Once upon a time, there was you and me. We used to sit around the campfire and tell our stories. And they were marvelous stories too. Of course, there were those of us who could tell stories and keep us on the edge of our seats. And there were those of us who needed to be encouraged to tell their stories with questions, supportive declarations, and our eyes full on. But when they finished telling their stories, everyone clapped because the stories were great to hear.

All of us loved sitting around the campfire hearing our stories. One day, a monster came to the campfire and smashed the fire out with his big stomping ass feet. He was a mean monster, and he was angry that we told these fantastic stories. He wanted to hear no more of how we got over our challenges. He wanted no more of our hearts, spirits, and souls connecting and understanding each other because we told our stories to one another. So the beast stood up tall, grimaced his face and roared menacing words to make sure, forever and ever that we would never tell our stories. And then he split himself into many pieces and jumped into our hearts so he could roar his ugly voice whenever anyone wanted to tell a story or remember our stories.

Centuries passed. Of course, as we know, many people could tell their stories and get them printed in a publishing house. The people who publish their stories happen to be the people who are outspoken and know, no matter what, they are putting their stories in books so that people can read their stories. These people have done battle with their inner monster and are not afraid of their monster at all.

But the other people who needed to be encouraged to tell their stories with questions, supportive declarations and the courage to keep after the monster couldn’t do this. It took a great deal of energy, and their lives were full and busy.

One of these people was me. I was always in love with storytelling, but the monster inside of me told me from the day I was a little one that my stories weren’t important to me. And furthermore, no one would like to read them. I held on to the dream that I would write. But something unstoppable in me knew I needed to get us around the campfire again (even virtually), and it starts with us telling our stories and keeping them safe in books.

So I started talking to the monster on a regular basis. And then I started telling stories to the beast. I found out the monster loved listening to these stories. And then I asked the creature if he would like to save his stories by putting them in a book. Surprisingly he said “yes.” So we watched a movie together that had pictures in it and questions for him to think about before I interviewed him.

The monster was comfortable and excited to tell his stories when it was his time. I must say he had wonderful stories about feelings, events of his life and the memories he wanted to remember. When he got his book back, he was excited. He told me that I must reach out to as many people as I can and let them know that the monsters inside of them are tamed by storytelling.

And that’s what I do. I tame the monsters in you so you can tell the stories you want in a book so that both you and your monster can live happily ever after.

Beth