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Lionel 681 Steam Turbine under the Christmas Tree

The sixth guideline from symmentropy states that we embellish our stories in many ways to make them have meaning for different audiences with different experiences.

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Quotes On Storytelling:

“When you start about family, about lineage and ancestry, you are talking about every person on earth.”
Alex Haley

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Everything on this website is a contribution of our members. Join Story Chip to add your stories, pictures, memories, videos and talent to keep this archive growing. Everyone has valuable stories to tell that provide meaning to culture, towns and neigborhoods. The more people participate, the closer the site gets to its goal to become a global, collaborative history. Story Chip is based on a wiki format and all our visitors can contribute to the growth of these pages.
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Now..this is happening right now..while the letters are typed out..soft glow of the Christmas tree while the smooth refrains of Blackie and the Rodeo Kings come frolicking out the speakers. Watching the boys on the tube doing what they do. Piled up in the lazy boy after a fun afternoon of playing music in the studio with the Smokin' boys. Something...

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From the editors:

Wanted: Stories about women!

March is Women's History Month and, as at least 50% of us know, women's history is History - there is no history without women. Women just haven’t been written about as much as men. We want to change that and you can do your part. Tell a story about women or a single woman. Write about someone who has been important in your life, or someone who impressed you. Do you have a woman who is a role model or mentor? Or, write about what it is like to be female where you live. All of your stories will be posted here on Story Chip. Three cheers for women! Happy writing!

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I was your friendly disaster man. I called myself the Roof Dancer. Usually I was on one of the first planes in after the hurricane or tornado, the earthquake or great balls of hail. We grew the home insurance of the little company from Bloomington to the largest in America by convincing them that an angry insured told all of his friends and neighbors that he or she had just been screwed out of $50 or $150 or whatever. Since all of the companies did the same thing it was...


Women's History

Debutante circa 1970 Girls bake cookies, boys build furniture. That was the way of things in my home growing up. That also meant that girls spend time with mom and boys spend time with dad. That was so unfair! Even as a little girl I knew it was a man's world and I wanted in! I wanted to build furniture so that I could spend time with my dad. He worked long hours and so his time at home was minimal. I never had hours of cutting and sanding and painting that my brothers...



Shortly after I got to Paris I made friends with a young Frenchman named Philippe. He was from a very wealthy French family and we shared interests in theater and art. He was in his last year of university and still lived with his family in the bourgeois 16th arrondisement. I was often invited to the house for dinner. His father was an engineer and to the best of my recollection he designed airports or oil refineries which explained his frequent absence. I saw Philippe...


Follow The Music

I've always been an opponent of style per se. The bathing suits of 1900 looked silly by 1920. The hairdos of the mid XXth century went out with the beehives. People who loved to jitterbug hated the foxtrot or the samba and limbo lovers couldn't stand the twist. It seems to me that every “style” has its good and its bad whether one is talking about painting or car design. This is about music and two personal, very varied experiences with it. When I first started traveling...


A Secret Godot

What I thought I was, was a young playwright, but that’s another story. While I was in that mode, however, a lot of interesting things happened. This is one. My life was a wee schizophrenic. Half of my year was in America working as a disaster loss adjuster dancing across rooftops in half-destroyed cities. The other half was living in Paris, writing plays. It was the Sixties. The old crowd of famous people were getting pretty old, but my nights in La Coupole still might...


Radical Acceptance

A Different Kind of Poem There is a tree. Most of the leaves have fallen. Autumn is almost spent. Tangled in the nearly-bare branches are the remains of an intricately-spun spider web. Jagged holes mar the symmetry of the once-perfect design. Gossamer filaments, so carefully interwoven, are swinging in loose disarray, tossed about by relentless gusts. A single strand has come almost free and hangs below the branches, twisting and spinning in an uncaring wind. On that...


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