The Leader's Guide to Storytelling

by Stephen Denning

  The romantic: The romantic storyteller wallows in the explicit emotions of the story rather than simply telling the story. Thus, at the start of the Macintosh era, Steve Jobs used stories based on the conflict of good and evil to invigorate his team, describing the world in terms similar to those used in the movie Star Wars: “‘If we do not succeed,’ forecast Steve Jobs, ‘IBM will be the master of the world’” (Roche and Sadowsky, n.d.).

  These styles may work in various social or professional settings or for the purposes of entertainment. But in a purpose-driven organizational setting, they often get in the way of the business at hand, which is to reveal the truth of the matter under discussion, simply, clearly, and directly.

  Here's an example. It happens to be Lou Gerstner, talking at a press conference in New York City on June 5, 1995, about the events that led to IBM's purchase of Lotus. As a story, there's nothing unusual or remarkable about it. It's a typical example of business storytelling: plain, simple, and direct. As a story, it would not be considered brilliant. Nor is there anything that would draw attention to Gerstner as the storyteller. Listen:

  I think it is useful to step back and look at the evolution of this industry to really understand the strategic rationale of this transaction. The industry began as a very centralized model of computing. It was the world of mainframes, large central processors.

  And while there will be the need for central processors for many, many years to come, that first phase ended a decade or so ago—and the second phase began, which is the era of the PC.

  And so powerful, stand-alone computers were put in the hands of workers around the world, and we had the PC revolution. It provided enormous personal productivity benefits to workers in enterprises, small businesses, and even at home.

  But it's clear to me and to many others that the industry is now entering a new phase of the information technology industry. And it is a phase in which all of the computing power of an enterprise is linked together—so that the mainframes or servers and the PCs become linked in a network ….

  … but not just a hierarchical network, so that the PCs can talk to the mainframes or servers—but very importantly, a world in which all of the users can talk horizontally to each other, and to work together in what is known as “collaborative” or “team” computing. That is a very, very powerful need of our customers around the world.3

  Gerstner's story is not in any way remarkable, yet it illustrates a number of important characteristics of a style of storytelling that is effective for leaders in organizations.

  Tell Your Story as If You Were Talking to a Single Individual

  Gerstner's idiom is the voice of conversation. The model is that of one person speaking to another. The style appears to be spontaneous and motivated by the need to tell the listeners about something of interest.

  It's as if it has just occurred to Gerstner to tell his audience about what has been going on in the computer industry, and so he begins to do so. What he has to say doesn't feel like a set piece. There's no sign that Gerstner has labored over the language beforehand, systematically refining and arranging his thoughts, editing their expression, checking with the corporate lawyers, and then reading the final cleared text aloud. It's as if something has just occurred to him, and so he says it.4

  As it happens, Gerstner is talking to a crowd of journalists, but he might just as well be talking to each person in the audience, one on one. His voice is the voice of dialogue.

  Gerstner says one thing, and after another moment, something else occurs to him, and so he says that too. It happens to be a useful progression from his former thought, so the listeners follow along. His speech has the rhythm of conversation. It's a series of movements, each one brief and crisp, beginning at the beginning and ending with a suitable conclusion.

  The appearance of spontaneity is of course an illusion. Gerstner has carefully rehearsed the story and knows exactly where it is heading. In retrospect, the audience may see that these movements of thought are in fact organized into a flawless order, but at the time, the illusion is created that this order is simply the consequence of Gerstner's logical, penetrating, uncluttered mind. His words appear to come out the way they do without any special effort. The order is never referred to. Its existence is not even acknowledged. Everything that is dispensable has been edited out, but the result doesn't sound edited.

  Avoid Hedges

  Gerstner avoids indicating that he is doing anything other than presenting the situation as it actually is. Thus, he avoids the kinds of hedges that writers often adopt to protect themselves against possible objections.5

  Gerstner has banished from his vocabulary phrases like, “As we shall see …” and “Before I move on to my next point …” and “As far as I know …” He doesn't bother with disclaimers that he doesn't have time to tell the whole story or that he has skipped over important events.

  In telling his story, Gerstner presents the situation as being obvious to anyone who will take a hard look: “It is clear to me and to many others …” He refrains from indicating alternative points of view. He doesn't, for instance, say, “My predecessor in IBM took an entirely different view of the situation and was on the verge of breaking up the company.”

  Keep Your Storytelling Focused, Simple, and Clear

  The virtues of Gerstner's story, like most other good organizational storytelling, are clarity and simplicity. These are also its vices. Gerstner doesn't acknowledge ambiguities, qualifications, or doubts. He has made hard choices silently and out of the listeners' sight. He presents the story on the basis that this is what happened. Once made, the choices are presented as if they are inevitable.

  Gerstner's language doesn't draw attention to itself; rather, it serves as a window that reveals the content of the story he is telling. If the audience were to notice Gerstner the person, through a dazzling use of language or some unusual mannerisms or some striking gestures—rather than the content of the story—then he would have been less effective. He tells the story in an understated manner. At the end of his presentation, no one says, “My heavens, that Lou Gerstner is a wonderful storyteller!” Instead, the focus is on what he says. The audience is more likely to exclaim, “How fascinating!”

  Gerstner presents his story in a way that is seemingly transparent, as if the listeners are looking at his subject through a perfectly clean and nondistorting window. The window doesn't draw attention to itself.6

  Present the Story as Something Valuable in Itself

  Gerstner doesn't spend time justifying the telling of his story. As storyteller, he presents his story as something that is inherently valuable. The value comes from the story itself and from its role as part of a larger whole. He has selected elements that are common knowledge and put them together in a way that gives them broader significance. In so doing, he gives the events a meaning that the audience might not otherwise have grasped.

  Be Yourself

  Style isn't something separate from the person or detachable from the content of what is said. Gerstner performs his story in a style that lets the content shine through. He stands behind what he has to say because he has seen it, experienced it, and thought it out independently. He may be stating what is a common conclusion among experts in the industry at the time, but in expressing it, he is neither joining a chorus nor embracing a platitude.7

  Instead, he presents his story as if it has the freshness of a discovery. He talks as though what he is saying doesn't come from following what he has been told to say by his public relations team or from a briefing by his technical experts.

  As a storyteller, Gerstner presents himself as a thinking human being, not the head of a large bureaucracy or the construct of his handlers. In the apparent absence of these encumbrances, his utterances have a freshness that no committee of speechwriters can give.8

  He speaks not as if he is trying to persuade, but rather as though he is presenting reality as it is. The implication is that listeners are free to draw their own c
onclusions, but if they were to draw any other conclusion than Gerstner's, they would be in error. He is inviting them to conclude, just as he already has, not only that the experience has a bearing on the future but also that there is a need to update their previously held views.9

  Truth

  As storyteller, Gerstner proceeds on the basis that all listeners have what is essential to identify the truth, whether or not they have any special education. The implication is that failure to identify truth comes from not seeing reality clearly.

  Gerstner places his listeners where he was when he examined what was happening in the computer industry, and he does what he can to make what has happened intelligible to them. He proceeds on the basis that once received opinion, custom, and prejudice have been cleared away, what is true will be immediately apparent because of its distinctness and clarity.

  In telling his story, Gerstner assumes parity between himself and his listeners. Although he may have a wider experience than his listeners and he may have access to inside information, he trusts the listeners to know exactly what he knows as if they had seen what he has seen. His purpose is to put the listeners in a position to achieve that parity.

  Proceed on the Basis That It Is Possible to Tell the Truth

  Is it possible to tell the truth? In telling his story back in June 1995, Gerstner was proceeding as if it is possible to know the results of disinterested thought and to present them without significant distortion. These assumptions may be hard for a philosopher to justify, but they contribute to a form of communication that is immensely useful. The assumptions constitute in effect a set of enabling conventions. Whether Gerstner believes in the enabling conventions—for example, that truth can be known—telling a story in this way requires no lifelong commitment to the belief, only a willingness to adopt this position for a limited time and purpose.10

  Similarly, playing the game of tennis doesn't necessitate adopting the position that your lifelong aim is to defeat your opponent. But if you want to play a good game of tennis on a particular day, it does require that you adopt the conventions of tennis and try to defeat your opponent on that particular day. You cannot play an excellent game of tennis if you are all the time questioning the conventions of the game. After the game is over, you may sit back and have such discussions. But for the duration of the game, you have to set these questions aside in order to play an excellent game of tennis. Then the game can proceed.

  So it is with storytelling. The performance of storytelling requires the storyteller to accept the conventions of storytelling at least for the duration of the performance. In performance, the storyteller is certain, fearless, and relentless in presenting things “as they really are.” The role can be useful and even thrilling, but it can hardly be permanent. For better or worse, human beings cannot remain in a permanent state of certainty, fearlessness, and relentlessness. No reliable evidence supports the storyteller's claim to the disinterested expression of truth. The insouciance required to ignore what everyone knows cannot be maintained for very long, and master storytellers know the limits. The storytelling performance is thus a sprint, not a marathon.11

  Tell the Truth as You See It

  Telling the truth as best we can isn't easy. In fact, it's terrifying to think how many things can go wrong in an effort to present something clearly and accurately. Our memory may be playing tricks on us. We may have difficulty expressing what we see. Our insights may lack edge. We may have been misled.

  These concerns stop some people from ever opening their mouths to tell an effective story. For others, it causes them to allow the doubts to become the centerpiece of what they say, since the doubts are the only things that seem certain.

  The enabling convention that it is possible to tell the truth frees the storyteller from these concerns. Presenting the truth as you see it is a capability that is available to everyone. Such competence is no more problematic than being able to see what you see with your own eyes.

  Preparation

  The preparation for a storytelling performance is laborious and repetitive, but the actual performance is like white-water rafting. In rehearsal, myriad options must be considered, tried out, and evaluated for their possible impact. In performance, you have no time for thought, for reflection, for second thoughts. You hurtle forward, swept on by the rush of events, the thing finished in a matter of seconds, the lips moving faster than the mind. If you have done the preparation and are ready for the performance, then the self—and the story—will flow effortlessly. But if you have not thought through what you are trying to say and are not comfortable with who you are or how this relates to the story you are telling, then the audience almost certainly will feel those discords, which will get in the way of your performance. Careful preparation is of the essence.

  Good organizational storytelling is perfect performance, with no hesitation, revision, or backtracking. Its implicit fiction is that this perfection happens at the first try. The story appears as though it could not have been told in any other way. This is an illusion, but it is powerful. The storyteller may seem to have been born with a unique ability that other human beings lack. As a result, listening to perfectly told stories can be intimidating to a beginner, who does not see the care and preparation that have gone into the presentation.

  With effort and discipline, anyone can get the essential things right. Effective storytelling is accessible to all who are willing to make the effort. It is the result not of natural endowment but of meticulous preparation, ending in achievement.

  Be Rehearsed But Spontaneous

  Perhaps the most impressive aspect of good storytelling is its combination of perfection and spontaneity. The performance has no mistake, no false step or deficiency, and it looks inevitable. And yet it also looks fresh and spontaneous, almost improvised.

  How is this possible? The perfection comes from practice, while the spontaneity comes from reliving the story mentally for each retelling. Even if you are telling the story for the seventeenth time, you relive it afresh in your mind as if you were experiencing it for the first time. You feel the emotions of the original participants yet again, and the audience will also feel those emotions. Because the story is fresh each time for the storyteller, it's also fresh for the audience.

  Choose the Shape of Your Story, and Stick to It

  Design is the backbone of effective storytelling. As the storyteller, you will both build on your design and add to it as a result of the unexpected events that occur with every live performance. The audience laughs, and you dwell on the point for a moment to take advantage of the resonance. The audience fidgets, and you move on swiftly to an element that is more likely to be appealing. But in the midst of these adjustments, you stick to the basic design of the story.

  The key is to get the right balance between structure and spontaneity. If the performance follows a rigid advance plan too closely, then the story will sound false and programmed. If we allow the story to ramble aimlessly as we recall events as they occur to us in a somewhat haphazard fashion, then we risk becoming a garrulous windbag, and the audience will stop listening. To achieve the requisite balance of structure and spontaneity, it's necessary to foresee the overall shape of what is to come and to pursue that shape, no matter how many enticing side roads open up along the way.12

  Delivery

  In any oral communication, much depends on the nonverbal aspects of performance—the tone of voice, the facial expression, and the accompanying gestures. Exactly how much do these nonverbal aspects contribute? In 1971, Professor Albert Mehrabian stunned the world of communications with his conclusion that only 7 percent of the meaning of a communication is in the content of the words that are spoken, while 93 percent of meaning comes from nonverbal communication.13 His widely cited conclusion was, however, based on artificial laboratory studies involving the use of single, mostly ambiguous words, and Mehrabian didn't claim that his findings were applicable beyond the resolution of simple, inconsistent messages. As L. Michael
Hall points out, you can tell that content must be more than 7 percent of communication just by trying to watch and understand movies on planes when you don't have the headphones or by trying to communicate any simple abstract statement nonverbally.14

  But just as clearly, the way a story is performed can radically change its emotional tone in the mind of the listener. So Mehrabian is right in thinking that how an oral communication is performed is important, even if determining exactly how important would require separating content from performance—which is precisely what cannot be accomplished in the social act of communication, where story, storyteller, and audience are inseparably intertwined.

  Be Ready to Perform

  Once you have the shape of your story and have made your selections as to what to include and exclude, you must be ready to perform. In writing, you have the leisure of composition over a sustained period of time. If you are not in the mood for writing or have no energy or inspiration on any particular day, you can postpone the act of writing until conditions are more propitious.