“That’s what storytellers do. We restore order with imagination. We instill hope again and again.” – Walt Disney in Saving Mr. Banks
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Last week I began this 4-part series on The Art of Storytelling. Each week during this series I will reflect on one, key aspect of good storytelling. Last week I focused on the importance of the broken hand.
This week?
The importance of details.
And the way to begin the lesson?
By picking up where we left off in last week’s story: I had just broken my left hand, had my forearm and most of my left hand put into a huge cast, and was awaiting hand surgery four days later.
I ended that part of the story with this paragraph:
Given how quickly everything unfolded, I still had not processed the implications of a long, uncertain healing process. Instead, as a young pastor at that time, what was at the forefront of my mind was the fact that I had a sermon to preach on Sunday - and even more urgently - a wedding to officiate on Saturday.
THE STORY CONTINUES
Ultimately I decided I had invested too much time and personal commitment into this particular wedding.
I officiated it on a lower dose of Vicodin, gritted my teeth through a few bouts of throbbing pain, and - in a convenient surprise - used my enormous cast as a resting place for my wedding notes.
For those in attendance at the wedding, however, the unfortunate sight they had throughout the ceremony was of my three fingers bent down at a right angle from the end of the cast - and dangling directly in front of me and between the bride and groom.
Fortunately, the wedding ceremony itself went well.
And while the Monday morning surgery was also a success, it took over four hours to complete and then two more months of regular physical therapy before I could meaningfully begin using my hand again.
This meant that I quickly found that my failed leap in left required me to begin taking a whole bunch of other leaps in my life that I had not anticipated.
Such as…
For the first time in my life, I had to call up another minister friend and ask for significant help on very short notice. In particular, I asked if he might preach the Sunday sermon in my stead because I simply could not keep gritting through the extreme pain - and though the full dose of Vicodin helped a lot, it also made me woozy and wanting to lay sideways on the couch for hours on end. Graciously, my friend agreed.
For the first couple of months after surgery, I had to have my wife help me get dressed each morning. It was humbling, frustrating, and a test of patience for all involved. Graciously, she did it.
When my wife and I moved out of our apartment and into our very first house a couple of weeks after the surgery, I had to call up a bunch of friends to help move all of our heavy boxes and furniture because, realistically, I could carry nothing beyond the pillows and handbags. Graciously, our friends showed up and moved nearly everything.
Because I had almost no ability to move the fingers on my left hand, I could no longer quickly type up my sermons in the long-form way that provided some comfort when I was in the pulpit. Instead, I pecked out a short outline for my sermons using only my right hand and then began delivering those sermons without a full manuscript. Graciously, the congregation stuck it out when I got lost and long-winded during my sermon deliveries.
All of this to say, what began with one failed leap in left led to a whole host of other unexpected leaps.
Leaps of vulnerability.
Leaps of dependence.
Leaps of trust.
Leaps my self-sufficiency did not like.
Leaps my pride did not want.
And… leaps I probably needed.
Because each of those subsequent leaps taught me about my need for community - and the humbling, inspiring gift of what it looks like to have that.
And, for nearly fifteen years I thought that was the gist of the story.
If you were to ask me, “Tell me about those scars on your left hand,” my response would be about a failed leap in left that led to many other leaps involving inner growth and my renewed need (and gratitude) for community.
Until this past December, that is, when I realized this story had at least one more leap involved, and perhaps the most significant leap of all…
STORY PAUSE
(we’ll pick up the story in next week’s post)
If you want to learn how to tell a good story about your life, an event, your business, or otherwise, use specific details.
In my days as a pastor, I sat with countless grieving families helping them prepare a memorial service for a beloved family member who had recently died, and inevitably the family members began sharing sentiments and memories of the deceased person by saying things like…
He was good.
She was kind.
He was funny.
She was caring.
And all of this was good and true - but it still did not say a lot. Yes, but who was this person really? is what I would wonder, particularly if it was a person I had never met. How did the Light of Life uniquely shine in and through this person?
Fortunately, if I listened long enough with the family members, eventually someone would say something like,
“You know, in his teaching days, every time he gave a history exam to his 8th graders, he would play The Last of the Mohicans movie soundtrack in the background as they took the exam. He knew the students got nervous, and he wanted to help them relax a little.”
Revelatory details! The family never needed to say the words “he was caring” - they spoke it in volumes (and music!) simply by way of the details:
The 8th graders (formative, insecure stage of life)
The exam (pressure-filled, stressful moment)
The Last of the Mohicans soundtrack (soaring, epic, and calming orchestral sounds)
And when that story was then told during the memorial service homily - those present for the service could feel the emotional truth of this man’s caring nature.
Details matter. They create depth, and depth creates authenticity.
-Neil Blumenthal, Co-Founder aznd Co-CEO of Warby Parker
In fact, paradoxically, the more specific the detail in our story, the more broadly the story will connect.
We sometimes worry that if we share certain details that our audience has never experienced, then they won’t relate.
What if my audience has never played left field in a softball game?
Or officiated a wedding with three fingers dangling down?
Or had to take Vicotin?
Or heard the music of that soundtrack?
Doesn’t matter. Sure, explain the detail a bit if it is fairly foreign or different for the audience. But, simply because of our shared life experiences, the details we share communicate an emotional truth that the reader/hearer inevitably picks up on.
Authentic is the word we sometimes use.
Not canned. Not cliche. But emotionally real.
Details do that. And it makes all the difference.1
So…. if you are writing or speaking one of your Broken Hand stories (see The Art of Storytelling: Part 1 for the reference here), look at what details you are including.
Have you helped place the story in a specific context?
Are there ways you can help us see the story?
Hear it?
Touch it?
Smell it?
Taste it?
Sure, too many details can bog a story down or make things confusing, but oftentimes I find that most folks fail to take seriously the importance of details (myself 100% included).
—
Here’s one final example of highly effective storytelling. This time it’s from the business world - and though the story is super short, notice the details…
Did you catch how they so quickly and meaningfully evoke feelings of humor and nostalgia (the days before smartphones)?
They didn’t say “Know the time without seeing all of your emails.” Rather, they went with “1,249 unanswered emails.” The large, specific number (1,249) and the specific fact that they are unanswered connects to our sense that we are always behind and that we would love - actually - to experience life without that reminder. The large, empty background then accentuates the freeing, unencumbered sense for which we long.
Once again, the details are the difference.
It’s the reason our favorite films and books may take place in areas we’ve never lived, may have leading characters with backgrounds and jobs quite unlike ours, and may otherwise have all kinds of details about which we really know very little. And yet, the details do not distance us from the story but, in fact, help us connect more meaningfully to the story’s emotional truth.
Again a true success of a story and you keep giving us things to think about and use your words for helping some of us working thru our bad days! Thank you again and God Bless🙏🏻 Linda A
so THIS is how you do what you do! I’ve commented many times that I didn’t understand and now you are answering for me! Thank you. Currently I’m re-reading Beach Music by Pat Conroy (one of my all time favorites) and I agree that the details are the attraction to the story. The first time I read the book, I’d not been to either Charleston SC or Rome and reading was like visiting there. Now I’ve been to Rome and the details cause vivid personal memories which enhances his story more.