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Sunday, February 9, 2025

EDITORIAL: Isn’t It Time to Revive the Lost Art of Storytelling?

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Now, ⁤let me be frank with you, dear readers. Back in the day, I‍ reckon we ‍knew more about life before we hit 20 ‍than most people know ⁤now at 40. Not to ​date⁢ myself, but ⁤I’ve ⁢seen the world turn⁢ as ⁣much as half a century – no​ laughing matter, I ⁤assure you. That’s⁢ all beside the point, however, as I write to discuss not my advancing years but rather an issue dear ⁢to my heart; the lost art of storytelling.

Not too long ago, entertainment wasn’t⁤ all blasted screens and impatient swiping for the next quick fix. No,⁤ sir. Hours were‌ whiled away wrapped in the ‌magic of carefully spun yarns – narratives rich in character, setting, and most importantly, ‌meaning. Stories were⁢ not just stories; they were bridges to understanding life, its ‍truths, its ⁢pains, and its‍ glories. We had ​an appetite for tales, and boy, ‌did ‌we feast!

We were weaned on Aesop’s ⁤fables, charmed by the Arabian⁣ Nights, and thrilled by ⁤the adventures of⁤ pirates hunting for treasure on islands far away from⁢ the ilk of human habitation. Listening to stories was as much a part of our daily routine as ⁢our good old wheat⁢ toast and jam. The ​rhythm of words and⁢ narratives seeped deep into our young, impressionable minds, fostering a ‌love for ‌literature and a ⁤critical understanding of life‌ that instant information cannot‍ replace.

In the ​superiority of the⁤ old days over ‌the ⁣present – a fond favorite‍ subject of mine – lies the core of this lament. I’m probably preaching ​to the choir; we​ miss the times when stories simply weren’t about overwhelming you ⁣with CGI and overly convoluted plotlines. The simplicity of a well-told tale ⁢had its ⁤unique charm. Our world has somehow lost track ⁣of​ that.

You may call⁤ it nostalgia, or ⁤you may call it being a grumpy‌ man ⁢who refuses to keep up with the times. Once, when⁣ my neighbor’s precocious grandson popped ‍over with his newfangled device on my​ porch here in Schenectady, I asked him if he knew about‌ the fable of ‘The Boy Who Cried ‍Wolf.’ “Is that an app?” the lad replied without missing⁤ a beat, and it was at ⁣that moment I had a revelation manifest. ‍

Time ⁢and again, in ​my long career as a writer, I have found it deeply distressing that storytelling’s ​rich heritage is ⁤slipping away⁢ from our⁤ collective ‍consciousness. We ⁢have given ⁢up oral tradition for endless hours of mindless screen time. As ‍a result, our stories lack substance, and our understanding of human nature is waning. This diminishes, I believe, our ability to empathize with others and⁢ appreciate the ‍complexity of human ⁤emotion.

I recall old Mrs. Sullivan from​ down the street. She wasn’t well-educated, but ⁤every ‍evening ‍after‍ supper, she would sit ​in her ⁣rocking chair and⁤ regale⁢ us with tales of yore. She told tales ⁤about Irish folklore so well that you could swear you ​heard⁣ the banshees on a stormy night. We weren’t just entertained—we learned. We learned about⁣ courage, honesty, betrayal, sacrifice. We learned⁢ about life.

Now⁤ it’s not entirely ⁣doom and gloom, of ⁣course. We have occasional beacons of hope ​in a few contemporary storytellers. There are frontrunners who work tirelessly to preserve the richness⁤ of language and the joy of a ‌good, fulfilling plot. But such instances are becoming rarer and are typically drowned in ⁤the slew of quick, cheap, digital amusements.

So, what is the price we have paid for ⁤the progress ​that has distanced us‌ from the essence of storytelling? We have lost a critical education tool that has‌ been used for centuries, and we’re raising generations⁣ with a worrying,‍ developing illiteracy towards understanding, appreciating, or navigating the world through layered narrative. We’re losing touch with the shared ⁤human history, a⁢ history that’s been immortalized through tales, legends, and myths.

It is my firm belief​ that it’s high ​time we got it ⁢back. The ⁢art of ‌storytelling needs to ⁢be rediscovered, reinterpreted,​ reintroduced into the modern‍ world, not as an obsolete pastime but as a ⁣powerful instrument that can engage, educate,⁢ and entertain in equal measure.

Young⁣ parents, you‌ don’t need to be Mrs. Sullivan or⁢ a Shakespeare reincarnate. Alexa ⁣might save time, but nothing can beat ​the warmth⁣ and intimacy‌ of‌ a⁣ mother’s or father’s voice whispering a bedtime story to sleepy, half-lidded eyes. Teachers, don’t shy ‍away from picking up that slightly ‍dusty copy of Grimm’s Fairy⁢ Tales in the corner of your classroom. Those tales‍ of princesses, goblins, and valiant knights⁤ don’t‌ merely amuse, they⁢ instill values, evolve critical thinking, and encourage the imagination to stretch ‌and fly.

In ⁢their essence, stories are‍ an exercise in truth. They ⁣reflect the world as it is, was, or could‌ be. They reveal character,⁤ show consequence,‍ provoke thought, and most importantly, they connect. Their enduring power lies in their ​ability to touch our emotions, ignite our minds, challenge ​our perspectives, and often ⁣shed light on the very mysteries of existence.

My plea‍ to you, reader, ‍is simple. Rediscover⁢ the power of a good story. Unearth those classics, pass down the old folktales. Kindle that bonfire ​in your ​backyard and ⁣tell your stories – tall and true, silly and‌ somber – and let their light‍ seep back into the dark and revive the remarkable ⁤art of storytelling. Because at the very heart of it, we humans are, after all, storytelling animals. It shouldn’t be something we‍ risk losing to ⁣oblivion – not in Schenectady, or in any ⁤corner ⁢of our⁤ world.

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Brian McCarthy
Brian McCarthy
I'm Brian McCarthy! At your service to offer traditionally informed perspective on today's issues. Some call it out of touch; I call it time-honored wisdom.
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