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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:

"Nobody has any conscience about adding to the improbabilities of a marvelous tale."
Nathaniel Hawthorne

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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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A Scary Experience

Do you believe in guardian angels? I do! My eldest daughter had to go to Columbia U. for a special examination. It was in December and the weather was clear so I decided I could drive her into the City. Luckily I found a parking space next to the college gates. She thought she would be through about 4p.m. So, I decided to take the subway downtown...

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From the editors:

It Is National Poetry Month!

Shel Silverstein was a national treasure so it is only natural that we would feature him here for National Poetry Month. You probably read his poems. Do you have a favorite? Did you read them to your children? Why not write up your memories of reading Shel Silverstein and add them to
Story Chip.

INVITATION (Where the Sidewalk Ends)
By Shel Silverstein

If you are a dreamer, come in,
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer…
If you’re a pretender, come sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!

Latest additions to Story Chip

Brackhage

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...

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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...

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Bejart

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...

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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...

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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...

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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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