Last week I was part of a workshop on storytelling. Which was the incentive to create the yarn about raspberries. It began as many do with four words.

"Once upon a time..."

Being with other people who value the art of spinning tales was as satisfying as any evening sitting by the fire with Louisa May Alcott. People are thirsty for fables that lead them past the borders of the expected. Not knowing what will happen next is irresistible. 

Each day at summer camp I take a pause from singing to craft a story. Three kids get to name an ingredient in the tale, and are even more invested in finding out how a dinosaur, a unicorn and a mushroom converge. So am I for that matter. 

Yesterday there was a cliff hanger about a girl whose birthday wish was to become invisible. This superpower certainly had its charms until she was left out of whacking the pinata. Fortunately she spied a dandelion puff ball and used the wish stored in its fluff to make a new wish. She reappeared just in time to grab her share of the candy. 

Many of us construe stories to ourselves in which we are the star. Our spouses and friends have auxiliary roles, but really everything is about us. Often they start with an accusation.

"You always..." or

"You never..."

Your spouse forgot to call? They don't care enough. Never mind the pressing demands of their day. If they loved us fully they would have made it a priority. 

Your friend is not excited about the news that you are pregnant? Selfishness personified. The detail that she has recently miscarried has nothing to do with it. 

Sometimes the stories we craft get stuck on repeating loop. Not only is it the same outcome, we don't even like the plot. Yet we recite it like the multiplication tables. 

What would happen if we opened the gates to the unexpected? Who knows what sweetness might become visible.