Joe Hayes comes from a storytelling home; his father told him stories, and he, in turn, did the same for his own children. It was not long before he ventured out to share his stories with others, and the rest of it, as they say, is history.

Nearly three decades after publishing his first book, The Day It Snowed Tortillas (Mariposa Publishing, 1982), the Southwest’s “premier storyteller” has received a number of awards, including Texas’ prestigious Bluebonnet Award. He continues to share his stories with young listeners in person through school appearances and as the resident storyteller at the Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian in Santa Fe, New Mexico, as well as through the dozens of books he’s published.

Críticas recently contacted this teller of tales to discuss his latest book, Dance, Nana, Dance/Baila, Nana, Baila (Cinco Puntos, 2008), and to learn more about his art. The author’s responses remind us why everyone loves a good story!

What do you like best about telling stories?

The most magical thing about telling stories is the bond that it forms with the listeners, especially with children. Once you’ve told someone a story, you’re no longer a stranger. And of course, when people tell me that experiencing stories from me has been a satisfying and important experience for them, I am very grateful.

What is your favorite story to tell?

Kids always want to know which story is my favorite. I tell them that whatever story appeals to the people I’m telling it to is my favorite at that moment. If I start a story and notice that it doesn’t seem to be going over well with the listeners, I think: “I don’t like this story very much.” But if I tell the same story to a different group and they really respond to it carrying me along with their smiles and enthusiasm, I think: “This is my favorite story in the world!”

So, I have a lot of favorite stories, and no favorite story.

Why do you think children react well to storytelling, and to folktales in particular?

Children soak up storytelling like thirsty sponges. I think it’s because they’re genetically programmed to absorb oral language. I also think that direct interaction with an adult satisfies them, especially when that adult is not trying to control them, or correct them, but offering the gift of an entertaining story.

Folktales are especially suited for telling because that’s the manner in which they’ve been kept alive for hundreds, even thousands, of years. They almost always have a rhythmic structure and a constant forward momentum; there are no long descriptions, no extended sections of dialog, just lots of action and adventure that keep the story moving forward.

How did you become interested in telling Hispanic folktales? How do you learn about them and choose the ones you want to share?

I’ve been interested in Hispanic culture ever since I was a kid. I grew up around it in Arizona. I was interested in the core stories of Hispanic culture, such as La Llorona and El Cucuy, from an early age. But it was when I moved to New Mexico that I encountered the large body of tales of European origin preserved since Spanish colonial times. I really started digging into the Hispanic narrative tradition then; I pored through all the material folklorists had collected, mostly in the 1930s and 40s. When I met up with something that really tickled my fancy, I started working out a way to share it with modern listeners. The choice of stories and the way I tell them is more a matter of instinct and intuition than a conscious decision.

How did you make the transition from storyteller to writer?

I was interested in writing before I became really involved in storytelling and had actually published a couple of small pieces. But then I sort of abandoned that pursuit.

One of the things I loved about storytelling was that I didn’t have to labor in solitude and worry about whether anyone would think that what I had to offer was worthy of being published. All I had to do was think about how I’d tell a story and find a couple of kids to share it with. But soon after I started visiting schools, listeners began to urge me to publish my tales. That’s when I realized that the essence of writing is sharing. So I began putting more effort into seeing my stories in print, thinking that it would enable me to share them with children I might never meet, and maybe enrich their lives a little.

After I began writing, I received an email from a librarian in Argentina telling me that she had a copy of El Cucuy that an American friend had sent her, and that it had helped her to get a child who had never shown interest in reading to finally start to read. That’s the kind of feedback that motivates me to share stories in print.

One of your best-known books is a retelling of the classic Mexican folktale La Llorona/The Weeping Woman (Cinco Puntos, 1987). How did you decide to adapt the frightening story for children?

I had no choice in the matter. As soon as I started telling stories in schools, kids asked me, “Can you tell us a story about La Llorona?” Of course, having grown up in Arizona, I was well-steeped in the story.

As I try to do in all my telling and writing, I wanted to keep the story authentic. I drew on what I had heard as a kid, only filling in details here and there to give the story form, but not shrinking from the grim essence of the story.

Anyone who sees my retelling primarily as a scary story hasn’t read or listened with much sensitivity. The story is actually a very moral, you might even say moralistic, tale. It’s a strong life lesson couched in a story that sends a chill down your spine.

Many of the books you’ve written are bilingual. What do you think is the appeal of this format?

There are still some holdouts who turn up their noses at two languages appearing in the same book. I understand that their reaction is sometimes based on their own experience in struggling to learn a second language, but the truth is that no language or culture exists in isolation. Our schools are full of children whose first language is Spanish but who are progressing daily in their command of English. They often thank me for having both languages in the books. It’s a comfort for them.

Many times, children talk about taking a book home and reading it in Spanish to their parents, who are monolingual. Sometimes they’ll even tell me that after reading it in Spanish to their parents, they read it in English to their younger brother or sister. There’s also a whole community of English speakers who are avid to learn Spanish.

Your book Ghost Fever/Mal de fantasma (Cinco Puntos, 2004) made history in 2007 by becoming the first bilingual book to ever win the Texas Bluebonnet Award. What do you think that means for U.S. Latino literature, and for the bilingual format in particular?

The most important thing about the Bluebonnet Award is that it’s conferred by children; almost 170,000 children of many ethnicities in the third through sixth grade vote for the award. I think the fact that a bilingual book with strong Latino focus garnered the plurality of votes among these young Texas readers shows an acceptance of a Latino story as an American story, and the side-by-side appearance of English and Spanish as an acknowledgement that that’s part of the American reality. I’m hopeful that it may have produced in some English-speaking children the kind of reaction I had when I came into contact with Spanish: “If this is the kind of story you can hear if you know Spanish, I want to learn the language.”

Most of the stories you’ve written take place in the Southwest, and are drawn from the Mexican tradition. Your latest book, Dance, Nana, Dance/Baila, Nana, Baila (Cinco Puntos, 2008) retells Cuban stories. What inspired you to write stories from the Cuban tradition?

My first contact with Cuban stories and storytellers came in 2001 when I went to Havana to participate in a translation workshop sponsored by Writers of the Americas. I was delighted by the Cuban people and culture. I was fascinated by the ways the Cuban oral tradition was both similar and different from that of the Southwestern United States. I found many stories of Iberian origin that were quite familiar to me, and tales of African origin that were new and refreshing.

After that first trip, I returned to Cuba many times to participate in storytelling events to promote understanding between our countries through storytelling. When I told people in schools that I was visiting Cuba and working with Cuban stories and storytellers, their eyes grew large. They had been subjected to so much misinformation about the country. But the kids loved the Cuban stories I added to my repertoire. I realized that a collection of Cuban stories could be a contribution to the storytelling literature available in this country.

Are you working on a new book? If so, would you tell us about it?

I’m sort of undecided at this point. Sometimes I think the world has had enough Joe Hayes books. Maybe I should keep quiet for a while. At other times I think about the good reception the picture book The Gum Chewing Rattler (Cinco Puntos, 2006) has enjoyed, and wonder if I should write another tall tale. I also have several Cuban stories that didn’t make it into Baila, Nana, Baila/Dance, Nana, Dance. A couple seem well-suited for picture book treatment, so I might try that. I may be as surprised as you are at what comes out next!