So… in last week’s kickass workshop on storytelling, there’s ONE MAIN THING I didn’t mention. I mean, there’s a billion because the art of storytelling is a billion years old. But there’s one main thing that deserves its own love note:
The point.
Our stories should always have a point. A why-we’re-telling-them heartbeat.
That said, the point can TOTALLY be just to entertain, delight, bring some silly in, shake things up, scare the bejesus out of folks around the campfire, or hear your own voice. (I say “just” laughing at myself, because I was JUST getting all fiery about the Spanish word divertido this weekend. It means “fun” but comes from the Latin for a diversion, a digression. Like fun is never the point; it’s always a departure from the point. Language really tells us what our culture cares about, doesn’t it? EHEM.)
If you’ve got an upcoming pod or presentation or pitch and you want to integrate more storytelling (because neural entrainment!) and you’re thinking about what stories of yours you could possibly tell… consider the point. The animating why.
3 reasons why we tell stories and when:
GIFT. Speaking to a roomful of nurses, you might tell the story about that one time you were in the hospital and a nurse was over-the-top caring. Point? So the audience feels seen. Which is one of the greatest gives any of us can give another person. Speaking to a friend who’s thinking about leaving her husband, you might the tell story about that one time you were considering it too. Point? So the friend feels seen. And maybe even gets guidance.
GUIDANCE. This is all motivational speakers’ stories ever. Stories that say, if you’re in this valley, here’s a path out. But even if it’s a talk about social media strategy and your story is here’s what I did to crack the algorithm code it’s a story with the intent to guide, to turn your hard-earned into someone else’s possibly-easier. The “miracles work both ways” story I told at the 29 minute mark is this. Any story with an example ever is this. It can feel inorganic to construct your story backwards, but it might help to think what message do I want to leave people with FIRST and THEN think of a story from your own life that supports it—either the time you first realized it, or just a juicy example. I saw this video below and thought, I bet Debbie Allen has about 97 stories re: how dance offered refuge as an inclusive space, but she chose this one—an origin story—to illustrate her point.
GENESIS. Origin stories. Your tiny, scruffy (or momentous! Grand!) aha moment you decided to run for office or build this product or write this book or leave your old life. These may very well be a gift that helps others feel seen AND a guide but the primary purpose of these types of stories is so YOU get seen. Telling genesis-of-an-idea stories is the surest way to reveal your character (which builds trust) and to make your care contagious (which gets yeses). It’s why every single pitch ever needs you telling some version of your idea’s origin story. Here’s a stand-alone HOW TO PITCH workshop I ran before I had this Substack that people are still buying and getting rapturous about—it goes into more detail on this kind of storytelling, if you’re needing deep and doable support on building a pitch.
So:
Gift. Guidance. Genesis.
What’s a story of yours that fits into one of these categories?
(Or one that fits into none of these categories and I didn’t think of?? Tell me!)
AND BONUS, 3 things to try to never say when you’re telling a story:
Obviously I’m not here to police anyone’s language ever. BUT none of these work. Haha JUST BEING HONEST. These are all painful ways we undermine our own permission, and I’m nudging you to notice ‘em and find a more loving alternative.
Sorry if I’m rambling. If you feel like you’ve gotten away from the point: take a breath, imagine your heart re-linking to your audience’s, and say with strength and warmth, “THE POINT IS…” or “HERE’S WHAT MATTERS.” We audience members love a good signpost. And, in contrast, we don’t know what to do with an apology for your brain working associatively or in loop de loops—please give yourself the gift of not publicly apologizing for how your brain works. You don’t know who needs you modeling you in all your you-ness.
Tough act to follow! You can love on the person before you without publicly comparing. Everyone is different. No one needs same. Let the person before you’s good vibes wash over you, and assume (and this is a CHOICE, this is actual permission work) that those vibes will make you better not worse.
However… or How that impacted me was… or anything else that feels like a written not spoken turn of phrase. This is subjective but for the most part, we should aim for visceral language, especially in storytelling, rather than intellectual language. Debbie Allen above loses us just the tiniest bit when she says “How that impacted me was…” because the sentence structure implies that she’s answering a prompt she likely received in writing. Stronger: “That moment had a huge impact on me.” Or “From then on...” Or “That’s when I realized…” Or “That’s when it hit me…” We’re going for a body response rather than a brain response. And I mean yours—the storyteller’s body. Try each of these examples out loud and see what feels good in your body, or what alternative would be the you-est way to say “big takeaway; HUGE.”
PS. If you watch Debbie Allen’s video, notice she follows the EXACT structure of “real b/m/e” I shared in last week’s workshop!!
If you want to watch the whole workshop 👇🏼👇🏼
Big love, huge,
Samara
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