We craft and tell stories because we’ve stood on the uncertain edge between the waking world and our imagination, between enchantment and fear. And we remember other stories that help us build our own stories, scraps of lumber and fragments of narrative we gather together to make stories for ourselves.
A Guest Post by Claire Dean This morning, the first frost of winter limned the fallen leaves, and as my sons raced around joy-struck by the deep green of their footprints in the white grass,…Continue Reading
Our imaginations are easily caught up in new interpretations of these familiar stories, and it’s likely we’ll never stop reusing those tropes while we still retain them in our cultural memories. Join us in an interview with author Arielle K. Harris.
We sat down with Kate Wolford for a long-distance discussion about—well, about the weather, and how it shapes the stories we tell.
Walking by the Phoenix Photograph by Kenny Louie.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been pondering here about stories that speak from wounded, devastated earth—that come out of a place of suffering together with the world we inhabit.
“The world is made of dirt. A rock doesn’t have feelings.” The flaccid man in the documentary glared out of the monitor at me accusingly, as if he suspected me of once being nice to…Continue Reading
As I was working on research for something else entirely, I stumbled upon a collection of Monguor folktales, collected from Qinghai in northwest China. This was a cultural tradition I wasn’t familiar with, and with…Continue Reading
