Chapter 1: It's all about connection
When I was growing up, I used to catch the train to Sutherland Library in the southern suburbs of Sydney after school, where I’d wait for my father to pick me up when he finished work. I used to love hanging out at the library. I wish I could tell you I spent my time reading the encyclopedia because I wanted to be a rocket scientist or devouring literary classics so I could become a great writer. But that would be stretching the truth — in fact, it would be nowhere near it. My love for the library was not so … intellectual.
As soon as I set foot in the library each day I would head over to the magazine section, where well-thumbed copies of teen magazines were in abundant supply. I’m talking about the magazines for girls who were obsessed with celebrities, boys, fashion, boys, makeup, boys, TV stars, being cool at school and, oh, did I mention boys? I was in heaven.
My parents were very proud because they thought their daughter was studying hard enough to get into Mensa. In reality, I was becoming an expert on the really important things in life, like what Jon Bon Jovi liked to eat for breakfast, how to get rid of blackheads, and when it was okay to wear legwarmers. (Note: I learned much later in life that the answer to the last was ‘Never’.)
It wasn’t just about the celebrities, beauty and fashion. I also loved reading the articles about real people. At the time, the teen magazines featured inspirational stories about young women who were making it big in sport, music or some other chosen field, or who were on the road to recovery after struggling with an eating disorder. And, of course, there was the obligatory story about the girl-next-door who was spotted in a shopping mall by a talent scout who set her on the path to becoming an international supermodel.
When I wasn’t wondering when this was going to happen to me (in case you’re interested, that talent scout never did tap me on the shoulder), it was the magazine stories about other readers that had me most riveted. Because they were about other people, just like me, these stories played a huge part in helping me make sense of the world around me.
Look, I don’t pretend this is where I came to understand the intricacies about the conflict in the Middle East or how the International Monetary Fund’s decisions affected the global economy during the ’80s. But it’s where I discovered how other people saw the world and how they dealt with their problems. It made me wonder what I would do in a similar situation. It was through these real stories that I learned about friendship, sexuality, dating, nutrition and much more. It was also through stories about real people that I learned about different career choices beyond accounting, law or medicine — the only three careers that ever seemed to be discussed in our household.
As an only child, I didn’t have any brothers or sisters to compare notes with. And while I had loving parents, we weren’t the sort of family that had big conversations about issues or emotions. We were more likely to be watching The Price Is Right during dinner than debating politics or telling stories.
As I grew up, my reading transitioned from teen magazines to everything from Vanity Fair and The New Yorker to Australia’s Good Weekend. While some of my girlfriends would pore over fashion magazines, coveting the latest handbag from Gucci or Hermès, I would get lost in the feature articles. I loved nothing more than letting the writers take me on a journey into someone else’s world, where I would learn about their joys, pains, struggles or quirks. Two thousand words later, I felt just that little bit richer through knowing their story.
This is where I developed my love for the written word and my love for stories. I know it would be far more romantic and dramatic to say that it was Shakespeare, George Orwell or J.D. Salinger who ignited this passion. But the truth is it was the glossy pages of these magazines that nurtured my love of reading and writing through real stories about real people.
Don’t get me wrong. I loved to be absorbed in a novel or movie. I used to be in awe of the imagination of the writers who could create believable alternative worlds like Tolkien’s Middle Earth or Isaac Asimov’s spellbinding future visions, or larger-than-life characters like F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Gatsby. Some of these stories moved me to the core. Yes, I cried while reading the last few pages of Hamlet, and I was determined to fight prejudice after reading To Kill a Mockingbird, but I was also inspired to take up boxing thanks to the tales of Rocky Balboa. These stories — in books or movies — were all created from someone’s imagination, and they were no less powerful than real ones.
But there was something about real stories that just resonated with me. If they could happen to other people, they could happen to me. So I found them endlessly fascinating. It’s no surprise that I eventually became a writer and journalist. I loved unearthing these stories: discovering the passions, struggles, setbacks and triumphs in other people’s lives — and I loved to write about them in a way that could inspire others, or at least help them make sense of what may have been going on in their own lives.
The part that excites me is not the act of putting words on a page. It’s not about getting the structure of a sentence right, or ensuring the right adjectives or nouns are used in the narrative. Those are just some of the technical steps to achieving the ultimate goal, which is fundamentally about connection. Connecting with another person. Your aim might to be inform, entertain, inspire, educate or motivate. But, ultimately, it’s about connecting with another human being — simply by telling a story.
Once upon a time …
Stories are a fundamental part of human existence. They’ve been around since the beginning of time. Long before there were newspapers, water coolers, books or blogs, stories were simply shared around the campfire, at tribal gatherings or through pictures on cave walls.
Sharing stories is one of the most natural human instincts we possess, and it’s fundamental to the way we communicate. Throughout the ages, humans have used stories to explain phenomena, convey information, record history and make sense of our own and others’ behaviour.
Cavemen used pictures to tell hunting stories. Before writing evolved as a tool to record and communicate, storytelling was the only way we preserved history and ensured our rituals and practices continued through generations. Egyptians told stories through hieroglyphs carved on walls or written on papyrus. Sometimes these stories recorded facts, but not always.
People have always told stories to explained the unexplainable. That distant rumbling in the skies that eventually turned into an ‘oh we’re going to die’ boom overhead? Long before our ancient forebears rationalised the concept of thunder, they created stories about the god of thunder. And those yellow and orange flames that flickered into life when we rubbed two sticks together? Well, they too were explained by a mythical deity that could create fire. Superstitions, traditions and rituals often have their origins in stories.
Stories stand the test of time. The Greek poet Homer is thought to have composed the Iliad and the Odyssey around the 8th century BC, and these great epics are still studied today. Great storytellers such as Moses, Jesus, Mohammed and Buddha garnered both followers and fanatics as a result of their stories. Religious movements and philosophies have spread all over the world through the telling and retelling of their stories. Whether they are about the search for redemption or salvation, or sitting under a tree waiting for enlightenment, these stories work because in some way they connect with something inside us.
With the advent of the printing press, stories were no longer shared among small groups of people. Finally, these stories could be spread from one to many. The fairytales of the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen are known to children around the world, illustrating how powerful stories can be. They can be used to inspire or scare, to motivate or manipulate, to empower or dominate.
Throughout history people have embraced the power of storytelling, for good or ill. Adolf Hitler’s rise to power can be partly attributed to his story, as told in his autobiography and political manifesto, Mein Kampf (‘My Struggle’). Hitler knew how to use stories to his advantage, but he also encouraged book-burning campaigns to destroy the stories that ran counter to his own. China’s Mao Zedong used stories both to galvanise, and eventually devastate, a nation. The Little Red Book, a selection of quotations from his speeches and writings, helped communicate the ideology of China’s Communist Party. Britain’s Winston Churchill, through his rallying speeches, used stories to bring hope and inspiration to a country facing the depths of war.
In today’s digital world, companies and brands convey their stories in 30-second bites. Blogs, social media and other online sharing platforms have broadened the one-to-many model into potentially one-to-millions.
Why is storytelling so powerful?
A story is so simple. But sometimes the simplest things can have the greatest impact. Throughout history we’ve seen the power of storytelling in action, but exactly what part of the storytelling process inspires or moves people? It’s when we explore this question that we discover why stories reach our very core.
Stories can make or break whether you score a deal with a new client. They can be decisive in convincing a jury to convict someone or to set them free. They’re powerful because they package data, logic and analysis into an easily digestible form — easy to tell, easy to remember, easy to understand and, ultimately, easy to share.
Let’s say I’m looking after your cat while you’re on holidays. If you tell me to give your cat some flea treatment, I’ll understand your instruction intellectually. I may even remember to do it. But if you package that in a story about how you forgot to give your last cat his flea treatment, and he got a tick and went into a coma, I’ll remember that, and I’m much more likely to make sure he gets his treatment! An instruction is much more powerful when there’s a story attached to it.
Our brains absorb and retain stories more readily than lists of numbers or reams of data. A story packages an impersonal, forgettable series of facts and figures in a format that we can connect with, and that can be easily shared. It’s hard to get people excited about lists or bullet points. But tell them a story and they’re more likely to pay attention. They’re also more likely to pass it on.
A story’s strength also lies in its subtlety. Stories may be anecdotes, commentary, opinions. They may be chronicles of people, ideas and places. Yet their power can be far-reaching, even subversive. When you tell a story, you invite listeners or readers to draw their own conclusions. But tell your story well and you can shape what those conclusions will be. Good stories are powerful because they are not oppressive or didactic. Rather, they motivate or inspire others to feel and act of their own accord.
A story is much greater than the sum of its parts. It has information and ideas embedded within it, perhaps with facts, figures, dialogue and characters. Put together, they are no longer a collection of disparate elements. They can create a whole that has its own force, momentum and influence.
So what’s happened to the art of storytelling recently? There’s still a strong storytelling culture in the arts. Movies are as popular as ever. Books are still in demand, albeit the medium for reading is shifting towards a more digital experience.
But in the world of business and the workplace, it’s a different story …
The decline of storytelling
Picture this. You’re watching someone do a presentation at work. Or maybe you’re in an audience of your peers at an industry conference. The presenter heads up to the lectern, introduces himself then starts his PowerPoint presentation. Now this scenario generally plays out in one of two ways. In one scenario, the presenter is a good storyteller who knows how to use a s...
