of Children’s literature at Embracing the
Child, a site that salutes “Literature for Learning and Shared Reading”.
“Living the Story - Rafe Martin at the Zen Center”
For one weekend in early October we were treated to a storytelling workshop with writer and storyteller, Rafe Martin. Rafe is a part of a living tradition of storytelling that has existed in all human cultures (a million years old, says Rafe). This rich tradition, which involves the listener as well as the teller, is being lost in contemporary culture to media such as television and movies.
The three-hour Sunday morning storytelling workshop was preceded by an evening of Rafe telling stories. The evening crowd had many pajama-clad children who were eager participants. During the story, Rafe would ask the audience for a particular detail-do you know what shark skin feels like? Do you know what wampum is? In this way, and through techniques he talked about the next day, our imaginations were kept active. We were creating the story for ourselves out of the material that Rafe gave us. (There were children who insisted on their own endings!)
At the workshop itself, Rafe generously shared the craft he has been honing for over thirty years. He pulled down the curtain and showed us techniques that make a story come alive. Of course, this is an art and not a science. Rafe showed us some tools. The stories, in the end, must come from inside us.
Rafe talked about how to prepare a story. Memorizing is not the way to go. We may well forget key points or get lost. But more importantly, a storyteller should know a story as if he or she has actually experienced it. This means reading it many times. Mulling it over. Reciting it quietly. Eventually it is as if recalling an experience from memory. In this fashion we naturally use the verbal and non-verbal means of communication we are all familiar with and all share. And we can organize and fine-tune the storyline during the telling much like jazz improvisation. Keeping the listener engaged is key.
Rafe showed that stories grip us because they are more than a narrative. Voice tone, spacing and gestures breathe life into the words. An example was the introduction of a snake into a particular story. One could go into a description of the snake and say how dangerous it was. But with a hissing voice and serpent-like arm, Rafe created a snake right before us. Similarly, he created a noble but dangerous alligator that triggered our fears and curiosities. Rafe essentially became the characters for us. How weak mere words are compared to a genuine demonstration! The living story grabs our attention. And story telling goes back well before written language and, no doubt, language itself. We feel the story without resort to analysis. As so many of us struggle in our Zen practice ìto get beyond words,î it is gratifying to find ourselves for once drawn naturally and pleasantly into a live world without explanation.
We are grateful for all we were shown about the craft of storytelling. Yet we know that it is more than following a recipe. Rafe’s voice and movements as he would climb a tree, or become a storm at sea, or conjure up the fear and awe of a strange forest at night, are not just technique. His fluid embodiment of simple story elements touches us and triggers our imagination to create richness and fullness. In this personal way, stories very effectively teach the nature of character traits such as greed or courage or generosity. We feel these at a deep level since we are involved in their creation. It is with reason that our Teachers have used stories and parables to express the inexpressible. Real teaching demands active participation. The storytelling form is a vehicle that enables the listener to actively experience the teaching. Of course it takes an expert storyteller to make this happen. Thank you Rafe! Walking Mountains, Newsletter of the Vermont Zen Center, Volume 20, Issue 8
www.dianewolkstein.com
www.kidcameraproject.org
http://www.inspiredprotagonist.com/
www.healingstory.org/home.html
Here’s
how The Healing Arts Special Interest Group of the National Storytelling
Network describe what they’re about--“Welcome. Our purpose is to explore
and promote the use of storytelling in healing. Our goal for this special
interest group is to share our experience and our skills, to increase our
knowledge of stories and our knowledge of the best ways to use stories to
inform, inspire, nurture and heal. We also wish to reach beyond our storytelling
community to share with those in other service professions; therapists,
clergy, health care practitioners of all kinds, anyone who can see the benefit
of story as a tool for healing. Thank you for visiting our web site. We
hope you will join us.”
Read an article Rafe wrote for
the Healing Story newsletter on page 2.*
*This newsletter is an Adobe document (.pdf). To view,
you must have the Adobe Acrobat® Reader installed on your computer.
The reader is free (download Adobe
Reader here). The Scholastic
Connection
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www.spiritoftrees.org/spirit_of_trees.html
www.sorrentinophotography.com
www.rcowen.com
www.ArthurALevineBooks.com
www.BreakfastSerials.com
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Copyright ©
Rafe Martin, 2000. All rights reserved. |
hat is a writer? Or when is someone a writer? That’s how the question
actually appeared in my own internal thesaurus-dictionary for I had already
written four or five award-winning children’s books before it began
to dawn on me, “Maybe I can be a writer.” And it took me even
longer to be able to actually say, “I am a writer.” For “writer”to
me was such a charged, archetypal word. Like a mantle of gold, like the
white bronze poet’s rod of the ancient Irish bards, it seemed there
must be some special preparation, some sign, some certificate that makes
it clear, and shows one’s worthiness -- “Yes, you are a writer!”
Or at least, “Now you are truly a writer.” After all, you need
proper certification to teach little children and to operate a motor vehicle.
Why not the same kind of healthy acknowledgment for the writer?
f you know your purpose you can stick with it, through thick and thin
and, in the midst of many dubious and criss-crossing pathways, more easily
choose the road that leads to fulfillment of your goal. If I know why
I must go from Rochester to New York City or Anchorage, Alaska or any
of the other places to which my schedule says I’m supposed to go,
it’s more likely I’ll get there -- whatever the route and the
weather -- if I am sure about why I need to make the trip.
ometimes
people ask me -- “Why are folktales important? Why should they be
shared, retold, recreated, put in books today? Are they just remnants
of outdated cultures, quaint and charming stories of little current relevance?
Why do you so often write recreations of folktales, anyway?”
t first glance the Buddhist jataka tale, “King Goodness” seems
to be nothing more than a propaganda piece for Buddhist values, specifically
for the virtue of non-violence.
hough many people know my picture book for young readers Will’s
Mammoth, not many know how that story actually began. Those who have
heard me tell the original story have been amazed to discover that it’s
actually a complex tale suitable for older children and even adults, not
a story necessarily for young children at all. And they ask, why did I
change it to make it a picture book? And would I someday do a story book
(one with few illustrations and lots of words) of the original version,
the way I originally wrote it, the version my telling is actually based
upon? Over the years these requests have piled up on my desk. So with
The Boy Who Loved Mammoths, I’ve at last brought out the story
as I originally wrote it--with some terrific illustrations by my friend
Richard Wehrman. (You can also hear the way I tell this story on the audiocassette
es, it is a
catchy title. But it is grounded in reality. It is true. I’ll tell
you what I mean.
