Two nights ago my roommate asked me if I knew about The Moth after I told the story of my epic Halloween in Salem, Massachusetts. I did NOT know what it was, but she mentioned that it is a program where people sign up to tell stories, pieces of non-fiction, to an audience.

The Moth turns out to be very interesting. It is named The Moth after George Dawes Green’s late night story telling with friends. Moths would circle Green, the founder, and his friends while they provided each other with entertainment.

“The Moth is an acclaimed not-for-profit organization dedicated to the art and craft of storytelling. It is a celebration of both the raconteur, who breathes fire into true tales of ordinary life, and the storytelling novice, who has lived through something extraordinary and yearns to share it. At the center of each performance is, of course, the story – and The Moth’s directors work with each storyteller to find, shape and present it.”

I was fascinated by the time and dedication the directors put into helping participants learn the art of public speech and absorbing story telling before they perform shows. This event really can be for anyone, and builds a large support group of fascinating individuals.

I aspire to participate one day, and hope you check it out as well!

Evenson won an O. Henry award for his story “Two Brothers” in 1998.  He has published numerious collections of short stories, including The Wavering Knife and Altmann’s Tongue. Interestingly enough, Evenson even wrote a media tie-in novel for the Aliens franchise under B. K. Evenson entitled Aliens: No Exit, 2008.

The deadline to submit writing is December 1, 2009. Please submit enteries to dsomaya@drexel.edu before December 1! Submissions will be read blind and voted on democratically by Maya staff members (staff members are not allowed to compete). For more information go to Maya‘s website.

Though her beloved Roger had departed hours ago, Lila remained in their rumpled bed, daydreaming about his strong arms, soulful eyes, and how, when he first fell asleep, his snoring sounded not unlike two grizzly bears fighting over a picnic basket full of sandwiches, but as he drifted off into deeper slumber, his snoring became softer, perhaps as if the bears decided just to rock-paper-scissors for it instead. –Lili R. Lillie

The day started out as uneventfully as any other, and continued thus to midday and from there it was nothing at all to ease into an evening of numbing, undiluted monotony that survived unmarred by even the least act of momentary peculiarity-in fact, let’s skip that day altogether and start with the day after. –Jon Starr

Creeping slowly over the hill, the sun seemed to catch the small village nestled in the valley by surprise, which is a bit unusual really, as you’d think that something with a diameter of 865,000 miles and a surface temperature of 5780 degrees Kelvin, and which is more normally seen from 93,000,000 miles away, wouldn’t be able to creep anywhere, let alone catch anything by surprise. –Malcolm Booth