How to Write and Speak with Greater Impact
Quick, how would you explain “story” to someone who has never heard of such wordy wizardry?
Any ideas?
I’ll let you off the hook by turning us towards my all-time favorite explanation, pulled from author Kazuo Ishiguro’s Nobel Prize acceptance speech:
“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 also feel this way to you?”
I could spend a lifetime contemplating those words.
(Checks initial word count.)
Fine, I’ll do it faster.
Two things in this quote apply directly to our work:
Clarity: “Can you understand what I’m saying?”
Connection: “Does it also feel this way to you?”
Storytellers provide clarity. They make dense or complex ideas suddenly seem obvious to us. The details of the story are clear. Why we want to continue listening is clear. Storytellers speak with an abundance of clarity.
But storytellers also connect with us. Stories illuminate commonalities we’d otherwise not see. For instance, I could sit here and claim that you and I deal with similar problems in our home lives.
Or I could tell you a story:
(It’s the same damn story every damn time. Just me?)
Stories resonate. The tension of a given story and the person or people enduring it feel familiar to us. It’s easy to claim that “we see ourselves reflected in the story,” but I’d take that one step further. The things a story reflects about ourselves are emotions. It's less important that a story features someone with the same job title as us that they're dealing with the same challenges or striving for the same goals as us. The storyteller asks Ishiguro’s second question (“Does it also feel this way to you?”), and we reply with a resounding YES. The story resonates.
But in our race for reach, we’re losing sight of the importance of resonance. Resonance is where actions come from, and actions are what we need to see results.
Reach is how many see it. Resonance is how much they care.
No amount of reach guarantees that others will care. But we’ve become so obsessed with being visible that we’ve forgotten to be memorable. If we want to have greater impact with our words and see more results with our work, then we have to learn how to resonate in a way that prompts action.
We’re all in the business of sparking action, so we’re all in the business of resonating. And the world’s most proven vehicle for resonating with others is the story.
But you already knew that.
You already care about story. Because you’re told to care about story. Over and over again, every marketer marketing to marketers and every creator creating for creators tells us – nay, commands us – to care about story. So we gather up all kinds of ingredients as we try to keep up with the latest insights and techniques:
The rationale for story
The history of story
The science of story
The structure of story
The ROI of story.
We bend and buckle under the weight of all this information, and right as it's time to face our daily work, arms overflowing with story ingredients, we see one smug-looking bro on Twitter say something like this:
...and we go, “Yeah that sounds easier."
“Story” has become too dense. “Story” has become too abstract. “Story” has become … a buzzword.
I mean think about that. Makers and marketers have turned “story” into a buzzword. That’s like chefs turning “food” into a buzzword. It’s just supposed to be what we do.
As Ishiguro suggested, we can and should demystify the idea of story to make it more attainable and practical. Stories are merely a dialogue between two people. That's it. With every article, newsletter, video, podcast, or post, you're speaking to ONE other person, just as I'm speaking to you and you alone right now. Even when sitting in an actual audience, watching a speaker on a stage, the clarity you start to sense and the connection you begin to feel both unfold in your mind alone.
A story is a dialogue between two people which creates clarity and connection.
Can you understand what I’m saying?
Does it also feel this way to you?
We can abstract away this notion of “story” all we want, gathering up all kinds of ingredients until we can’t carry anymore, but eventually, we have to do the actual work. The question we should ask isn’t what kind of knives to use or how to arrange our kitchens. The question we need to ask is whether or not we can cook. In other words, this is not about "story." This about the storyteller.
Advice media has lost sight of that. Eventually, it's on each of us to move beyond abstractions and make it concrete. We must become...
Effective storytellers.
* * *
I say that very carefully ("effective" storytellers), because I think there’s a difference between good storytellers and effective storytellers.
Good storytellers speak with clarity. They use a sequence of actions that creates and resolves tension. ("This happened, then this happened, then this happened. BUT THEN this happened. And as a result, that happened.")
Effective storytellers do the same thing, sharing sequences of action that create and resolve tension. But they also create connection. They don’t just hold our attention. They inspire us to reflect and act. They ensure we internalize the meaning of the story. Sometimes, they spell it out for us. Other times, they create space for others to draw their own conclusions. (Look no further than Ernest Hemingway's famous six-word story: For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn. Not much detail provided, and zero "key takeaways." But plenty of space for us to internalize the story and synthesize our own meaning.)
Again, there is a difference between good storytellers and effective storytellers.
Good storytellers grip us. Effective storytellers move us.
They move us towards meaning.
That’s the difference between a good story about a software engineer, some angry drones, and a whole lot of leather and sunglasses … and The Matrix.
That’s the difference between a good story about an obnoxious kid, a flock of sheep, and a gruesome scene … and The Boy Who Cried Wolf.
The first might be clear, but the second imparts meaning. As a result, the storytellers inspire audiences to reflect and act.
* * *
If we look hard enough, we can spot this difference between good and effective storytelling in action all around us. There’s often a single moment inside a story that reveals the storyteller's understanding of how to speak with impact.
Consider one story from Ira Glass, creator and host of This American Life, who shares a quick anecdote to start an old episode of the show. It’s the story about an everyday guy named Brett as he waits to catch the subway in New York City.
Here is the beginning of the story in Ira Glass’s words. Let’s see if we can spot the moment he moves from being a good storyteller to being effective:
So Brett was on the subway platform, afternoon rush hour. It’s mobbed. And down the platform, he sees this guy. The guy goes up to one person after another, stands very close, says something, and moves on.
He’s nicely dressed. Doesn’t seem to be asking for money. And he’s getting closer. He approaches person after person, walks up to them, says something quietly, and moves on. And as he gets closer, Brett can hear what he’s saying.
Before we proceed, a question for you: Do you want this story to continue?
Yes! Ira Glass is, after all, a good storyteller. He uses a sequence of actions that creates tension. Who is that guy? What is he saying? What will he say to Brett? You’ve got questions, and you crave answers. Ira opens a loop that will be closed later – and we crave that closure. And so we keep listening:
And what the man is saying is: YOU, you can stay. (And he moves to the next person.) You. You gotta go. You’re outta here.
He gets closer to Brett. [And here, Brett and Ira Glass talk to each other.]
“And I’m starting to get a little nervous.”
“But Brett, he’s not choosing you for ANYTHING!”
“HA! I know!”
So the man walks up to Brett, stands a little too close and says,
“You can stay.”
And Brett felt euphoric! There’s no other word for it really. In his mind, he knew there was no reason to care. But in his heart, it made him really, really happy.”
This is a good storyteller telling a good story. Ira speaks in a sequence of actions and creates and resolves tension. (“You can stay.”) But it’s not an effective story. Not yet. You and I are likely not reflecting on anything deeper in our lives, and I’m not sure we’ll take action as a result of this story. But then, Ira says one more tiny thing which signals his status as an effective storyteller. He continues his narration, speaking directly to us, his listeners, when he says:
There is something about the judgment of strangers. It’s as if, by their status as strangers, they have some special, instantaneous insight into who we really are when we’re not trying to impress our loved ones or friends or the people we work with.
What Ira does here is subtle but crucial in our attempts to become effective storytellers. He moves his audience from the action of the story to its meaning. Some storytellers do this overtly. They share the actual meaning out loud. Ira Glass has often said that audio is an especially didactic medium, where you need to spell things out. Other storytellers aren’t so upfront about a story’s meaning, but they provide the necessary space for the audience to synthesize their own meaning, rather than rush to over-explain everything or stuff each moment full of too much detail or too many “key takeaways.”
Regardless, we see the difference between the two types of storytellers in action:
Good storytellers grip us. Effective storytellers move us. They move us towards meaning.
* * *
We can all become more effective storytellers if we remember one simple but powerful phrase:
“That’s the thing about…”
We can share our stories with clarity, describing a sequence of actions which creates and resolves tension by introducing then answering questions on the audience’s mind. But then, we can move people from the action of the story towards its meaning, as we move from speaking with clarity to speaking in ways that create connection when we say, "That's the thing about..."
Ira Glass's story: That’s the thing about strangers. It’s like by virtue of being strangers, they see us more clearly, so we care about their opinion more than that of those close to us.
The Boy Who Cried Wolf: That’s the thing about lying. If you become known as a liar, people won’t believe you when you’re telling the truth.
The Matrix: That's the thing about society. What we think are rules are just systems created by those who would control us for their own gain, and we ought to wake up and refuse to exist as nothing more than life-long servants to the more powerful who draw that very power from our own ignorance and complacency!
(I, um… I get carried away with The Matrix. Sorry you had to see that. Where was I?)
That’s the thing about you and me. Without needing any more resources or any stories that shake society or overhaul our industries, we can become effective storytellers. In fact, we can make the shift from good to effective if we remember that last missing piece: inspiring reflection and action in others.
We can take any story and arrive at a powerful “that’s the thing about” moment. From tiny tales pulled from own daily lives to massive moments shared by subjects we profile – even stories told by others that we tell our way to arrive at our insight – we are surrounded stories all the time. And lest we fall victim to the jargonification of “story,” we can remember the difference between a good storyteller and an effective storyteller.
Good storytellers grip us. Effective storytellers move us. They move us towards meaning.
Can you understand what I’m saying?
Does it also feel this way to you?
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