Q and A with a Story Guru: Lisa Cron: All Story is Emotion Based; If We’re Not Feeling, We’re Not Listening

See a photo of Lisa, her bio, Part 1 of this Q&A, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.

Q&A with Lisa Cron, Questions 9, 10, and 11:

Q: The storytelling movement seems to be growing explosively. Why now? What is it about this moment in human history and culture that makes storytelling so resonant with so many people right now?

A: This is a great question, because the answer is surprising. It’s not that storytelling is any more resonant at this moment. Storytelling has always been resonant; it’s in our DNA. Story is, in fact, how we make sense of the world because stories are simulations. They allow us to experience things without having to actually live through them, the better to pick up pointers should we ever find ourselves in a similar situation.

What’s different now is that we’re finally recognizing story’s unparalleled power. Until recently story has been seen as entertainment — fluff — and so not really necessary when it comes to the business of life. Wrong!

Turns out that real-life decisions aren’t based on a “rational” analysis of the facts, but on how those facts affect us. Stories put facts into a context that allows us to experience them in action, and so “feel” what their impact would be on our lives.

Look at advertising — does it ever “tell” us what to do? Nope. Instead it puts the product into a context that lets us experience how using it would make us feel – and not feel in general, but feel about ourselves. That’s the secret of all advertising — all selling, actually – it’s not about what’s good about the product itself, or even what the product will do for you. It’s about how using the product will make you feel about yourself.

The scary thing is that even knowing that a story is trying to manipulate you doesn’t trump its power. If it did, would we really have bought half the things we own, starting with all those Beanie Babies in the basement? I’m just saying.

Q: Are there any current uses of storytelling that repel you or that you feel are inappropriate?

A: I could talk forever about the way corporate America tells stories that manipulate us into doing things that aren’t in our best interest, but I don’t think we have that long. If you want a glimpse of what I’m talking about, watch the brilliant HBO documentary Hot Coffee, which tells the chilling true story of the infamous and widely misunderstood “McDonald’s Coffee Case.”

Q: If you could share just one piece of advice or wisdom about story/storytelling/ narrative with readers, what would it be?

A: It’s that all story is emotion based — if we’re not feeling, we’re not listening. What are we feeling? We feel what the protagonist feels. As a result, everything that happens in a story gets its emotional weight and meaning based on how it affects the protagonist. If it doesn’t affect her, even if we’re talking birth, death, or the fall of the Roman Empire — it is completely neutral. And if it’s neutral, it’s not only beside the point, it detracts from it.

That’s why in every scene you write, the protagonist must react in a way the reader can see and understand in the moment. This reaction must be specific, personal, and have an effect on whether the protagonist achieves her goal. It’s as simple as that.

Q and A with a Story Guru: Lisa Cron: Who Makes Story Mistakes? Writers and Democrats

See a photo of Lisa, her bio, Part 1 of this Q&A, Part 2, and Part 3.

Q&A with Lisa Cron, Questions 7 and 8:

Q: You have read many stories from your days in publishing and in the entertainment industry. Presumably you saw plenty of examples during this past career both to reinforce what you say TO DO in the book and what you say NOT TO DO. What were some of the most common story mistakes you saw writers make during this career?

A: The No. 1 mistake is a story in which the things that happen don’t affect anyone, or have a consequence. Nothing is at stake, no one wants anything, no one changes. It’s just a collection of random events that don’t add up to anything. You’d be surprised how often this is the case.

The second most common mistake is a story in which we have no idea what the protagonist’s goal is, or what she must overcome internally to achieve it. Thus, we have no yardstick by which to measure the meaning of what happens, or to anticipate what might happen next.

Third most common mistake is that writer didn’t realize that as far as the reader is concerned, everything in a story is there on a need-to-know basis. So they threw in all sorts of things that had absolutely nothing to do with the story they were telling.

Q: If you could identify a person or organization who desperately needs to tell a better story, who or what would it be?

A: Sadly, that’s incredibly easy: the Democratic Party. As a lifelong lefty, I used to rail at how the Republicans constantly got the facts wrong — and I had this burning desire to set the record straight. I used to think that if only the other side learned the truth, they’d get it.

Then I realized that knowing the facts doesn’t mean a thing when it comes to convincing anyone of anything. That, in fact, the truth often has nothing to do with how we vote. Is that a good thing? You know what, it doesn’t matter. It’s simply how we’re wired — we’re wired to respond to what makes us feel safe and what validates us, rather than what might objectively be true. I don’t mean that pejoratively; it doesn’t make us weak; it makes us human.

The Republicans know how to tell a solid, compelling, emotionally resonant story (often, the truth be damned), and people respond to that. The Democrats have trouble taking a hard and fast stand on anything, because they can see all the nuances. And there are nuances — when it comes to actually deciding on policy, the nuances matter most. But you don’t get elected by understanding nuances — or God forbid — explaining them. You get elected by making people feel good about themselves. The sooner the Democrats learn that, the better.

Q and A with a Story Guru: Lisa Cron: Most Definitions of Story Are Too Vague, General

See a photo of Lisa, her bio, Part 1 of this Q&A, and Part 2.

Q&A with Lisa Cron, Questions 5 and 6:

Q: You define story as “how what happens affects someone who is trying to achieve a difficult goal, and how they change as a result.” How important is that definition to your message about story and writing? How did you arrive at the definition (given that definitions of “story” abound)?

A: I’ll say it flat out: I think my definition is essential, because it defines, specifically, what a story actually is in clear, concrete terms.

And here’s something else I’ll say flat out: I believe that most of the common definitions of story are either way too general or way too vague, and so are useless when it comes to actually writing a story.

Too general is the ubiquitous: a story has a beginning a middle, and an end. Sheesh. What doesn’t?

Too vague is: “A story is a fact wrapped in an emotion.” What does that mean, exactly? That a story is a fact that makes us feel something? Okay, but if I were trying to write a story, how would that help me? No clue.

Even less helpful: “A story promises dramatic fulfillment of our needs.” What needs, exactly? How does it fulfill that promise? Again, there’s no there, there. It’s a concept, and you can’t wrap your mind around a concept.

Then there’s the much-revered Hero’s Journey, which lays out an external order-of-events. It’s far more specific than the others, which ironically makes it even more damaging. Why? Because it offers an actual story-template — unfortunately, it’s one that focuses on what happens plot-wise. Sure, plot is important, but it’s secondary. The purpose of the plot is to force the protagonist to overcome an internal issue so that, as Proust said, they can “see the world with new eyes.” A story is not about the external world changing, it’s about how the protagonist’s internal view of the world changes. That’s very different, and is the cornerstone of my definition of story.

My goal was to come up with a clear definition that reveals the specific underpinnings of every story — a definition that writers could then work from, and almost use as a mathematical proof to keep their story on track.

Q: Your book seems to primarily focus on fiction writing. To what extent do you think the techniques you lay out apply to writers of nonfiction stories? As you probably know, my special niche is story in job search and career. I could see your techniques applied to the very short stories told in interviews and even in cover letters and resumes. Your thoughts?

A: I love that you asked this question, because it’s something that I really want to make clear! I believe that story is story, whether you’re writing a novel, a memoir, a resume, or a mission statement. There is absolutely no difference.

Bottom line: story is the most effective communication tool we have, because it allows us to convey experience, rather than merely facts. The principles of story that I write about apply whether the story in question is fact or fiction.

Interestingly, those using story in the business world are often a big step ahead of creative writers, because they understand something that novelists often miss — they know from the very beginning the point they want their story to make. And make no mistake, all stories make a point, starting in the first sentence.

Q and A with a Story Guru: Lisa Cron: Nonnegotiable Hardwired Expectations for Story

See a photo of Lisa, her bio, and Part 1 of this Q&A.

Q&A with Lisa Cron, Questions 3 and 4:

Q: What people or entities have been most influential to you in your story work and why?

A: There have been two major influences in my work. The first is the thousands of failed novels, memoirs and screenplays I’ve read over the years as a story analyst, editor and literary agent. From them I learned something their authors had no intention of teaching me: how not to tell a story.

It was my job to slog all the way to the bitter end, even when after a few pages I knew I was probably the only person other than the author’s mom who would do so willingly. But unlike mom, I not only had to read the thing, I had to report on it — candidly. I began to notice that although each unsuccessful narrative or screenplay failed in its own spectacularly unique way, the underlying problems tended to be intriguingly similar.

It soon became clear that while there are indeed a gazillion ways to break a single story expectation, there are only a few nonnegotiable hardwired expectations.

The second thing that’s had a major impact on my work are recent breakthroughs in neuroscience and cognitive psychology, as reported by such renowned neuroscientists as Michael Gazzaniga, Antonio Damasio, and David Eagleman, cognitive scientist Steven Pinker, and literature scholars Brian Boyd and Jonathan Gottschall. Collectively they’ve uncovered, and documented, the evolution of the brain in relation to story.

The minute I began reading their work, I realized that these breakthroughs support my theory about story, its affect on us, and what we’re wired to respond to in every story we encounter. It was a genuine eureka moment for me — I leapt to my feet and whooped so loud my husband thought I’d won the lottery, the dog howled, and the cats ran under the bed. It was a very good day.

Q: What are some of the common threads that run through the works of Gazzaniga, Damasio, and Eagleman, Pinker, Boyd, and Gottschall? Why do you think they are all researching and writing in story-related areas at this time?

A: The common thread is that all of these scientists and scholars talk about how we think in story; that story is how we make sense of the world. The really exciting thing is that, with the exception of Brian Boyd, it’s not that they’re researching the affect of story on the brain per se, it’s that they’re researching how the brain works, and they’ve discovered the fact that we think in story. The reason this is coming to light now is because of recent advances in neuroscience, especially functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI), which allows us to actually see how the brain is processing information in real time. It’s fascinating.

Note: These scholars are pictured above right, top row, from left, Gazzinga, Dimasio, Boyd; bottom row, from left, Pinker, Gottschall, Eagleman.

Q and A with a Story Guru: Lisa Cron: Writers and Storytellers Are the World’s Most Powerful People

Q and A No. 99! Who will be No. 100? As we wait for the 100th practitioner to be revealed and the revised compilation of Q&As to be assembled, I’m thrilled to present a Q&A with Lisa Cron. Lisa approached me about her book, Wired for Story, releasing the week this Q&A is published, and I suggested she do a Q&A to introduce readers to herself and her book. This Q&A will appear over several days.

Bio: Lisa Cron spent a decade in publishing, first at W.W. Norton in New York, then at John Muir Publications in Santa Fe, NM, before turning to TV. She’s worked on shows for Fox, Bravo and Miramax, and has been supervising producer on shows for Court TV and Showtime. She’s been a story consultant for Warner Brothers and the William Morris Agency in NYC, and for Village Roadshow, Icon, The Don Buchwald Agency, and others in LA. She’s featured in Final Draft’s book, Ask The Pros: Screenwriting. Her personal essays have appeared on Freshyarn.com and the Huffington Post, and she has performed them at the 78th Street Playhouse in NYC, and in LA at Sit ‘n Spin, Spark!, Word-A-Rama, Word Nerd, and Melt in Your Mouth (a monthly personal essay series she co-produced). For years she’s worked one-on-one with writers, producers and agents developing book and movie projects. Lisa has also been a literary agent and for the past six years, an instructor in the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program, where she currently teaches. Her book, Wired for Story: The Writer’s Guide to Using Brain Science to Hook Readers from the Very First Sentence, will be published by Ten Speed Press on July 10.

Q&A with Lisa Cron, Questions 1 and 2:

Q: What inspired you to write Wired for Story? In what ways did you see a need for writers to understand the neurological process of story?

A: No one was talking about this stuff. No one. I had students coming to my classes at UCLA who’d gotten MFAs from some of the country’s most prestigious universities yet they didn’t know the first thing about story. At first I was stunned. Then it dawned on me that most writing instruction centers on learning to “write well” rather than how to write a story. Big difference. I did a little research, and saw that while there were myriad writing books out there, none of them even touched on what I was teaching. I leapt in to fill that gap.

The reason it’s essential for writers to understand how the brain processes story is threefold. First, because it puts to rest the notion that story is something that lyrical writing can “transcend.” Second, because it allows writers to see how genuinely, profoundly powerful story is. Third, because understanding what the brain is hungry for in every story we hear allows writers to craft stories capable of captivating the audience from the very first sentence.

Q: How did you initially become involved with story/storytelling/narrative? What attracted you to this field? What do you love about it?

A: That’s like asking me when I became involved with breathing — who remembers, I just know I’ve been drawn to story. As a child I was enthralled with Rudyard Kipling’s Just So Stories, then Nancy Drew, then every movie ever made. When I was a teenager, my best friend and I would drive 100 miles to just see some obscure B movie at a drive-in. If it were compelling, I’d be so deeply drawn in that when we left the theater, it was a surprise to enter “the real world” again — and the story would stick with me.

Then I began to realize that the stories I saw were affecting how I saw the world. That got me interested in the nature of story itself. Turns out stories reach us in a way that facts can’t penetrate. Stories put facts into a context that allows us to experience how they would affect us. And in so doing, the stories themselves affect us — stories can literally rewire our brain, giving us more empathy, and more insight into how others see the world.

That’s why writers and storytellers are the most powerful people in the world. Story is my passion, there’s nothing I love more than working with people, helping them translate their vision into a story that not only reflects, but can help shape, reality.

Cover for Story-Practitioner Compilation Update Revealed

As I’ve noted previously, I plan a complete revision of my Storied Careers: 40+ Story Practitioners Talk about Applied Storytelling ebook when I hit 100 Q and As. Given that No. 99 appears this week, No, 100 should not be far off. The updated book will be retitled 100 Storied Careers. In addition to other formats, I plan to format the book for Kindle since demand seems to be so great for that format (all formats except Kindle will be free; Amazon does not permit free Kindle books except at certain times. I will give the Kindle version the lowest price Amazon allows, which I believe is $2.99).

The cover design, by Melanie Nicosia Interdonato, is very similar to the original. The new design reflects the new title and is in a font that’s more readable when the core image is reduced.

I expect the new version to be ready sometime in September.

If you’d like to be notified when 100 Storied Careers is ready, Email me, and I’ll put you on the notification list

How Storied Memory Makes Us Like — and Different from — Other Animals: Story + Memory, Part 3

Wrapping up my series on story and memory with two last bits of research. As with Part 2 of the series, Stephanie West Allen was probably the source of these items:

Autobiographical memory is a uniquely human form of memory. So assert Researchers Robyn Fivusha, Tilmann Habermas, Theodore E.A. Waters, and Widaad Zaman in their paper in the International Journal of Psychology, “The making of autobiographical memory: Intersections of culture, narratives and identity” (a rare academic article that can be downloaded at no cost). Their main premise, though, deals with differences in the ways parents shape autobiographical narratives for their children and the notion that parents help adolescents structure life narratives:

Autobiographical memory is a uniquely human form of memory that integrates individual experiences of self with cultural frames for understanding identities and lives. In this review, we present a theoretical and empirical overview of the sociocultural development of autobiographical memory, detailing the emergence of autobiographical memory during the preschool years and the formation of a life narrative during adolescence. More specifically, we present evidence that individual differences in parental reminiscing style are related to children’s developing autobiographical narratives. Parents who structure more elaborated coherent personal narratives with their young children have children who, by the end of the preschool years, provide more detailed and coherent personal narratives, and show a more differentiated and coherent sense of self. Narrative structuring of autobiographical remembering follows a protracted developmental course through adolescence, as individuals develop social cognitive skills for temporal understanding and causal reasoning that allows autobiographical memories to be integrated into an overarching life narrative that defines emerging identity. In addition, adolescents begin to use culturally available canonical biographical forms, life scripts, and master narratives to construct a life story and inform their own autobiographical narrative identity. This process continues to be socially constructed in local interactions; we present exploratory evidence that parents help adolescents structure life narratives during coconstructed reminiscing and that adolescents use parents and families as a source for their own autobiographical content and structure. Ultimately, we argue that autobiography is a critical developmental skill; narrating our personal past connects us to our selves, our families, our communities, and our cultures.

Researchers test the idea that we hunt for memories in our minds the same way some animals search for food. Ferris Jabr recently reported in Scientific American that “our brains may have evolved to forage for some kinds of memories in the same way, shifting our attention from one cluster of stored information to another depending on what each patch has to offer.” Further:

“Memory foraging” is only one way of thinking about memory–and it does not apply universally to all types of information retained in the brain–but, so far, the analogy seems to work well for particular cases of active remembering.

Now, there’s not much overt connection between this last item on memory and story — except that the “clusters of stored information” might be in story form.

We Fill in Memory Gaps with Stories: Story + Memory, Part 2

Around the same time I started pondering the role of story in memory, as I discussed in Part 1, Stephanie West Allen, who frequently shares her fascinating finds from the story world, was sending me numerous links about memory research and its connection to story and storytelling. She’s the source of most of the material in today’s part 2 in which I synthesize some current research findings and theories about memory and storytelling.

People think memory works differently from the way experts say it does. Research by Daniel J. Simons and Christopher F. Chabris reveals at least six beliefs about memory held by survey respondents that contradict what scientists know about memory. The incorrect belief that most relates to story is “memory works like a video camera,” a belief held by 63 percent of the researchers’ survey respondents. Indeed, Stephanie says, “We know the process by which memories are reconstructed in our brains each time we retrieve them is not like a video camera. They change in the reconstruction, in the remembering. Memory is very malleable and, to a large extent, we’re making our past up as we go.”

The reason memory is not like a video-recording may be explained by the next item:

We’re not recording experience; we’re creating it. As Leonard Mlodinow explains in a Psychology Today article:

… our unconscious mind takes the rather crude visual data collected by your retina, processes it, and presents your conscious mind with a clear and detailed picture. What you perceive looks real, but it isn’t a direct recording of what’s out there — it is a constructed image created from that data by filling in the missing blanks employing context, your expectations, your prior knowledge and beliefs, and even your desires. Our social perceptions are constructed in an analogous manner: we normally have limited data, and fill in the blanks employing context, expectations, etc. Hence our judgments of people, our experience of products, and even our assessment of financial and business data, are never purely objective reflections of our social reality. But since we are aware of only our conscious influences, and not the process our unconscious mind employs to construct our experience, we are often mistaken about the roots of our feelings, judgments, and behavior.

I would contend, therefore, that it’s primarily story with which we are filling in the missing blanks. To me, constructing experience is tantamount to constructing story.

That’s why memory is unreliable; we fill in gaps in a given memory with with stories from other memories, and the more we surface a memory, the more we change its story. We are not only constructing memories in the first place, but in retrieving them over and over , we are re-constructing them. We need look no further than the Trayvon Martin case to know about the unreliability of memory. Stephanie West Allen notes in her blog:

“Memory is a reconstructive process, says Richard Wise, a forensic psychologist at the University of North Dakota. “When an eyewitness recalls a crime, he or she must reconstruct his or her memory of the crime.” This, he says, is an unconscious process. To reconstruct a memory, the eyewitness draws upon several sources of information, only one being his or her actual recollection. To fill in gaps in memory, the eyewitness relies upon his or her expectation, attitudes, prejudices, bias, and prior knowledge.”

Not only unreliable, our memories are shifty and malleable. Stephanie writes of the “malleability of memory, the problematic role that storytelling therefore can play in a dispute, and how to ‘correct’ for the shifting narrative.” Here’s a concise reminder of the shiftiness of memory. In another of her blogs, Stephanie cites Jonah Lehrer’s When Memory Commits an Injustice from the Wall Street Journal:

Consider our collective memories of 9/11. For the last 10 years, researchers led by William Hirst of the New School and Elizabeth Phelps of New York University have been tracking the steady decay of what people recall about that tragic event. They first quizzed people shortly after the attacks, then after one year, and found that 37% of the details had already changed. Although the most recent data have yet to be published, they’re expected to reveal that the vast majority of remembered “facts” are now make-believe. … In recent years, neuroscientists have documented how these mistakes happen. It turns out that the act of summoning the past to the surface actually changes the memory itself. Although we’ve long imagined our memories as a stable form of information, a data file writ into the circuits of the brain, that persistence is an illusion. In reality, our recollections are always being altered, the details of the past warped by our present feelings and knowledge. The more you remember an event, the less reliable that memory becomes. … The larger lesson is that, when it comes to human memory, more deliberation is often dangerous. Instead of simply assessing our familiarity with a suspect’s face, we begin searching for clues and guidance. Sometimes this involves picking the person who looks the most suspicious, even if we’ve never seen him before, or being swayed by the subtle hints of police officers and lawyers. As a result, we talk ourselves into having a memory that doesn’t actually exist.

… because, I would suggest, the memory has been “storified” in our brains.

We become detached from the emotions of our storied memories in retelling them, especially when we start analyzing. Not only do we change our memories as we dredge them up and re-tell them, but we also lose the deep emotions we initially felt about those stories. So reports Sarah Moore, assistant professor with the Alberta School of Business:

… when we have an emotional experience, such as travelling or watching a movie, we develop feelings about those experiences. When telling stories about these experiences later, we can describe them and express our appreciation or dislike for them — but once we start to analyze them, the lustre of that emotion fades.

Our current beliefs shape the stories we remember. In a blog post, Stephanie quotes Carol Tavris:

Memory is a self-justifying historian. Memory keeps things consonant. If it’s a memory of how our parents treated us or how we were in the past … , the best predictor of our memory is what we believe now, not what really happened then. It’s such an enchanting thing. It’s why if you are currently feeling good about your mother, you remember how good she was to you as a kid. And if you’re really pissed off at your mother, you remember all the bad things. You are keeping the current view consonant.

So, the story you are telling yourself about a given person or situation informs your memories of the same entity.

In part 3, we look at autobiographical memory and foraging for memories.

Story: An Aid to Memory or Memory Itself? Story + Memory, Part 1

As a student of story, I’ve long known that information conveyed in story form is more memorable than other forms. But I got especially interested in the relationship between story and memory when I read Joshua Safran Foer’s Moonwalking with Einstein, about Foer’s year of training himself to compete in the U.S.A. Memory Championship. (You can read Foer’s New York Times article that conveys the essence of the book; in fact, the article is adapted from the book.) As Foer began to describe “mnemonic techniques almost all of which were invented in ancient Greece,” I felt the techniques reminded me of storytelling. Here’s his description of the technique known as The Memory Palace:

…. a discovery supposedly made by the poet Simonides of Ceos [pictured] in the fifth century B.C. After a tragic banquet-hall collapse, of which he was the sole survivor, Simonides was asked to give an account of who was buried in the debris. … When the poet closed his eyes and reconstructed the crumbled building in his imagination, he had an extraordinary realization: he remembered where each of the guests at the ill-fated dinner had been sitting. Even though he made no conscious effort to memorize the layout of the room, it nonetheless left a durable impression. From that simple observation, Simonides reportedly invented a technique that would form the basis of what came to be known as the art of memory. He realized that if there hadn’t been guests sitting at a banquet table but, say, every great Greek dramatist seated in order of birth — or each of the words of one of his poems or every item he needed to accomplish that day — he would have remembered that instead. He reasoned that just about anything could be imprinted upon our memories, and kept in good order, simply by constructing a building in the imagination and filling it with imagery of what needed to be recalled. This imagined edifice could then be walked through at any time in the future. Such a building would later come to be called a memory palace.

The Memory Palace might not quite reach the level of story, but it certainly suggests story elements. But as Foer discusses “building an organizational scheme for accessing … information,” we can imagine “organizational scheme” as story. In a variation on The Memory Palace, mental athletes memorize playing cards by “associating every card with an image of a celebrity performing some sort of a ludicrous — and therefore memorable — action on a mundane object.” As Foer states the following, we can almost substitute “stories” for “scenes:” “… when it comes time to remember the order of a series of cards, those memorized images are shuffled and recombined to form new and unforgettable scenes in the mind’s eye.” Foer writes: “What distinguishes a great mnemonist, I learned, is the ability to create lavish images on the fly, to paint in the mind a scene so unlike any other it cannot be forgotten. … Many competitive mnemonists argue that their skills are less a feat of memory than of creativity.” In other words, they creatively develop a story (or at least a story fragment) that enables them to remember. If you click on this link, you can see an example story from Foer’s regimen of learning to memorize playing cards.

Donald Smith, director of the Scottish Storytelling Center, takes this idea a step further. Instead of characterizing storytelling as a way to aid memory, Smith calls storytelling a form of memory:

Storytelling is a first of all a form of memory. We naturally think, feel and remember in stories — whether consciously told, or kept within our own minds and emotions. I think that means our identity is created and expressed through stories. For me storytelling is a way of acknowledging, communicating and celebrating all that personally and collectively. It’s the language of human values and experiences, and in a highly specialized and subdivided world, it is more vital than ever because it is a common language open to everyone.

In Part 2, we’ll look at additional recent research and theories on memory, and how those theories may connect memory with storytelling.

How Storytelling Is (Or Should Be) the Centerpiece of PR

Guest Post by Rachel DiCaro Metscher

What a special delight to present today’s guest blog post. The guest blogger, Rachel DiCaro Metscher (pictured), was my student at least a dozen years ago. After we recently reconnected on Facebook, I saw an interview with her (embedded below) in which she talked about how much she loves being a storyteller in her role as a public-relations practitioner. I asked her if she’d like to elaborate on that idea in a guest post, and Rachel quickly agreed. I’m thrilled to present her post.

When someone asks me what I do for a living, I naturally respond with “I am in PR.” The next question for some folks is “what is that?” My next statement always gets a “wow or “really?” I general respond with ” I am a corporate storyteller.”

Now, I realize that most PR professionals do not characterize themselves as storytellers, but I do. And the reason is simple: Storytelling is PR; it essentially boils down to connecting organization and people through a story. The story, in of itself provides the necessary details for people to learn how our solutions can help them achieve success. It helps build trust with the reader and helps me humanize our brand.

As any writer knows, stories grow richer through the character voices that tell it. The same is true in PR — multiple perspectives make a brand story more genuine and believable. And think about, it is in our human nature to share and respond to great stories.

As the storyteller, I narrate the evolving tale of our brand through the voices of our clients. It’s my job to ask the right questions of our clients so I can weave their stories into ours. So much of who/what our brand is depends on our clients’ successes. The best stories are sometimes not our own, but are ours to share. As the narrator, providing our clients’ stories helps me provide an authentic voice to a global brand that reached beyond technology and provides direct impact on education.

Still not clear? Let me provide some examples. I work for an education solutions company that services both K-12 and higher-education markets (what we call the P-20 story). In this vast market, there are several hundred providers that offer similar or the exact services that we do. I never try to get into the weeds of what software is better. I change the conversation from product to the client. I focus on how can we highlight our clients’ successes so they can share how they use our solutions?

It is much more compelling to have clients talk about our solutions than it is for me to convince the editor or reporter of this. I tell the story how client X uses the solution, not what feature they use, but what are the benefits they’ve seen. No marketing language here. How have they been able to accomplish their goals? By putting this in terms of the client, it changes the conversation from being about my company but highlighting the success of the client through the use of our solutions. Much more convincing as they can share the pain points from the trenches of their school or university. By helping our clients share their story, I am able to tell our story better of student success through our clients’ successes. Proof is in the pudding.

Rachel DiCaro Metscher works in Corporate Communications at Hobsons US.