Every Good Story Is About the Future (part 1)
Before I start talking about ancient Greek literature, let me assure you that I’m talking to you. Not only that, but I’m talking about you, and about your life. I’m talking about how you can win friends and influence people, how you can be an Alpha Mind, and how you can realize your dreams.
Promise. Cross my heart. That’s what I’m talking about here. Just bear with me while I go back a few millennia. I’ll bring it back to you. Really.
Okay. Ahem. I draw a deep breath and begin.
There are two kinds of people in the world. There’s a very large group who have never read Herodotus. Then there is a smaller group who are in love with Herodotus.
Oh, all right, then, I suppose there are a few who have read Herodotus and haven’t fallen in love, but I think these are people who lack the capacity to understand something essential about him:
Herodotus was writing about us, about our age, about our lives.
Every good storyteller does that. And every good story does that.
Now, I’ll admit Herodotus didn’t always clearly signal that he was writing about the future, about us. That’s why I chose not to make his mistake. That’s why I told you up front that, even though I’m going far back in time and far away in space, I’m talking about you and your life.
Because not everybody has the same capacity to understand this for themselves. In consequence, not everybody has the same capacity to be bowled over by great storytelling. Or more importantly, to be taught by it. That’s why some need help.
Okay, now a story from Herotodus. A very old story. But wait! Wait! I can bring this much closer to home because this very story was in a movie not too long ago.
In “The English Patient,” Katherine Clifton reads our story from Herodotus, aloud, around a campfire. The story is the one about Candaules and how he lost the kingdom of Lydia to Gyges.
To put it briefly, Candaules goes crazy for his wife, and having decided she’s the most beautiful woman in existence, decides he also needs to prove this to someone else. So he arranges for Gyges, his right-hand man, to see her naked. She learns of it, is outraged, and gives Gyges a choice: either kill Candaules and take the throne, or else be killed himself. Choosing to live, he kills his boss and takes the wife and the kingdom.
(Yes, Herodotus tells it better. I’m hurrying up to get to my own point.)
That is the story within the story. The story of the English Patient is this: Geoffrey Clifton, husband of Katharine, has half an insight (alas only half!) about this tale. He knows that Candaules’ obsession with his wife parallels his own obsession with Katherine.
What he fails to understand is how parallel the parallel actually is. He sees that he suffers the same uxorious daftness, but fails to hear the cautionary tale. He brags about his own excessive adoration for Katherine, but also about Katherine herself. And in the midst of this inane display, Almásy (the “English Patient”) falls in love with her. All of which results in death for all three, with gruesome injuries and horrid, lingering storytelling for Almásy.
Who can know how much Geoffrey’s silly spotlighting of Katherine contributed to the dreadful outcome? But it clearly did nothing to prevent it.
Geoffrey Clifton, alas, had only a partial capacity to understand that Herodotus, 2400 years earlier and without knowing a thing about airplanes or World War II, was writing about Geoffrey Clifton.
In the same way, I think, those few scholars and artists who sneer at Herodotus have failed to grasp how, in “The Fox and the Grapes,” Aesop, that other ancient Grecian, was writing about them. After all, here they are, living about 2600 years after the invention of literature…
Here they are, looking on a man who lived within a fewscore decades of that invention, and was making up a whole genre as he went along, and doing it masterfully…
Here they are, utterly incapable of rising to anything like the level of that old long-dead talebearer…
And so of course they are forced to say, “ah, those grapes couldn’t be any good anyway.”
Which only shows them to be particularly, especially, notably dense. Because, unlike Herodotus, Aesop tacked onto the end of each of his stories a big sign, in block capitals, underlined, saying “Here’s how this story is about you and your future.”
A very sad fact about humanity is that not only are many people so dense that they can’t read the big, underlined, block-caps signs plastered over a great story, but, oh worse! …
All of us are that dense, at least in places. In our blind spots.
Those of us who aspire to thought leadership face many choices. Once we know what point we want to make, we face a multitude of ways we might go about making it. Each decision we make leads to other decisions. Once we have chosen a particular story to convey our point, we still face a question as fundamental as: “After the story, do I tell them what I told them, like Aesop, or leave them to figure it out for themselves, like Herodotus?”
In this one instance, I’m going to be as obvious as Aesop. I’m going to make explicit what this post has implicitly assumed:
If thou wouldst influence the thoughts of others, thou shalt tell stories.
Why? Because people instinctively know that every good story is about the future. Is about their future. That’s why they listen to stories, remember them, tell and retell them.
The question for the would-be Alpha Mind is how to use the natural human interest in stories, not merely to say what we want to say, but to convey it into the part of the hearer’s brain, wherever it may be, where it will make a difference.
We’ll begin exploring this by looking at how people really feel about the six Ws. Hint: they don’t teach it in journalism school, but every good journalist understands it, even if only at the instinctive, know-it-so-well-we-don’t-know-we-know-it level. The level at which all of us understand grammar.
The six Ws: that’s where we’ll pick this up in the next post.
So there I was reading this immense fat packet, my printout of “Creating Passionate Users.” (Hmm, that should have been italicized, now that it’s a book, even if the world’s only copy is the one I’m reading.) And I’m looking for what made Kathy a successful blogger. In this process, it wasn’t my first revelation, but it was my first big one, when I realized that Kathy knew her subject.
First, this one. When Kathy decides to blog something, she knows exactly where it fits onto the map of her subject. Comparatively, some of my past posts suggest a man groping in darkness. Even when Kathy blogs something that doesn’t map, she knows it, and she doesn’t do it all that often. When the connection is tenuous, at least she knows how to make the connection.




