Reason, it could be said, gets in the way of our ability to tell a good story. Our need to rationalise, to prove and to add a statistic in order to give our understanding of the world merit and worth can weaken the power of a good story. That vigour is the successful enrapture of an audience’s emotions.
The phrase Death by PowerPoint, often chattered around meeting rooms is the contrary. Information – particularly in today’s over-saturated world – is not the necessity of people. Rather it is faith that they are looking for from within the information deliverer.
“Emotion” derives from the Latin for motivation, as well as movement. This is to say that storytelling requires not only inspiration to action for the audience, but intention from the storyteller. There is no point speaking if you have nothing purposeful to say. That is the responsibility of the speaker to keep in mind.
Similarly, stories need to be fluid and adaptable: timelessness comes from an appreciation of being able to both present and interpret stories differently.
When you give your friends and family an account of your day, do you adjust your story to the intended audience; focus on the aspects that you know will make one friend in particular laugh? Do you speed through to get to the conclusion or do you consider the detail?
If you write an email rather than call or see a friend face-to-face, how do you judge their true response and learn how to tailor it for the future? Can you?
We have not necessarily lost storytelling but we often ignore the complexities surrounding the story that make it what it is. Twitter users have the ability to sum up their activities, thoughts, and beliefs in 140 characters or less. While they can both focus and communicate to a wider audience, tweeters can lose some of these precious interactions. Context is lost.
It is these exact embellishments on the version of events that we cling on to, that act as recall or us to retain the moral message that is implanted in each story. Yet if we rush through, frightened that others have more important things to say or do, we do not honour ourselves and we do not encourage an equality of voices or bestow understanding.
As individuals we look to understand why we are here, what we are here for, that we can share purpose and that we can not only sympathise but empathise with one another.
If you have ever heard a professional storyteller – such as a performance poet – you will see how they create a crescendo in their performance, slowly and carefully building the momentum, treating each word like a sip of wine, allowing you to get drunk and jolly in the words, before the reality check takes effect. Stories offer a force of persuasion.
Head to South Wales for the international storytelling festival Beyond the Border this weekend and experience for yourself the cultural diversity offered in oral tradition.
Image: Steve Snodgrass
