How to use tension in your storytelling

💡 This blog post is adapted from my Playing Favorites newsletter.

The thing about tension.

It’s a very important thing.

A thing that we should all know about.

But somehow, we fail to rely on it.

Yet I’d argue it’s the #1 thing we should know if we’re going to make work that matters.

The thing about tension is…

(Ready?)

(Are you ready?)

(Are you?)

Too much tension is obnoxious, but the right amount is inspiring.

My opening lines above represent a very crude, very obnoxious use of tension. That intro dragged on too long. I overhyped things, and the resolution to the tension maybe didn’t match the amount of tension I introduced. As a result, you feel disappointed, frustrated, or even spammed. Add to the list my subject line (“The thing about tension”) and the brief housekeeping up top (which only delayed the resolution to the subject line’s intrigue), and the recipe is too tedious for the resulting cake. Too much tension. Not a satisfying resolution. Aaand this is how we tend to tell stories on the internet.

Whoops!

But what if we could learn to use tension in ways that actually feel welcome to the audience?

(Now that line might prove to be a useful form of tension here. Let’s see where it takes us.)

I think there are two types of tension found in storytelling today...

As communicators and storytellers, we dance down the line between productive and destructive tension.

When you use too much tension, that becomes destructive. It’s like you’re stretching a rubber band further and further, without releasing it. Eventually, it snaps -- and so might your audience. There’s no resolution, no result of the tension. You provide no solutions to the problems you point out, no resolutions to the story. As I’ve written about often, tension is how open loops form, and people are hardwired to crave closure. They want the loop to close.

Down came the rain and washed the spider out. (The end.)

No closure. No bueno.

I grabbed my favorite coffee mug and read the words written on the side. (The end.)

What are the words? What gives?!

Another way to think about destructive tension: unresolved tension. Unrelenting tension. Tension created ad infinitum.

If tension isn’t released, so the rubber band can snap back towards something more productive, then the rubber band simply … snaps. You keep building tension, keep intriguing others without paying it off, or keep agitating them by talking about a problem or poking the pain, without providing a solution. And all of that only adds to the tension, because now a second source of tension is the audience feeling like there’s too much tension. (Meta, I know.) You need to let the rubber band snap back towards something more satisfying. Or else the rubber band will simply snap.

Whether someone increases tension ad infinitum with zero resolution, or their resolution doesn’t match the amount of tension they created, the fact remains: too much tension can be destructive. In the metaphor, too much tension destroys the rubber band. Keep pulling forever, and it snaps. In reality, too much tension destroys trust between you and your audience.

That’s why it’s so important for us to embrace productive tension. We can introduce some tension to reveal a problem or acknowledge it, thus empathizing with the audience and creating the need for a solution, then move everyone back towards the better way, the solution, the conclusion. Instead of simply snapping, the rubber band snaps back. Even more crucially, it snaps back towards something: the resolution. That can be your vision for something better than the status quo or the resolution to the story.

Lean into the bad in order to slingshot everyone paying attention back towards the good. Open the loop to close it. Introduce tension to resolve it. Too much tension becomes destructive, but a story with just the right amount? That becomes inspiring.

“You got into this line of work to make what matters. But somewhere along the way, the industry started throwing water on your creative fire. We need to get back to our core: making things that make a difference. Subscribe as we go on a journey to uncover what it takes to do exactly that.”

“Everyone wants their show to grow, but too rarely do we create something growable. That’s the key. Stop trying to create yet another podcast and launch the podcast only you can launch. Don’t make a show you need to grow. Make a growable show. Take this course to learn how.”

See what I mean? Just a dash of tension works. Just a little agitation of the problem helps. Too much, and you frustrate, annoy, or even rouse people to act in a way you can’t predict. That might mean marking you as Spam in their inbox, or it might mean lashing out -- at you or the world.

Tension. Sufficiently created -- not excessively used.

The issue with using tension, as I mentioned before, is it’s such a delicate dance. What’s too much? What’s too little? This requires taste. In the words of Seth Godin, taste is knowing what the audience wants just before they know they want it. At some point, I suppose -- or perhaps I should say “for someone, I suppose” -- all those clickbait headlines “work.” Being a hyper and a hustler “works.” It’s really hard to know in the absolute.

Partly, you need to think about your relationship with the audience. (If you don’t deliver, and deliver consistently, using a ton of tension makes you a fraud. You overpromise and underdeliver. See our outgoing US president. “Make America Great Again” is a story with tension -- between greatness and failure, between the present/future and the past. But “Keep America Great” merely says “maintain the status quo.” Not enough tension.) 

As I said, it’s a dance. You need taste and taste is developed through practice. Reps. Making lots and lots of stuff.

Setting aside Trump (literally, figuratively, mathematically, biblically -- however you like), let’s break down the use of tension in another President’s recent storytelling efforts: Joe Biden, in his inaugural speech. 

I was struck by his deft use of just the right amount of tension to produce a desired result: helping people understand why he believes in unity. 

The first moment that struck me was this:

“I know speaking of unity can sound to some like a foolish fantasy these days.”

Brilliant. Here, the tension was created prior to this line. He talked briefly about the importance of uniting a country that feels deeply divided. Many watching struggle with that notion. Many watching reject it outright. So he dropped the act a moment to acknowledge the tension, thus relieving it. 

“I know speaking of unity can sound like a foolish fantasy.” Hey I was thinking that! 

A sense of relief for the more subtle tension built prior to that line, simply by him proclaiming his beliefs. After all, when you believe in something, you don’t believe the opposite thing. But that doesn’t make the opposite thing simply disappear. So the audience feels tension between their beliefs and his. He relieved it (with that line, and the subsequent paragraphs -- and speaking of those paragraphs…)

Biden continued to introduce a little bit more tension. Note my emphasis:

“I know the forces that divide us are deep and they are real, but I also know they are not new. Our history has been a constant struggle between the American ideal that we're all created equal and the harsh, ugly reality that racism, nativism, fear, demonization have long torn us apart. The battle is perennial and victory is never assured. Through civil war, the Great Depression, world war, 9/11, through struggle, sacrifice and setbacks, our better angels have always prevailed. In each of these moments, enough of us have come together to carry all of us forward. And we can do that now.”

His speech became like a gentler pulling at the rubberband than any Trump speech (which, when they were at all coherent, mainly became a constant stretching of the elastic in one direction: grievances, complaints, and impending doom.) Biden pulled the rubber band one way, adding tension. (Unity!) Then he released it. (I know that feels foolish to some.) He stretched it forward again. (But division isn’t new.) And here, he stretched it to ensure we felt the tension. (Racism. Nativism. Fear. Civil War. The Great Depression. 9/11.) And then, he let it snap back towards something inspiring. (In each of these moments, enough of us have come together to carry all of us forward. And we can do that now.)

Whatever your politics (mine feel abundantly clear these past couple weeks, I realize), let’s embrace the role of tension as Spider-Man did his abilities: with great power comes great responsibility.

Too much tension destroys trust. Too little loses attention. But just the right amount can inspire, can spark positive change.

First, ensure others know you share a goal. “We want a better world.”

Next, acknowledge the tension, the friction on the journey towards that goal. “But we face X, and Y, and Z.” 

Ensure others really feel that -- without going too far. “Through THIS thing and THAT thing and THE OTHER THING, we experience it.” 

Then release the built-up tension to slingshot everyone back towards something better. “But we can do this. We can embrace A, and B, and C, and in doing so, create a better world.” 

I’m with you. I understand you. I feel you. But together, we can overcome.

*    *    *

As he accepted his Nobel Prize, author Kazuo Ishiguro said, “In the end, stories are about one person saying to another: This is the way it feels to me. Can you understand what I’m saying? Does it feel this way to you?”

Tension is where we start that process. It’s the “way it feels” part of Ishiguro’s quote.

No tension, no story. And stories have this beautiful way of illuminating commonalities we wouldn’t otherwise see -- especially once we arrive at the resolution. That’s the relief of the tension, the questions to the audience: Does it feel this way to you? Do you agree we should go that way? Does this help us get where we’re trying to go?

As storytellers, we say to our audiences, “I see the problem. I experience it, or I know you experience it. Do you feel that pain? Do you dislike that problem? I do too. I get it.”

But with that power, comes a great responsibility: to slingshot those watching back towards something better. To relieve the tension in favor of a satisfying resolution. That’s what stories do: they lead people. That’s what storytellers do. You lead people. 

Leaders move people from where they’re at … to where they need to go. The tension comes from the status quo. The resolution from a better way.

It’s easy to introduce tension and spot problems and complain. It’s hard to bring solutions, to have a vision for the future, to inspire. 

Your mission, should you accept it, is to wield tension in service to your audience, not yourself. Too much tension can be destructive. The right amount can be productive. It can inspire action and change. Something new. Something different.

Something better. 

Your mission, should you accept it, is to wield tension in service to your audience, not yourself.

As I mentioned… this blog post is adapted from my Playing Favorites newsletter.

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