Wil Wheton tells the story about the first time he met William Shatner.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
The House with 13 Roommates
Once upon a time, there were 13 friends who decided to share a house together. They each got a room, agreed to share the kitchen, the living room, and the basement, and share in the upkeep of the whole house. They personalized each of their rooms to suit their tastes and their own needs, and they visited each other frequently.
As the years passed, everyone got along quite well. Though there were spats here and there, the roommates talked them out and even though people sometimes didn't get what they wanted, they compromised for the good of the house, the good of the family.
When times got hard, some of the roommates were having a difficult time to pay the rent and the maintenance fees for the house. Wanting to keep the family together, they started bartering their services in exchange for help with their financial contributions. Newfoundland, PEI, Manitoba, and Saskatchewan offered to do the grocery shopping and Quebec agreed to do all the cooking (due to its French flair with the spices). BC offered to repaint the house and fix the roof, while Alberta promised to keep the basement clean and the furnace topped up with oil. Nova Scotia pulled together a band and provided entertainment. New Brunswick promised it would answer all the incoming calls and deal with the city (in both English and French). The Territories, who were used to walking long distances, agreed to keep an eye out on the entire property to ensure that everyone was safe. Ontario, not hurting for money because it had a solid government job, agreed to cover all the expenses as long as it could supervise all the other tasks.
This seemed to work out well for awhile, but then the roommates started nitpicking at each other, criticizing what was being done. BC didn't like the food that was being bought because it was too grain heavy and the fish and meat products weren't ethically sound or sustainable. Nova Scotia was getting tired of performing all the time for free. The Territories felt cut off from the house because they spent more time outside it keeping watch than inside.
The other provinces mocked Alberta because it spent so much time in the basement. They called it an underdweller, said it was "primitive", and it lived in a hole in the ground. Alberta felt everyone was taking it for granted because the furnace never broke down and it was never cold in the house.
One night, during the supper meal, Ontario made one too many complaints about how spicy the meal and how its mother's cooking was so much better, and Quebec lost its collective shit. Quebec ranted that it was tired of being singled out, made to feel apart, and how annoying it was that if it wanted a change a lightbulb in its room, it had to get everyone's permission. "It's my room! If I want more light, why should Ontario care? I should be allowed to make more of my own choices when it comes to my room!"
So the roommates had a house meeting and renegotiated their deal. Quebec was adamant that it had the right to make whatever changes it wanted to its own room and it shouldn't need to get everyone else's permission. "My room is distinctly different from the other rooms, so it deserves special status!" The other roommates were confused by this at first, but they didn't want to lose their access to the fantastic food, so they gave in to Quebec's demands. Soon the other roommates also enjoyed having more say in how they managed their rooms, but they quietly resented that Quebec got so much more control.
And so the people in the house continued to live together, trying to make it work. Every once in a while, Quebec threatens to move out of the house, but changes its mind when it sees how much the rent is out there in the rest of the city, and it realizes that it's really not so bad living in that house. Sometimes the other roommates talk about leaving too, but then they call another house meeting and negotiate a way to stay together.
It's not an easy life, but living with family rarely is, and everyone is stronger in the end for making it work.
As the years passed, everyone got along quite well. Though there were spats here and there, the roommates talked them out and even though people sometimes didn't get what they wanted, they compromised for the good of the house, the good of the family.
When times got hard, some of the roommates were having a difficult time to pay the rent and the maintenance fees for the house. Wanting to keep the family together, they started bartering their services in exchange for help with their financial contributions. Newfoundland, PEI, Manitoba, and Saskatchewan offered to do the grocery shopping and Quebec agreed to do all the cooking (due to its French flair with the spices). BC offered to repaint the house and fix the roof, while Alberta promised to keep the basement clean and the furnace topped up with oil. Nova Scotia pulled together a band and provided entertainment. New Brunswick promised it would answer all the incoming calls and deal with the city (in both English and French). The Territories, who were used to walking long distances, agreed to keep an eye out on the entire property to ensure that everyone was safe. Ontario, not hurting for money because it had a solid government job, agreed to cover all the expenses as long as it could supervise all the other tasks.
This seemed to work out well for awhile, but then the roommates started nitpicking at each other, criticizing what was being done. BC didn't like the food that was being bought because it was too grain heavy and the fish and meat products weren't ethically sound or sustainable. Nova Scotia was getting tired of performing all the time for free. The Territories felt cut off from the house because they spent more time outside it keeping watch than inside.
The other provinces mocked Alberta because it spent so much time in the basement. They called it an underdweller, said it was "primitive", and it lived in a hole in the ground. Alberta felt everyone was taking it for granted because the furnace never broke down and it was never cold in the house.
One night, during the supper meal, Ontario made one too many complaints about how spicy the meal and how its mother's cooking was so much better, and Quebec lost its collective shit. Quebec ranted that it was tired of being singled out, made to feel apart, and how annoying it was that if it wanted a change a lightbulb in its room, it had to get everyone's permission. "It's my room! If I want more light, why should Ontario care? I should be allowed to make more of my own choices when it comes to my room!"
So the roommates had a house meeting and renegotiated their deal. Quebec was adamant that it had the right to make whatever changes it wanted to its own room and it shouldn't need to get everyone else's permission. "My room is distinctly different from the other rooms, so it deserves special status!" The other roommates were confused by this at first, but they didn't want to lose their access to the fantastic food, so they gave in to Quebec's demands. Soon the other roommates also enjoyed having more say in how they managed their rooms, but they quietly resented that Quebec got so much more control.
And so the people in the house continued to live together, trying to make it work. Every once in a while, Quebec threatens to move out of the house, but changes its mind when it sees how much the rent is out there in the rest of the city, and it realizes that it's really not so bad living in that house. Sometimes the other roommates talk about leaving too, but then they call another house meeting and negotiate a way to stay together.
It's not an easy life, but living with family rarely is, and everyone is stronger in the end for making it work.
Friday, March 21, 2014
Driving Out the Snakes II 2014
So I hosted a concert called Driving Out the Snakes II in Montreal on St. Patrick's Day weekend in 2014 and it was great! Generous audiences, talented musicians, and an energetic step dancer!
I also got to tell a few tales and they were recorded, so I'm happy to share one of them.
The videographer is Roy Keys and the event was organized by Aine Doan.
I also got to tell a few tales and they were recorded, so I'm happy to share one of them.
The videographer is Roy Keys and the event was organized by Aine Doan.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Quality storytelling does actually matter
I'm blogging this here so that I can find it later easily, but I love what this guy does with the Star Wars prequels. Focusing on Anakin over all three movies was a huge mistake and made the stories suck in a colossal way.
Also, teenage Anakin was a dick from beginning to end, so when he made the transition to the Dark Side, there's no feeling of tragedy or loss. The animated series The Clone Wars dealt with this transition much better than the movies ever did.
Take a look at how BelatedMedia rewrites the first two prequels and you'll see brilliant storytelling at work.
Also, teenage Anakin was a dick from beginning to end, so when he made the transition to the Dark Side, there's no feeling of tragedy or loss. The animated series The Clone Wars dealt with this transition much better than the movies ever did.
Take a look at how BelatedMedia rewrites the first two prequels and you'll see brilliant storytelling at work.
What if Star Wars: Episode 1 were good?
What if Star Wars: Episode 2 were good?
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Story: Fionn MacCool and the Old Man
I've been holding back on this story because I wanted to use it in a Bardic competition in the US. Since the Bardic competition was this past week (no wins for me, but congrats to Julie D. for winning the Bardic Chair!), I can now post it for public consumption.
I've never told a Fionn MacCool story before, but the more I read about these Irish stories, the more I love them. Mike Burns was the first storyteller I heard tell this story, but Robin Williamson is also attributed with this story.
I've never told a Fionn MacCool story before, but the more I read about these Irish stories, the more I love them. Mike Burns was the first storyteller I heard tell this story, but Robin Williamson is also attributed with this story.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Epic Statistics
Every once in awhile, I take a look at the site statistics for Shortening the Road. After doing some simple math, I discovered that in the past year this site gets about 250 hits and about 340 page views every month! That can't all be from my Mom!
According to Blogger, my wee blog is clocking in at over 23 000 pageviews since 2008 and my visitors come from all over the world (these are all-time pageviews):
Oddly, there are more than twice as many visitors from Belgium than my own home country of Canada. Could it be that I'm Big in Belgium and I don't even know it?
Wherever you come from, thanks for stopping by! I would really love to hear from you, so please leave me a comment. If you're on Facebook, please Like my fanpage. And if you'd like to have a copy of my stories for your own listening please, please download my CD!
According to Blogger, my wee blog is clocking in at over 23 000 pageviews since 2008 and my visitors come from all over the world (these are all-time pageviews):
Belgium
|
9022
|
United States
|
5629
|
Canada
|
3912
|
Russia
|
1566
|
Netherlands
|
830
|
United Kingdom
|
586
|
Ukraine
|
518
|
Germany
|
429
|
France
|
403
|
Slovenia
|
384
|
Oddly, there are more than twice as many visitors from Belgium than my own home country of Canada. Could it be that I'm Big in Belgium and I don't even know it?
Wherever you come from, thanks for stopping by! I would really love to hear from you, so please leave me a comment. If you're on Facebook, please Like my fanpage. And if you'd like to have a copy of my stories for your own listening please, please download my CD!
Sunday, March 10, 2013
The Rhythm in Skin
So tonight at Madpoetix, I decided to leave my comfort zone and perform my first Spoken Word poem. I was inspired to write this poem after attending Northern Lights Gathering back in February 2013.
I witnessed a concert with a band called Pagan's Folly and an assortment of drummers who jumped up on stage to jam with them. I put the basics of this story together in the moment, but before I could jump up and perform it, the moment passed. Instead, when I got home, I wrote out what I could remember and spent the next few weeks refining it.
The quality of the recording isn't great, but you can still hear everything clearly. I really need to commit this poem to memory and perform it more often. The music playing is called Serpentine Seduction from the CD Tribal Magick by the Dragon Ritual Drummers.
UPDATE: I have titled the poem "The Rhythm in Skin".
The Rhythm in Skin (2:13) written and told by JD Hickey
Once upon a time, when the world was new
and the skies were so blue
that the oceans were green with envy
In a village beyond the mountains
across the rivers
deep in the valleys
there lived a people that are long gone today
No one knows where they came from
or where they went
But in the night, the people whisper the stories
Around the campfires, the people tell the tales
About how these magical people lived
But did not die
About how they thrived
But did not survive
Except in the rhythm of words and music and dance
One night, with the moon as their guide
with the fire in their eyes
these people were the first
to stir the lifeblood of the earth
to burst with the rhythms of the mountains
with their hands, their hips, their lips
they sang the songs of the ancients
And they danced to the heartbeat of a thousand drums
They pounded their feet and the mountains shook
They raised their hands to the skies
and the stars were filled with the lights from their eyes
They shouted out to the heavens above
They sung together to the memories below
And all at once, they came to know
the songs sung by the trees, the grass, and the stones
They ceased to be the people who lived above,
disconnected from their bones
and the many became the few
and the few became the all
they answered the call,
and sank into her depths of her memory
But these people are not lost to history
Because whenever you place drums upon the earth
You can hear the calls of the first people
You can feel the beat of their feet
Their lifeblood becomes a part // of your own beating heart
They demand that you honor their memory
That you fill your eyes with firelight
That you shout out to the heavens above
That you sing together to their memory below
And you dance
upon the drum of the Earth
I witnessed a concert with a band called Pagan's Folly and an assortment of drummers who jumped up on stage to jam with them. I put the basics of this story together in the moment, but before I could jump up and perform it, the moment passed. Instead, when I got home, I wrote out what I could remember and spent the next few weeks refining it.
The quality of the recording isn't great, but you can still hear everything clearly. I really need to commit this poem to memory and perform it more often. The music playing is called Serpentine Seduction from the CD Tribal Magick by the Dragon Ritual Drummers.
UPDATE: I have titled the poem "The Rhythm in Skin".
The Rhythm in Skin (2:13) written and told by JD Hickey
Once upon a time, when the world was new
and the skies were so blue
that the oceans were green with envy
In a village beyond the mountains
across the rivers
deep in the valleys
there lived a people that are long gone today
No one knows where they came from
or where they went
But in the night, the people whisper the stories
Around the campfires, the people tell the tales
About how these magical people lived
But did not die
About how they thrived
But did not survive
Except in the rhythm of words and music and dance
One night, with the moon as their guide
with the fire in their eyes
these people were the first
to stir the lifeblood of the earth
to burst with the rhythms of the mountains
with their hands, their hips, their lips
they sang the songs of the ancients
And they danced to the heartbeat of a thousand drums
They pounded their feet and the mountains shook
They raised their hands to the skies
and the stars were filled with the lights from their eyes
They shouted out to the heavens above
They sung together to the memories below
And all at once, they came to know
the songs sung by the trees, the grass, and the stones
They ceased to be the people who lived above,
disconnected from their bones
and the many became the few
and the few became the all
they answered the call,
and sank into her depths of her memory
But these people are not lost to history
Because whenever you place drums upon the earth
You can hear the calls of the first people
You can feel the beat of their feet
Their lifeblood becomes a part // of your own beating heart
They demand that you honor their memory
That you fill your eyes with firelight
That you shout out to the heavens above
That you sing together to their memory below
And you dance
upon the drum of the Earth
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Guest Story: Second Chances
This true story was told by Jennifer Ansell-Clark (email) at a storytelling event called Confabulation. The theme was Second Chances.
I'll let Jen do the rest of the talking.
WARNING: There is some strong language in this tale
Second Chances (7:35) written and told by Jennifer Ansell-Clark
I'll let Jen do the rest of the talking.
WARNING: There is some strong language in this tale
Second Chances (7:35) written and told by Jennifer Ansell-Clark
Monday, February 25, 2013
True Tale: La Maudite
I was able to record the entire show and, with some minor editing, I ended up with some fine recordings. Today's story post is an original piece which takes the form of a personal story. I've been telling this story for years in my social circles, but now I present it to you.
This is a pre-amble (or pre-ramble) to the telling of my version of La Chasse Gallerie, which I posted a version back in December of 2012. For those of you who do not know French, "Maudite" means damned and "La Chasse Galerie" means "The Bewitched Canoe" or "The Flying Canoe".
WARNING: I do use a curse word in this story, but it only happens once and is used for effect.
Maudite (2:11) written and told by JD Hickey
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
The Volcano
As soon as I saw the graphic for the Confabulation event, I had the story. I had never told it before, but I knew it was time for it to be told.
True stories are not usually my thing, but I'm lucky that my artistic community has events that challenge me to find, craft, and perform the true tales from my own life. This is my third appearance at Confabulation, but it's the first time it's been recorded.
Before I present the story, I want to give a shout-out to my cousin Andrew O. and David K. who witnessed this story and reminded me of some of the details from that day.
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