In the rural foothills of northwestern Pennsylvania, hours from any concrete jungle, hundreds of storytellers have been uniting their voices into a literary uproar. 

The inspiring beauty of the Appalachian landscape nurtures and attracts writers, poets, photographers and artists. A rich storytelling tradition runs bone-deep in our communities and readers are eager to enjoy and support the original works being created here. Our stories matter: a motto that has proven itself over and over again.

When we started The Watershed Journal literary magazine two years ago, we felt the literary surge in our community but didn’t know how long the spark would last. Would we put out a couple of issues and run out of content or interest? We didn’t care – it was fun to publish local storytelling and that’s all we focused on. 

“The expanse of forest to the horizon meets The Heavens / It smells like I want to lose myself here instead of being lost / My hunter friend, Orion, is with me”

From the Spring 2020 Edition, “Parts Unknown” by Girard Tournesol

Now, eight issues into our publishing lifecycle, we have seen the original fad turn into a thriving scene. Every issue we put out draws in new voices and readers, and we have accrued a strong following of loyal submitters and supporters. Our readership has expanded even more this quarter (Spring 2020) now that the magazine is available to read on our website. 

Even during a time of social distancing, the literary community is active and involved in supporting each other and sharing their work. So why do we choose stories? What draws people to write, what draws people to read? Why can’t we stop storytelling?

Storytelling shapes our understanding of ourselves and our environment

As we raise our children and pass on our knowledge and experience, we rely on a mixture of measurable facts, reliable truths and ambiguous concepts. The sun is 93.774 million miles from Earth. It will rise again in the morning. Someday it won’t. We teach the next generation how to reason about these different types of ideas as well as how to act on them. 

In between and around direct education, our stories teach us more than we may realize. Stories of heroes, failure and history are shared within families, among friends, between generations. These stories help explain what bare figures and graphs leave out or gloss over, like outliers and exceptions to the rules. They teach us how to adapt to new challenges, improvise in unexpected situations and predict the consequences of our actions. 

“It seems crucial to accomplish this task today / though the day is packed with a long list of tasks, / much more practical than this one”

From the Spring 2020 Edition, “On Anticipating the Arrival of the Coronavirus” by Shelly Boughner

Personal storytelling reveals our motivations and emotional arcs while reconciling our past with our perceived future. We use stories to frame our lives in purpose, giving us a way to grapple with the absurd. In our greater community, stories transfer wisdom and knowledge across social barriers and can unite otherwise disparate individuals.

“Storytelling is how we learn to exercise our community to deal with new challenges and conscious of alternative futures. … Storytelling is a way to “frame” our experience as purposive (holding confidence and controlling our anxiety) (Bruner 1990). For this reason, the most critical elements in telling stories are the identities of storytellers and listeners itself.” From Storytelling to Social Change: The Power of Story in the Community Building

Life is hard, and we are drawn to and inspired by innovative ways of dealing with difficult concepts

One of the biggest lessons of the coronavirus era is how differently adversity affects us on the individual level. There has been a backlash to the idea that we are all in the same boat – the memes insist that we may all be in the same storm, but our boats vary widely. Inequality becomes even more apparent when the going gets rough. 

Stories help us negotiate shifting terrain. When the old narratives fail us, or the new narratives become suspect, stories help us recast our understanding of the grey areas in our lives. They allow us to set up an imaginary distance between ourselves and our fears, a safe space where we can react and feel before acting in the “real world.” 

“People expect stories to be allusive. They expect to have to work to grasp the story’s meaning, and they often accept the fact that their initial interpretation may be incorrect or partial.” Sociology of Storytelling

“He wasn’t even sure that he wanted to feel that way again, and had spent his life separating his emotions from his starched and pressed lucidity, from his sense of caution, from his clearheaded need to find all the answers to life and have them all neatly wrapped up in a manageable bundle just before reaching senility, when they would be useless to him.”

From the Spring 2020 Edition, “Second Act” by Kelly Harriger

The very act of telling stories can be transformative. Both storytellers and listeners are given a chance to indirectly disclose themselves. They experience and reveal beliefs and opinions that might otherwise be too uncomfortable to share. This shared “safe space” becomes even more clear when storytelling happens in person:

“When a person tells a story in a group, that person is given both the floor and the attention (and silence) of the group. Asking people to tell you stories sends them the message that you have given them the floor and your attention.” From Storytelling to Social Change: The Power of Story in the Community Building

Storytelling is the key to culture

Evidence of storytelling can be found even in the earliest human cultures. Studying what stories people have told and how they have shared them can unveil the humanity underneath the clay. The prevalence of specific stories can sometimes even predict a given society’s future success or failure. 

Stories take that which is universal and individualize it for a personal emotional connection. Sharing these stories can build trust, spur action, normalize behavior as well as transfer knowledge. It is no wonder that storytellers have been alternatively revered and ostracized throughout history; there is power in how a story is told.

“Those who had both the skills and memory to weave these events into spellbinding tales were revered for their knowledge and élan. The death of these individuals meant not only the loss of the person but also the demise of an all too temporary repository of the culture’s collected wisdom.” STORYTELLING AS NARRATIVITY: RURAL LIFE THROUGH THE PRISM OF SOCIAL TENSIONS

We continually return to the old myths, fables and fairy tales, from the stories we tell our children to the top box-office hits (or, in the current era, top streaming hits). Freud called them unconscious drives, Jung called them archetypes, Joseph Campbell called it the monomyth. Whatever these basic components of story are, we just can’t seem to shake them. 

“Today, I mark my last day to go shirtless, as the day I learned, boys and girls are different. I prefer to admire dandelions as spring signs, rather than disruptors of the green sheen.”

From the Spring 2020 Edition, “Wishing Sticks” by Deborah Burghardt

Becoming the heroes of our own literary adventure

Marketing companies are starting to rely on the power of story in order to break through the fold. They place the consumer as the hero of the story, and position themselves as the guide to enlightenment and attainment. This construct is powerful. As Campbell said, “If you want to change the world, you have to change the metaphor.” 

Our heroes are on journeys to discover original, authentic storytelling. They perhaps are also searching to find a place to share their own perspective, where they will be truly heard and appreciated. They hear the call to adventure from all around – social media, television, books and web browsers are all clamoring to grab the attention of our heroes. Where will they turn to find the stories that will challenge, encourage, validate and inspire? Where will they go to find the culture they want to be a part of creating and supporting?

When we launched The Watershed Journal, we immediately landed on the importance of running an inclusive magazine. Our submitters need not meet some arbitrary ideals of what is “good,” what is “worthy” of being published. We firmly believe that the honest stories and poems coming from our region are best represented in their authenticity and diversity. Because of this dedication to inclusivity, we have attracted storytellers of all styles, experiences and perspectives.

“Trooper never roams far. He won’t leave his sister, who never follows him. He’s also afraid of the dark and always goes to the Palace before the last light of day fades away. We no longer worry when we see him out. Just check the fence, fix any problems, and wait for the next escape.”

From the Spring 2020 Edition, “King Trooper” by Peggy Zortman

We hope that readers all over the world will discover the incredible storytelling happening in our region. These voices are traditionally underrepresented but they are deserving of the same attention given to those who can pass the gatekeepers of mainstream media. We are fostering a culture that responds to hardship, finds humour in life and reaches for a greater future. Will you join us?

Jump into the Spring 2020 Edition