Concerning the fundamental points of method in telling a story, I have
little to add to the principles which I have already stated as
necessary, in my opinion, in the book of which this is, in a way, the
continuation. But in the two years which have passed since that book
was written, I have had the happiness of working on stories and the
telling of them, among teachers and students all over this country, and
in that experience certain secondary points of method have come to seem
more important, or at least more in need of emphasis, than they did
before. As so often happens, I had assumed that "those things are
taken for granted;" whereas, to the beginner or the teacher not
naturally a story-teller, the secondary or implied technique is often
of greater difficulty than the mastery of underlying principles. The
few suggestions which follow are of this practical, obvious kind.
Take your story seriously. No matter how riotously absurd it is, or
how full of inane repetition, remember, if it is good enough to tell,
it is a real story, and must be treated with respect. If you cannot
feel so toward it, do not tell it. Have faith in the story, and in the
attitude of the children toward it and you. If you fail in this, the
immediate result will be a touch of shame-facedness, affecting your
manner unfavorably, and, probably, influencing your accuracy and
imaginative vividness.
Perhaps I can make the point clearer by telling you about one of the
girls in a class which was studying stories last winter; I feel sure if
she or any of her fellow students recognizes the incident, she will not
resent being made to serve the good cause, even in the unattractive
guise of a warning example.
A few members of the class had prepared the story of "The Fisherman and
his Wife." The first girl called on was evidently inclined to feel
that it was rather a foolish story. She tried to tell it well, but
there were parts of it which produced in her the touch of
shamefacedness to which I have referred.