I’m busy preparing for tomorrow’s trip to Citadel Middle School, where I’m giving three workshops on Storytelling Techniques in Non-Fiction. Which sounds rather boring, but actually means that I get to:
1. Tell my dad’s logging stories. (He tells them better, but I do what I can. And it’s not a fair comparison, because he gets to drink beer while telling.)
2. Hear crazy stories from students. (Last time I gave this workshop, I learned about imaginary bears in White Rock and solo flights by a sixteen-year-old.)
The logging stories? Well, you’ll have to book a workshop to hear them, or fly to California and ask the man himself. All I’m saying is: there’s an ice-bridge.
And Dad lived to tell the tale.