Welcome new subscribers! So glad you’re here. This week we’re on part two of a four-part series where I debunk storytelling misconceptions. Last week we covered why you shouldn’t be afraid to talk about the heavy stuff (if you want to, and if you’re ready).
Now, we’ll discuss why you should make your stories as specific as possible. And forget any effort to appeal to the “everyman.”
Many communicators falsely believe that their stories will be more effective if they’re generalized. They think that that’s the best way to appeal to a wide swath of people. But really, there is no “everyman”: we all dwell in a highly contextualized, unique-to-us world.
This means, counterintuitively, it’s specificity that will make something feel relatable, even universal.
Let’s take a look at how this works on the page.
A few weeks ago, when we were talking story structure, I shared a made-up text from a made-up baker’s website.
Here it is:
Ever since I baked sourdough loaves with my grandma when I was little, I always wanted to open a bakery. But my parents wanted me to study medicine, so I settled for baking bread during my study sessions. The smell when I put it in the oven always made me happy, but it never felt like enough. I eventually dropped out, and felt lost and alone. I got a job at a bakery and remembered how happy baking made me. After many years of hard work, I’ve finally opened my own storefront. And my grandma still comes to help me at the counter sometimes.
The detail about smell is one of the more vivid parts of the passage. And for most of us, this particular combination of setting, situation, and scent isn’t something we’ve ever encountered in our lives. (Though baking during study breaks sounds a lot more fun and productive than scrolling through early-iteration Facebook or whatever I was doing in 2010.)
But even though we can’t relate to this exact image, the hyper-specificity still makes it familiar. Because we’ve all had the experience of a smell evoking a bittersweet emotion in an otherwise mundane setting.
So even if we haven’t exactly been there, we’ve been there, you know?
Another great example of this is an ongoing tactic Spotify has used in its campaigns, where the streaming platform references quirky user habits in its billboards and banner ads.
A few examples of the ad copy:
Dear person who played “Sorry” 42 times on Valentine’s Day, what did you do?
The fan-made “I don’t give a s*** what the calendar says, it’s christmas” playlist is about to be correct for the first time in 2018.
Be as loving as the person who put 48 Ed Sheeran songs on their “I Love Gingers” playlist.
Of course, these ads aren’t full-on stories. They’re what I think of as story-wisps, giving us a hint of a character, a personality, and a motivation: apologize, celebrate Christmas, and...celebrate gingers, I guess?
Assuming you can set aside the undertones of Big Data creepiness here (and forget Spotify’s problematic influence on the music industry for a hot second), the ads are quite effective. They’re funny, and attention-grabbing, and speak directly to what Spotify does well: let users craft their own music experience.
In an attempt to drive home this same point––the platform’s personalized nature––Spotify could have gone with a much more general “Make the Music Yours” campaign highlighting how you can craft a playlist for any moment, any time. But it’s so much funnier, and more real, to pick out ridiculously specific examples and let the audience imagine their own version of the same thing.
Do I have a playlist with 48 Ed Sheeran songs on it? God no. But do I have an almost-three-hour-long playlist of pop-emo songs, heavily featuring Fall Out Boy, that I listen to when I’m in a very specific mood?
Yes. Yes I do. So this ad makes me feel seen. And makes me feel like Spotify gets it.
That flash of recognition I’m describing––they get it; I am seen––is one of the most satisfying parts of storytelling for both teller and audience. It’s the element of story that can spark empathy, or make someone laugh, or help them make a connection between your experience and their own. And it’s these little details that will get stuck in their head and have a way of winding up in later retellings of the story. Which is especially great for anyone trying to sell a product or hoping their idea will be passed along to higher-ups.
Now I’m going to talk about spinach for a second.
We’re under a really strict quarantine in my town. Like, literally no going outside unless you’re using one of two weekly permits meant for grocery shopping or visits to the doctor. It’s been stressful, and after making it through multiple checkpoints to buy my breakfast smoothie ingredients, I just wanted to get home and shower off the mask sweat and lie on my couch rereading favorite books from four years ago when things felt more normal. But then I had a really frustrating interaction with someone on the way back from the store. And it was one of those things that shouldn’t be a big deal, but just pushes you over the edge, you know??
A friend called after I vented in our group chat (as one does). I told her the story. At some point I said, “And then I was standing in my kitchen, crying while I was trying to stuff seven bags of baby spinach into the freezer.”
We both cracked up. And I’m pretty sure that in ten years, when I remember this pandemic, that’s one of the images I’ll remember: standing in my kitchen, mask sweat still shining on my chin, sniffling and playing freezer Tetris with a giant stack of spinach bags.
Don’t be afraid to tell a story that’s uniquely, authentically you. Whether that involves 48 Ed Sheeran songs or your favorite leafy green.
There’s a real joy to reading or listening to a story where every single image could only exist in that narrative world. And the closer you can get to that goal, the more effective––and more universal––your story will be.
Happy storytelling,
Erin
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Erin Becker (she/her)
Writer | Communications Consultant | Storytelling Expert
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